#( hero drenched in blood&yet you are beautiful. )
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Hi hello, your writing is great!! I was wondering whether you would like to continue the piece with sleep-deprived villain who lost their sidekick and hero coming to them? Since the first part ended how it did (the heavenly spicy prospect of hero running a bath for both of them), I would be more than happy to read what's next!! Possible heavy spice on the horizon is always well-greeted. Always.
So a few questions to consider: During villain's and hero's (spicy) makeout session, would villain humbly admit their feelings and their hallucinations about hero pinning them down and ravaging them? Would hero be worried that villain might be in the wrong state of mind for sex/making out/both/whatever you choose? Would hero have self-conscious doubts whether villain wants them or whether they just use the opportunity to work off the stress and grief using hero? Would both of them, in all this tangled chaos, truly and honestly confess to each other in between the kisses?
Choose whatever you want to write, I would be grateful for everything you post! I'm going to horny jail willingly, have a beautiful beautiful day
pt. 1
All the villain could do was watch as the hero actually did take off their clothes in the bathroom. It wasn’t like their hallucination. The hero wasn’t drenched in blood, ready to take the villain as they pleased. They didn’t push them into couches or walls to kiss them until their lips were numb.
“Two hours of sleep is really dangerous,” the hero said. They were working on their pants already, trying to slip out of them. The villain’s eyes burnt from the lack of sleep and the built up steam in the bathroom, however, their eyes widened and their pulse skyrocketed as they saw the hero’s body uncovered.
A few days ago, their hallucinations had gotten worse. More violent, more realistic. Often, they couldn’t tell reality and dream apart. Dreaming was torture and staying awake wasn’t pleasant either.
“I know.”
“Come here.” The hero was fully naked now and the villain tried their best to stare at the bathroom tiles instead of them. Having an attractive nemesis had always been a weakness of the villain. Eventually, the hero offered them their hand and the villain replied with a brave step towards them. “I’ll help you, okay?”
The villain’s face was burning but they didn’t have the energy to reply. They didn’t know how to flirt nor how to tease and yet, they chased every little touch the hero was willing to give them. With the hero’s hands on them they felt okay for a second. As they went over their body to peel off the layers of clothes, the villain tried their best to be of help but their coordination was truly horrible. No wonder they had lost their weapon earlier. It was a miracle that they were still alive.
Before the villain knew it, they were naked too. With embarrassment, they noticed that the hero’s hand was on their lower stomach. Resting fingertips against their skin. And the villain already felt guilty for allowing themselves to enjoy life a little.
“Alright, you first,” the hero said. They took the villain’s handed and guided them to the bathtub. On their lower back, the villain could feel the hero’s other hand, steadying them, securing them.
Pain burnt into them as their feet sank into the water. It was scorching hot, nearly unbearable but the villain welcomed the pain like an old friend, letting it happen, like everything else in their life.
They sat down slowly, trying to get used to the temperature and the hero followed promptly, sitting down on their hips. Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity, the villain tried to calm down their poor heart. It hadn’t worked this hard in a few weeks and having the hero this close to them was just like their hallucination, except that it was a little too real and intimate.
“Do you always use boiling water when you bathe?” the villain asked. The hero’s hands were on their chest and the villain was sure they could feel their heart beating.
“Straight from hell, yes.” It was a nice distraction. They were a nice distraction. But the villain feared this would make everything worse. The villain would keep yearning for them, getting addicted to them. “Now, relax, okay?”
“I’m trying,” the villain admitted but their eyes dropped to the hero’s lips. When the hero leaned forward, the villain expected their lips to meet but instead, the hero kissed their cheek softly. Immediately, the villain could tell that this was not a hallucination.
“I know. But this has gone too far. Imagining that I break into your home and devour you isn’t normal,” the hero said but the villain couldn’t hold themselves back anymore. They’d been through hell for the last weeks, months even. They had considered terrible methods and measures. Losing themselves in all of this was easy but the hero had swooped in — like the hero they were — and saved them.
They grabbed the hero’s jaw and kissed them softly.
It was quite clear that they were out of practice. Their tongue was too nervous, too quick, their mouth was not open enough and their hand was awkwardly resting on the hero’s back. Although the hero kissed back, the villain knew that they hesitated. After a few seconds of pure heaven, they pulled away and swallowed.
Their heart was still desperately pumping blood through their system and they sweated hard enough that even the hero could tell.
“I’m sorry,” they said, didn’t even dare to be louder than a whisper.
“I know how hard it is,” the hero replied. They were still so close. “Losing someone isn’t easy.”
“I’m okay.”
“You imagined us having sex together because you didn’t get enough sleep.” The hero combed through the villain’s messy hair with their fingers. “Why did you imagine me?”
“I don’t know,” the villain said. For a few seconds, the villain just stared at them.
Exhausted, sad, hopeless. They were lost and the hero seemed like the only way, like the only lighthouse in this sea.
The villain couldn’t help but go in for another kiss and the hero replied, guiding their enemy’s hands as much as their tongue. Every now and then, the villain had to sigh softly. This was so much better than the hallucinations, it was so much better than what they had experienced before. Slowly, the villain’s hands moved down to the hero’s ass and squeezed. Adorable wasn’t even close to describing the sounds the hero made as response. With each second, the villain wanted more. They started kissing the hero’s throat, started to bite a little and get more daring.
But right when they were getting ready, the hero pulled away.
“I should’ve come sooner, fuck, this is really bad,” they mumbled. Fidgeting hands went over the villain’s chest as the hero’s lips hovered over theirs. The villain pressed a quick kiss to them, not really understanding what they meant.
“I like this.”
“You’re exhausted. You probably don’t even want this. Fuck, what was I thinking…?” Suddenly, the hero moved and the villain panicked.
“Please don’t go,” they said. Their hands went to the hero’s hips, holding onto them. Wasn’t it foolish? To expect that they were worth it? That they deserved kindness? Affection even? “I don’t want to be alone.”
“I don’t want to use you.”
“I don’t want to use you,” the villain said. “We don’t need to have sex…I would just like to know that someone is there.”
The hero’s muscles relaxed and they nodded gently. Admittedly, the villain wanted more than they had suggested. They wanted to lose themselves in desire not only because it eased the pain but also because they yearned for the hero. Their saviour. Their crush. Someone who was putting up with their shit over and over again.
“We can talk about it, you know,” the hero said. “I know it hurts but if we talk about it, maybe you can start to heal healthily.”
“I can’t talk about it,” the villain said quickly. “Please, I really can’t.”
“That’s okay.” Once again the hero combed through their hair. “I’ll be here in case you change your mind.”
Indeed, the hero stayed for two weeks and they held the villain when they told them everything. When they broke down and dropped their guard, when they started crying and let go of everything they had been hiding.
#writing snippet#heroxvillain snippet#heroxvillain prompt#heroes and villains#hero#villain#hero x villain#heroxvillain#an answer for an ask#request#cont'd#suggestive
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“Seducing:” smut with angst update to ETL Astarion x f!Tav (OC) in “Our Blood is Thicker”
Astarion x f!OC | E | 4.4 K of flashbacks, angst, and smut
Summary: After defeating the Goblin, a celebration is in order. And there is only one Cordehlia wishes to accept as far as his seduction goes. And it ends in a secluded little grove, someplace quiet and intimate, where things don’t go totally according to seductive plans.
Spoilers: Tiefling party and Act 1 Romance retold
CW: angst, flashbacks, lost love rekindled, first time part 2, trauma triggers, sexy shirt swap with consequences, Cordehlia breaks her 200 year dry spell
Previous Chapter | Ao3 link | Masterlist
Chapter 6: Seducing…
🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️
Festivities, a celebration. But all words of joy and mirth and rewards slipped barely past her muted ears. Cordehlia smiled, shaking hands and accepting the thanks of the Tieflings, but it only vaguely entered her consciousness.
To hear her name again, spoken with unholy admiration… with fearful awe from her companions… it agitated her. Stirred her.
Not that any of them treated her differently for it, not even those that had remained at camp, who missed the images as they flashed in her mind through the tadpole.
Shadowheart even seemed… nicer because of it. Impressed that she wasn’t some full-blooded High Elf to look down on her as a half-elf. That she wasn’t some entitled, prissy noble to cast judgment on others. The cleric had even smiled at her as Cordehlia cleaned and sharpened her infamous blade.
If anything was off, it was Astarion’s distance. Keeping himself on the other side of the group, even as his eyes watched her every move. His mouth teasing at the corner, a flicker in his eyes once they locked their gazes.
Oh, he was good, she thought, as she smiled slightly, knowingly, wagging her fingers coyly as she waved at him through the crowd. Smiling wider as he nodded in reply. Making himself scarce to draw out her lust. Making her long for his closeness by forcing some distance.
She sniffed a derisive if amused laugh.
As if they hadn’t stood shoulder to shoulder being drenched in blood. As if he hadn’t stolen a little kiss in the middle of the Goblin camp when no one was looking, his words sweet and sensual, how she never looked more beautiful than she did in that moment.
As if he hadn’t licked the blood of her enemies spattered on her neck before taking a quick bite of her living essence. Just to replenish before the next attack, he had reasoned with a smirk and a caress on her lips. A kiss so coppery and salty with her blood.
She sighed at the memory, however recent. Her body hummed, that shadow of bloodlust slinking back into its den. Sated for now, sated by killing for good. If this was being a hero, as the Tieflings named her, then perhaps…
Perhaps she wasn’t unredeemable.
Perhaps she could join in the festivities.
She eyed Astarion from across the gathering, watching as he threw her a glance, his pale hand snatching a green glass bottle of wine to raise it to his lips. She shook her head, wondering just how much wine it would take to make a Vampire feel any effects.
“Well,” a warm voice caught her attention from over her shoulder. Cordehlia turned to find Gale’s soft smile curling his lips, a bottle in his hand of the same looking vintage. “I shouldn’t be so taken aback that you show as much prowess with the blade as you do with your unflappable wisdom of leadership, Cordehlia,” he commented, his lips moving a bit… strangely. As if he was trying to smirk.
“Hmm…” Cordehlia cocked her head, drawing back a step. “Is this your attempt at flirtation, master wizard?”
“I was going for seduction,” he hemmed his eyebrows raising in shock into his hairline. “But I would settle for flirtation to be sure.”
Cordehlia’s face quirked, amused and yet… not all at once. “Do not think me ungrateful, Gale, but after a long day… after revealing my rich and bloodied past, I’m most surprised you would make such an advance.”
“What better time to assure you of my affection and loyalty other than after such a bloodied revelation,” he replied, so seriously, edged with concern. “I want you to know I find you charming despite such a troubling past… but we all have our trials. We have all made our own dark sacrifices…”
“Who said that anyone should appreciate her charms despite such a past?” that silken, sultry voice purred from beside her. Close beside her. Astarion stood, bemused, drinking from his wine bottle and sneering. “I rather find it all the more arousing…”
Crodehlia turned to stare at him, her gaze exacting but… not cold… not uninviting.
“Says the one who was part of her past…” Gale scoffed. “I do not think I am in error, however, I can see when my attentions are no longer pleasing.” He bowed his head, “Just do not forget, Codehlia, the choices of our past do not need to define our choices in the present.” He looked into the distance, rubbing that strange mark on his chest. “At least, that’s the hope I have to cling to, in my own case. Good night to you.”
With that, he gave one last longing grin before turning to be swallowed by the milling crowds.
Her vampire rogue sucked his teeth, shaking his silver head in feigned pity. “I do so hate to see such sensitive souls running with their tails between their legs when you turn them down,” Astarion smirked wickedly.
“You love it, Astarion,” Cordehlia matched his taunting expression.
“Well, can you blame me?” he purred in reply. “Gale looks so dejected, especially after I heard him rehearsing his offer of romance with you over and over again. All the way from the Goblin camp back here.”
“It was very eloquent,” she shrugged her shoulders demurely. “So many words, so much feeling…”
Astarion lowered his bottle from his lips mid-drink. “Well, if it’s eloquence you want, darling, you had but to…”
Cordehlia grabbed him by his collar, pulling him close enough at last. She latched onto his smirking, twisted, irritating mouth. Kissing him silent.
It was not words she wanted. No, she craved action.
That bottle dropped at their feet. His hands instantly pressed at her back, that cold, commanding touch drawing her flush against his unyielding body.
“Yes,” she rasped between the hungry working of his lips on hers. “Yes, I turned him down flat. Yes, I hated his judgment of my past.” She moaned as his tongue darted between her lips, tasting her sweet words of desire. “Yes, is my only answer for you…”
“Yes what, darling?” he growled into her mouth, hands skating up the linen of her shirt, down the softness of her breeches. “I want to hear just what you’re agreeing to…”
“Yes, I will meet you. Yes I want you… I have always wanted you. I never stopped wanting you…” She couldn’t stop now either, not with how her body was burning up after the day, not with how intoxicating it felt to have his mouth on hers again after so, so long. Her words, her kiss, the way her innards went molten to have him pressed so hard against her body… none it would stop now.
“Where?” he groaned into her mouth, his fangs tugging on her lower lips to make her sigh. “When?”
Gods, his hand clawed around her neck now, bringing her all the closer. Until she couldn’t tell what was his breath or hers any longer.
“I know some place quiet,” she whispered, breaking to look into his lust-glazed eyes. “Someplace we can…”
“Fuck?”
“I was going to say find some intimacy…” she gave a little giggle, deep and flirtatious in her throat.
“You know, my tent is just around the bend, darling…” his fingers, so light and so cold on her neck traced so featherlight on her skin.
“Too public, too conspicuous,” she grimaced with a pout. “And I doubt either of us will be very secretive. We have centuries to make up for.” Her lip twitched, her eyes locked into those crimson ones. For a moment, she loved them more than the old ones, the ones as deep violet as the night sky. These… these fit him. These reflected her own soul now. These echoed the blood she had been bathed in, same as him.
And he would never begrudge her that past.
“In that case…” he purred, letting her body go from the strength of his arms, “won’t you lead on?”
Cordehlia looked around, most of the Tieflings were too drunk by now to really care or comment on their moment of passion. And as for her party of companions… well they all would learn eventually.
“Take that path, follow five minutes after me,” she whispered, nodding towards the dirt road behind her. She pursed her lips and batted her eyes. “See you there, darling…”
She waited. Counting her every breath. Regretting one thing, that she had separated from him. Counting on him to come.
That ancient panic crept over her heart again. The one that had been her only companion as she had waited at the roadside for months. Clinging to his letters until they, too, were stolen from her.
All but one.
She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling where she kept it stashed away. Hidden inside her tunic. Her own little secret over the centuries. Kept close to her heart.
Didn’t even need to read it anymore to recite the lines scrawled in his unfading, neat and tidy script.
It had been the last letter to arrive. Once she had lost all hope. Once she had lost all his other letters to the winter wind.
But it was also the one that had made his disappearance, his death, filled with indescribable pain.
His words were soft, sweet seduction. Details of how he longed for her, how he was to send for her since, at last, his final, infamous case finally closed to great approval and effect. This was the one to launch him into fame and favor.
He was coming to fetch her. To marry her. To make her his.
He had written of how much he longed for her, the taste of her and not just her mouth, the heat of her skin as it had felt beneath him, the way her body had moved with him and held him that one night….
Gods, she swallowed, keeping the tears from her eyes as her heart raced.
Even now, waiting for their reunion, it was too painful to recall.
Breathing, she reminded herself he was coming. That it was better this way. That he had no memory of what once was… of what had been lost.
Something crunched behind her, making Cordehlia turn slowly, her face suddenly breaking into a smile of relief. Brilliant and shining. And wanton.
He stopped just shy of her, already so close on his silent, roguish footsteps. “There you are…” he crooned, drawing just a breath away from where she waited. “I just couldn’t wait any longer, darling, after all,” he flashed her that ravenous smirk, lowering those heavy-lidded crimson eyes scanning her up and down, “we have been waiting long enough…”
Some more than others, her mind purred in anticipation. Her breath caught in her chest as his hands wandered towards her hips. His touch was heavy, insistent. Conjuring her body to throb at the first contact he made.
“There is nothing I want more, darling Cordehlia, than to celebrate your victory, just you and me…” his touch still, his eyes widening, softened and pleading. “Assuming your answer is still that same resounding yes…”
“Yes, I am eager for your seducing,” she interjected at the same time. Her hands pulled at the edges of his tunic sneaking under the light fabric to caress him, but instantly, she felt him brace himself. Rigid even as his hands tried to flutter naturally over her own body.
“As am I,” he raped the words, letting her fingers slowly, gently. His breath was slow… measured. His stomach muscles bunched and clenched as she stroked.
He was harder than she recalled, leaner. The muscles and frame of one who was always fighting… fighting for life, for survival, not just as her ferocious rogue. His head shook a bit as her hands explored his skin, wagging back and forth as if he was drinking in her touch. “I can make you feel every inch of me, darling, if that is what you seek.”
“Gods,” she breathed, her hand tugging his shirt higher, leaning in for a kiss.
A kiss she found firm, demanding, insistent.
Distracting. His hands caughts hers, a little charming laugh on his lips and he pulled them over her own head. “Oh, my darling, my lady, you don’t lift a finger tonight,” his voice so honeyed, it almost tasted too sweet. “You don’t need to touch a thing…”
Swiftly, he backed her into the nearest tree, and her body was more than willing to respond. He was just as magnificent as she remembered, powerful and sleek.
Even more now, her centuries old vampire.
One hand pinned her arms over her head, his hips bearing into hers, rough and hard and grinding against where she ached. Where she burned for more of his seducing.
His touch wandered beneath her tunic, hard and cold, ghosting just barely over her belly and up to cradle her breast. His lips mesmerized her, pulling her into his every movement, his touch consuming her making her mind lose itself, a thrall of his body.
Before she knew it, he had thrown her shirt over her head, hands softly drawing her burnished lock free, and extra little tuck of the most errant strands behind her pointed ear before he pinned her hands above her again.
That hair tuck, the little extra brush of his fingers over the tip of her ear… it made her shiver and shudder. From pleasure. From recognition. Another thing he had done so long ago, and from the way he gazed at her with all that predatory lust that hardened his chiseled features, she doubted it meant the same to him.
But it was a tragic thought soon swallowed up as his mouth pressed against her neck. A hungry kiss, an unspoken question as he dragged his fangs over her unopened veins.
She tugged against his confining grip, managing to let one hand slip. One had she immediately ran into those silver, unruly, untamable locks to press his mouth all the closer against her skin. It was all the permission he needed, sinking his fangs into her neck with her next breath. Making a cry ring from her lips as he began to suck on her blood, his lips loud and wet as he drank her down. The feeling of that new, intoxicating union, of her blood filling his body, it once again distracted her, occupying her every sense until she realized his hands had loosened her breeches, his long, dexterous fingers slinking their way down her thigh, cupping her swollen mound.
He lifted his mouth, licking his blood red lips, like a beast that had fed and fed well. That smirk made her body quicken to life, a spasm taking her breath away, her loins clenching hard enough that he could feel it in his palm. And it only made that smirk widen, more ravenous and feral.
“Seems like you require little seducing, my sweet,” he purrs, the tip of one finger parting her folds to dip into her slick.
“Seems like you underestimate what hundreds of years of waiting will do to a female,” she panted back, trying to tug her single, remaining hand from under his iron hold.
Something softened in his face at her words, that heavy curtain of desire lifting as a gentle smile teased one corner, one still-bloodied corner, of his mouth. “You… you waited?” he whispered, the words almost stuck in his throat. Almost choking on them as he swallowed.
“Our kind… we don’t enter into the promises to marry lightly. There is magic, binding… vows that last centuries once exchanged…” Now it was her voice that stuck, his fingers stilled deep between her thighs.
“Oh, darling…” he crooned, that finger inside her curling and twisting and pumping once more. “Then I shall make this night all more delicious for you, Cordehlia…”
“Let me for you as well,” she rasped, her voice filled with the pain of all her tormentous years. “It’s like… you’re back from the dead for me.”
His face tweaked, a firmness to his lips, a menacing glint to his eye. “If only that was true…” he hissed.
Cordehlia shushed him, her free hand running her nails down his scalp, down his neck, slowly straying over his shoulders and down his back…
He snapped. Fangs bared at her touch. Growling as she touched… something on his flesh. Rises and ridges hard and puckered beneath her fingers.
“Are - are those scars?” she whispered.
“I was trying so hard,” he hissed, voice so scratched and deep it was almost hard to understand. “Hard to keep you from seeing them, from touching them…”
“I’m sorry… I didn’t…”
He spat, furious and unbridled, “Know? Of course you didn’t know… even I don’t know what they look like. It’s not like I can view the atrocity Cazador carved in my own flesh, can I?” He pulled his hand from her thighs, drawing back a step, the muscles of his chest heaving with every shaky breath he took. “It’s not like I can undo any of that, to take it all back and begin again from the life I had once…. That we had once…”
His eyes widened, softened at that.
“I know,” Cordehlia kept her distance, but she still held his gaze, as irascible and enraged and tormented as it was. “None of us can, and none of us should,” her voice was smooth, a balm to his wounds. “You would have told me the same.”
“It’s harder to enact that advice than it is to give,” he growled again. “These scars on my back… he made them over the course of a single night, carving them and recarving them each time I so much as screamed or squirmed or breathed… it was not half so cruel as making me whore myself out, seducing anyone and everyone I could to be fodder for my master’s meals, at least these wounds healed.” He shook his shoulders. “There are things I’ve done that I would never speak aloud, things I’ve had done to me that I…”
His eyes went blank. His gaze locked into the distance, staring without seeing into her face.
“Astarion, I’m so, so sorry… You need not explain…” she began, reaching a gentle hand for his cheek, to stroke his ear.
But he only recoiled, hissing like a feline and baring his teeth at her. “Perhaps you better go find a way to celebrate with someone… less…” he stopped. His face tweaked with remorse and regret. “Less dead inside,” he finished.
She slid away, giving him the space for which he asked. Grabbing a shirt from the ground, she started to return to camp. Her heart broke, her mind racing. Perhaps he was… perhaps so little remained of what he was. Perhaps she was too much of a weight on his soul, an anchor holding him down in his past and his darkness than a way for him to heal at last.
Hurriedly, she threw on the shirt, eager to leave him behind. But she froze.
It wasn’t hers.
That citrus scent. Bright and sharp and clean. The linen hanging from her frame so large, its ruffles cut so deep, her breast nearly peeked out. It was his.
With a groan, she turned on her heel. His shirt on her back was the last thing she could stomach tonight.
She returned in a moment. He had barely moved in the clearing. His back angled towards her, those scars covering every inch in jagged lines and dots and whorls. Infernal, she took note, but it wasn’t as much of a shock as what she observed in his hands.
Her shirt hung at his side, gripped tightly in his fist. And his other… it held up that nearly two-hundred year old scrap of paper. She watched his profile, his lips licking, his eyes rapidly scanning his own neat little scrawl…
“Astarion…” she breathed. His head snapping up as she approached.
“I…” he panted quickly, eyes wide in a strange sort of panic. “You… we…”
“Yes,” she smiled, a barely turned smile, one that dripped with all the sadness in her ancient heart.
“This is my handwriting,” he whispered, her footsteps cautious as she closed the distance between them. “I… I sent this. That very day I was killed and turned. I wrote this from my desk, my pen leaking from dashing it off so quickly. My heart raced with the anticipation of seeing you again… of holding you again and kissing you again and…” his mouth closed shut. A grimace of pain as he closed his eyes. As if he was feeling it all over. “…of making love with you again. As we had before I… I…”
Cordehlia’s heart rapt so fast. The thrill of his memory, the slice of agony it was conjuring between them. Forcing them both to relive those days.
“That night before you left, I wanted to give you something to remember me by, Astarion. And you, you were so proud, so eager. You couldn’t get enough that night, promising me that the next time we would join in that way, we would be one in our vows…”
She trailed off, for a moment, that memory flashed in her mind, of warm firelight in the forest… of the heat of his body covering her as he slid inside her so slowly and tenderly for the first time…. How she could feel his heart beating in his chest, like a tether crafted between their souls that sang in their blood the moment they coupled.
She realized as she looked into his eyes, he had seen it too. His eyes soft and wide as the memory passed before his vision. But that hold of the parasite was dormant. No, this was a different kind of magic. A different kind of bond.
He dropped everything from his hands, fingers clawing into the fabric of his shirt on her body, pulling it off her in a fluid motion. They crashed together, mouths and hands and bodies crushing one another. Famished for that feeling of one another again.
No more pretenses or games or seductive manipulations. No more shadows of fear. No more guilt for the phantoms of their sins and bloodshed. No longer victims or monsters or killers.
It was only them.
Only the taste of one another’s tongues. Only the hurried fumbling of their hands to slide their breeches to the ground with all their burning haste.
It was madness, maddening how just on fire her body was, how even as he laid her down in the grass and covered her with his powerful body, how every inch of his skin was so cold and smooth and hardened with muscle, he still felt so good. So familiar.
The grass on her back, the persistent grinding of his length, now hardened and freed and pulsing against her mound and stomach… it was that intoxicating mix of thrilling and healing all at once.
His mouth devoured her breath, feasting on the feeling of her tongue, her flavor, her taste consuming him.
He didn’t even once withdraw, no flinching as her hands ran up and down his back, hugging him so close, making him crush her into the earth.
And he, he couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get lost in her anymore than he already had. Every kiss, every brush of her fingers, every buck of her hips beneath him… he was found again. More found than he had felt in all those lonely years.
Her legs raised, gripping around his hips, body arching and voice crying his name for him to take her. As if he needed anything more to seduce him. A slight angling of hips, and he slid right in. It was so wet, so tight, she felt virginal still.
His. All his.
He had been between countless legs, gotten on his back a thousand times.
But this… there was nothing sullied or spoiled. Nothing like compulsion or coercion. Not even a hint or manipulation.
Just the way she felt around him, the way she looked into his eyes, those bright silver ones that refracted the starlight. She moved with him as one, every thrust sending him deeper as she bucked against him. Every arch of her back and swivel of her hips, it made his mouth water, his body humming with actual desire and need.
He couldn’t look away, even if he had wanted to. The way her face contorted and grinned and sweated… he wanted to commit every detail to his new memories. Instead of chasing the vestiges of what was. He thrust every inch of him through her, gasping every time he felt her throbbing around him. Wanting to taste her, wanting to watch her, wanting to fill her to bursting.
He wanted to satisfy her. To make her feel him fucking and fill her with so much pleasure, it was all she could think about when she looked at him with those beautiful, exacting eyes. Most of all, he wanted to come back to her after everything they had endured apart, to give her everything she had longed for all those years.
One slip of a finger between their legs, he stroked her, teasing her hard little clit with all the dexterity he could muster, so close to coming undone himself.
Her mouth flew open, voice catching and moaning and sobbing. Her body grew so warm, so wet, and every spam that consumed her as she came, every writhing twist and clench of her as he thrust… It made him smile. It made him alive. Alive enough to steal his breath as he came too, pulsing and throbbing as he filled her, exhausting him for the moment as he lowered down into her soft and yielding embrace.
He panted, forehead pressed against her temple, nose tucked neatly against her chin. Licking his lips, he smelled her scent. That meadow-flowered freshness that instantly filled him with those new-found memories. Her veins throbbed against his face, her heart beating so hard, for a moment, he thought it was his own.
Back from the dead.
“Gods,” he swallowed, out of breath and unable to raise his head. “That was…”
Her hands lifted the deadweight of his head, bringing his still-suffocated mouth to her own. “Shhh,” she smiled into pursing lips. “Just do it again, please.”
“With pleasure,” was all he could manage in reply.
💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞
Thank you for all the comments and notes! I do so love seeing your reactions and favorite parts… and this one is a doozy 💞
#enemies to lovers#etl Astarion#astarion smut#astarion x female tav#astarion x f!tav#astarion x female oc#astarion x tav#astarion baldurs gate#astarion romance#baldurs gate astarion#baldur’s gate astarion#baldur's gate 3 astarion#astarion fic#astarion fanfic#bg3 astarion#astarion bg3#astarion#astarion ancunin#baldurs gate smut#baldur’s gate spoilers#baldur’s gate iii#baldursgate3#baldur gate 3#baldur’s gate 3#baldur‘s gate#baldurs gate 3#baldur's gate#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate#baldur's gate iii
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༻ 3 Nights ༺ part 8
Gortash x fem Tav —mini series Explicit 18+
Summary: Gortash invites Tav to stay 3 days at his palace for the sake of an alliance. Reluctantly, she compromises for peace and it becomes an experience they won’t forget.
Part one -> here <-
Tav reached out for a drink from the waiter, smiling to faces familiar and unfamiliar as she limped barely in a dress.
Tav’s never been stabbed so deeply, and it was a feeling she never felt before. A sharp burning, yet then a warmth all over the body. It was strange, and she was lucky to have some of the best healers around. She could’ve died in battle. But here Tav was instead, in a beautiful red dress, limping at a party dedicated to the hero’s of Baldur’s Gate.
She took big sips and allowed the burn of the alcohol sit in her stomach. It eased the pain away from the otherwise throbbing stab wound on her side.
After defeating the netherbrain, Tav’s group returned back to the palace, victorious and hailed as heroes by the people. The once dark and menacing palace was now filled with light and joy as the citizens celebrated their newfound freedom. Gortash ordered a grand ball to be prepared, inviting all the leaders of neighboring kingdoms to join in the celebration.
Tav wrinkled her eyes, trying to keep an eased expression on her face. She downed her drink before cleaning her composure at the sight of a familiar face.
It was Gortash, surprisingly groomed in a classy black embroidered jacket. He looked incredibly handsome.
“I didn’t expect you to be here. I’m glad you could make it.” His broad shoulders seemed to hover over Tav’s body, and despite his intimidating aura Gortash softened his gaze at her.
His eyes narrowed in a relief expression, “Your side...Does it hurt?”
“Like hell.” Tav scuffed with a chuckle, “I’m a special guest, I couldn’t miss this.”
~ 3 Weeks Before The Ball
The emperor Twisted his dagger deep into Tav on the battlefield. The sheer anger dug so deep from betrayal and Tav fell back onto the floor. Of course, this was because they had free’d Orpheus.
Shadowheart quickly called upon their trusted ally Isobel for healing. And Isobel wasted no time in tending to Tav's wounds.
Isobel's healing magic flowed through Tav's body, easing her pain and giving her the strength to push through. It was a grueling process, but Tav gritted her teeth and held on, determined to survive the betrayal and emerge victorious.
Everyone pulled out every skill they knew to defeat the Netherbrain. It was one hell of a fight and at the end of it all, they found themselves at the city's docks; staring out onto the ocean. The dragons flew across the sky and Tav felt the overwhelming happiness blur her eyes.
However the pain slowly started to seep back into her bones. Tav let out a painful cry, feeling the sharp sting of her wound. The metallic taste of blood filled Tav's mouth as she collapsed onto her knees, her once pristine armor was now drenched in crimson. She gritted her teeth, trying to fight through the pain, but it was too much. Her body was wilting, and she could feel her strength slipping away.
Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, she heard Wyll's voice calling out to her. She turned her head to see him rushing towards her, his expression filled with worry and fear. He grabbed her trembling body, trying to offer some form of support.
Tav's eyes drifted upwards, fixated on the bright blue sky. It seemed so peaceful and serene, a stark contrast to the chaos and violence that surrounded her.
But even as she lay there, weak and injured, more faces filled her vision. There was Halsin, Shadowheart, Karlach, and then Enver. They all appeared before her, their voices blending together in a blur. Tav tried to keep track, but her body was failing her. And as the darkness began to creep in at the edges of her vision, she knew she couldn't hold on any longer.
It was like Tav was falling into a black abyss, every little word or noise echoed all around her and memories flashed before her eyes.
Tav gasped.
Her body sweated and drenched her clothes as she laid in a bed, around her was littered with medical supplies and potions.
“Tav! Thanks, gods you’re okay.” Shadowheart poked her head into the bedroom. Shadowheart ran over and placed a cool rag over Tav’s forehead. “It got real bad for a second there…That damn Emporer,” she admitted as sadness washed over Shadowheart's eyes.
“I -“ Tav winced loudly cutting her words off as she tried to sit up, “Don’t even remember getting here.”
Tav rubbed her eyes and blinked aimlessly, "Where's everyone..?"
"Well... Karlach and Wyll left together to Avernus, Halsin returned home as did Gale, Lae'zel left with Orpheus, and Astarion is probably hiding in the darkest corner right now."
The crown was returned to Mystra. Gortash quickly realized that his actions would only lead to chaos and death and that his best course of action was to step back and allow Mystra to resume her rightful place to destroy the evil magic.
It was instinctive, to choose survival, and strategic to keep power.
"Oh.." There was a sadness that stung in Tav's chest. It was over. Everyone she called 'friend' was returning to their lives or starting a new one.
“Tav!” A voice startled her eyes opened and it was a pleasant surprise.
“Hey, you…” Tav half smiled through the sharp pain, "Not the prettiest view, I know." She joked shallowly.
Gortash rushed into the room, his heart pounding in fear as he saw Tav lying in the bed, pale with messy hair. He did not waste time planting a passionate kiss on her lips.
"I don't care about that," he said, taking a seat on the bed's edge. "You were drenched in blood, and your skin went pale, I thought maybe it would be the last time I saw you." His voice became low.
Gortash gently took Tav's hand, relieved to feel a weak squeeze in return. "I would much rather see you like this, than like that," His broad frame hovered over Tav's body. "I am just grateful that you are still alive."
He didn't care that Shadowheart was there, with a surprised look on her face from his sudden softness.
"Well - this adventure has shown me lots of surprises. This is certainly one of them." Shadowheart crossed her arms with a knowing smile. She nodded quietly at Tav before leaving them to their privacy.
"I'm happy you came." Tav gently rested her free hand on his injured one, "Thank you."
His expression turned to confusion and disbelief as he processed the words Tav had just spoken. "You're thanking me?" he asked, his lips frowning and his head shaking. "But why? I would have died without you. It was your trust in me, despite your objectively foolish choice, that saved my life."
Tav's naivety and trust led her to place her faith in Gortash, despite all logical reasoning. And yet, it was also this same trait that had allowed Tav to take a leap of faith and ultimately save his life.
Gortash sighed, "And I am forever grateful for - your stupidity." It was a statement filled with sincerity and appreciation; even if he sucked at it with words.
Tav rolled her eyes playfully, "You're horrible with gratitude, but you're welcome, Enver."
Gortash's eyes softened as his name left Tav's lips. He brought her hands to his face and kissed the bruised skin.
"I suppose you still want me to become part of your court...Im not sure if -"
"No. I cannot engage in any business discussions when you are like this." He lowered her hands and gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. Gortash looked into Tav's eyes, relieved that she was even alive, he knew that nothing else mattered at that moment. Gortash was grateful for her safety and well-being, and he could not bring himself to discuss anything else until she was in a better state.
~Back to the present
"Indeed, you are special." Gortash held out his arm inviting her and Tav hooked her arms around his. She limped a little less as he held some weight off her feet.
Some guests turned their heads in interest, silently wondering about the nature of their relationship. As they made their way through the room, Tav noticed the various reactions. Some wore surprised expressions, others showed jealousy, while some seemed completely baffled.
Tav felt her face flush with a hint of embarrassment, and she wondered what was going through their minds. Tav couldn't blame them for being curious, but it still made her feel uncomfortable.
It was a strange feeling. Tav was sent to kill Gortash and release the city from his binds and treachery. She betrayed herself, and maybe some of her companions but she couldn't explain the way Gortash went soft for her. Only her. Maybe with better influence, he could really thrive, despite his horrible demeanor.
But Gortash remained unfazed, confidently leading her through the room. His nonchalant attitude added to the mystery surrounding their relationship. And he could feel Tav's hold become tighter.
Gortash looked down at her and nudged his head, "Uncomfortable, my dear? Let us get some privacy."
Tav's eyebrows curved up in a softened expression. Thank Gods.
Gortash guided Tav away from the loud and chaotic room, filled with loud music and prying eyes. As they distanced themselves from the overwhelming atmosphere, he lifted her gently into his arms. Tav couldn't keep up with his fast steps. He pitied her.
Gortash carried Tav onto the balcony and was greeted by a stunning view of the garden. The lush greenery and colorful flowers filled the air with a sweet, floral scent.
Tav carefully sank her footing until her feet were firmly planted on the balcony floor. She then leaned over the railing, taking in the beauty of the garden. Gortash soon joined her, propping his elbows on the balcony and admiring the scenery beside her. They stood in silence, mesmerized.
"There is so much in this world I can offer to it." He stared off onto the night sky, "I've been cheated of my life many times, and every time I have prevailed." His head slowly turned to Tav's side, "That must mean something?"
"Of course. You were meant to be here. You are an inventor at heart but I wished you would be more...ethical in your work."
Gortash scuffed as a smirk played on his lips, "Life is unfair, isn't it."
Tav's expression shifted as she scrunched her lips to the side and furrowed her brows in a pout, "Life is what you make of it."
"Not everyone is an optimistic hero that goes and swooping down to save anyone." He paused, his voice firm and unwavering, "I didn't have you. I didn't have a choice. But I refused to be a mere pawn in the hands of a devil. I made a conscious decision to rise above my circumstances and become something more. I made me."
He continued, "A forgotten child. A slave. A follower. A tyrant."
Tav tilted her head with a pang of sadness. Without hesitation, she extended her hand toward him, "While this may be your reality, remember that you still have the power to decide your future," she said gently. "You can choose a different path."
"It's more complicated than that, Tav."
"Then -" She leaned her head on his shoulder, "Let us figure it out together."
"Like I said: Optimistic hero." He closed his eyes and smiled sarcastically, "I don't know if I should hate or admire it."
"You don't have to understand." Tav nudged her head against his arm, "Some things are not meant to understand, but you would be lucky too one day, I hope."
"You know, people say I have magical foresight" Tav teased him.
"No one says that- "
"How would you know, you're practically a princess locked away in her tower."
Gortash laughed at Tav's sassiness, finding her wit and boldness amusing.
The moment went silent around them as they enjoyed each other's company. The ballroom's music crept into the air, and Gortash then stepped away from the balcony and held out his hand, "A dance, little hero?"
"O-Ohh noo, Enever, I'm not much of a dancer." Tav playfully waved her hands back and forth while shaking her head and wearing a wide grin.
He shrugged, "Neither am I."
Tempting. Tav softened her smile as her heart jumped out of her chest. She hesitantly took Gortash's hand in hers and he pulled her body closer.
His hand fell at Tav's waist. Without thinking, he began to sway from side to side, moving in a small waltz-like motion. Gortash wanted to take things slow, not wanting to hurt her stab wound in any way.
Plus, It helped him mask his horrible dancing.
Tav's foot accidentally stepped on his toes, and she was mortified with embarrassment.
Gortash chuckled to himself. It wasn't serious, Tav was just as lacking as he was. Despite being messy, sloppy, and dysfunctional, their dance became smoother eventually, with their feet perfectly in sync.
Tav rested her head on Gortash's shoulder, her hand on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as they danced.
As the song came to an end, Tav lifted her head and looked into Gortash's eyes. She smiled and gently placed her hand on his face, running her thumb over his cheek.
Gortash exhaled and leaned into her touch. "You look beautiful tonight, Tav," he said, his deep voice filled with admiration.
Tav blushed and looked down, her red dress swaying with their movements. "Thank you," she said softly, feeling her heart flutter at his words.
"It's my favorite color on you," Gortash continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "You always look stunning, but there's something about you in red that's so alluring."
Gortash leaned down and captured Tav's lips in a gentle kiss. It was a soft, sweet kiss that sent shivers down her spine.
His hands moved to her shoulders, holding her firmly as he deepened the kiss. Tav's heart raced and she felt his lips move against hers, their bodies still swaying to the music.
His tongue crept into Tav's mouth and intertwined with hers. Gortash savored the taste of her lips, which he had been longing for ever since they last had sex.
When they pulled away, Tav's eyes met Gortash's, and she could see the lust in his eyes. He held her face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks.
"So what will it be now, between us?" His voice fell low, and Tav could've sworn she felt the nervousness exude from him. His gaze became increasingly cold, almost like he was preparing himself for the worst.
"Whatever you want it to be," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Their breaths mingled in the air.
"I want you."
Tav gently placed her hand over his, intertwining their fingers as she spoke, "Then you'll have me."
"But let's take this slow - I want to get to know you more outside these damn walls." Tav stifled a small laugh and met Gortash's eyes, waiting to see how he would react.
Gortash gently nodded his head, a small smile forming on his lips and his eyes welcoming. He agreed and reached out and traced Tav's lips with his thumb, his touch gentle and tender.
"I will do my best to make you happy and protect you at all costs."
They continued to dance on the balcony, lost in each other's embrace and the magic of the moment. The music faded into the background as they kissed and held each other, not knowing what this 'love' was. But they were damn well going to find out together.
As the stars twinkled above them, Gortash leaned in and kissed Tav softly, sealing their newfound alliance and love for each other. And in that moment, they knew that they were meant to rule together, side by side.
~The End
T - T Aw, this was my first every mini-series, and ah<3 It's time to move on.. This was fun to imagine in my room late at night just typing like a madman.. Definitely not my last series! I'm currently writing another Gortash x durge Tav called Blood Bond and requests :'))))
But I hope everyone enjoyed and for those who stuck around, Much appreciated :*<3
#bg3 fanfiction#bg3 tav#bg3 fic#bg3#enver gortash#gortash x durge#dark urge x gortash#tav x gortash#gortash smut#gortash x tav#gortash x reader#lord gortash#bg3 gortash#gortash x oc
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Love confession prompts:
#8 Tears drench your cheeks as you confess. The last thing you hear before dying is them screaming your name
Mor and Andromache (her mortal lover ) 👉🏻👈🏻
If anyone can, it's you.💖
I’m sorry this took me so long to write this but I actually really enjoyed doing so! Even though this was probably the first thing I’ve ever written that brought me close to tears.
So I guess sorry for the lateness as well as the pain this may inflict… enjoy?
Love Confession prompts list
Love Confession master list
Morrigan always knew she’d go down like this. Drenched in her own blood as well as that of their enemy’s, swinging wildly to protect those she loved most.
Cassian had fallen. Like a mighty hero, he had taken down no less than four dozen warriors with him in a fantastic display of unrivaled valor and brute strength. From that final act alone, she knew his name would become legend, spoken in revered tones for eternity. Much like the warriors of Illyria he idolized before him.
Azriel had followed not too far behind him. Bellowing in anguish as his brother fell, he had hurled himself sacrificially into the fray, his shadows spearing from him like vipers just as the cobalt blast from his siphons had decimated the earth. She’d never heard such an tortured cry. The cry of a man losing the closest thing he had had to a brother, a kindred soul, someone who knew his every scar and sharp edge and could match them with his own. His shadows had dispersed in an explosion of dark mist, like trapped demons finally released to the heavens as his beautiful body lay broken in the crater he had blasted.
Her heart shattered irreparably as those crimson and cobalt siphons spluttered and dimmed for the final time.
Her cousin was battling across the muddied plain, almost unrecognisable as his beast form had morphed his usually handsome features into wicked looking black scales and sharp talons tipped his fingers. His deep well of power was flagging, his misting power now only reaching a small radius around him and his mate. Feyre fought at his back gallantly, standing shoulder to shoulder with her husband. Stoically defending all they stood for on the front lines, all they had built, in their beloved Court of Dreams.
Another firebird swooped on her left, Morrigan ducking just in time to avoid being scorched by the bespelled woman. They were his soldiers now, after all. The cursed ladies of Kochei’s lake. Vassa unwittingly among them.
Mor picked herself up off the ground, her hands sinking into the bloodied mud beneath her as she stumbled to her feet, tired and aching from hours of battle. But she would not surrender yet. She would not allow herself to die for nothing. Would not let her family’s sacrifice be in vain.
For at the end, everyone always thought of their family. Their loved ones. But for Morrigan it was not the memories of the abhorrent ilk in the Court of Nightmares of which she had been born into that eddied in her mind. No. It was the family she had found. The family she had chosen for herself after years of having no choice at all. It was of Rhys and Amren. Of Cassian and Azriel. Feyre and Elain and Nesta. And of course… Andromache.
Her sweet, beloved Andromache.
Andromache, whom she had only been granted a cruel, tauntingly brief amount of time to love. But she had never felt anything more intense. Nothing had ever been more real. Or deep.
No matter how far and wide she searched in the centuries that followed her lover’s death, nothing ever came close to that soul-deep feeling of belonging. She had loved Andromache for many years after the human queen had passed from the mortal world. Perhaps she would be reunited with her in the afterlife. Soon. So very soon.
A guttural cry croaked from her dry throat as she swung her arm again and again and again, her longsword slamming into shields and armoured bodies alike. Flaying and slicing and ripping. Soldiers of rotted flesh and burning feathers fought back. The fray on the battlefield truly chaotic now as bodies piled up where she stood, engulfing her senses. If she could help only Feyre and Rhys survive, then her sacrifice would be worth it.
Daring a glace toward her High Lord and Lady, Mor screamed. One single, desperate shout of warning across the battlefield. Rhys’ violet eyes flashed to hers, reading every emotion on her face as he struck behind him, just in time to skewer the foolishly brazen warrior attempting to attack Feyre. Rhys’ dark power sent a bolt through the soldier’s chest, halting his advances immediately as his body was reduced to nothing but a plume of smoke and ashes before he’d had the chance to tumble to the ground.
Rhys shot her a tired grimace from across the battlefield just before his eyes widened in horror… Just as Mor felt a blade pierce her side. Her ribs cracking open as they were left unchecked in her distraction.
A novice mistake, and a fatal one. She crumpled wordlessly to the ground, Rhys’ resounding scream ringing across the gore filled plains. An echo to the cries that had ripped from his chest as his brothers had fallen hours before.
Ruby red blood bubbled from her lips as her vision went hazy, hot tears born of something akin to relief streaming down her grimy cheeks. It wasn’t as painful as she thought it would be, dying. It was cold, but a sweet voice was calling her.
Morrigan. Morrigan. Morrigan.
She closed her eyes as she welcomed her passage into that land of milk and honey. Sent a final prayer to the Mother, beseeching her remaining family’s protection as she followed her queen to their final resting place. Took her last breath as she heard her lover calling her name, as sweet and luring as the siren’s song, guiding her to eternal paradise.
*******
tagging: @offtorivendell @fawnandshadows @the-laughing-bubble @swankii-art-teacher @pagemasters @sakurakittypeach @tswaney17 @thefangirlofhp @wingedblooms @alwayssara @ultadverb
#love confession prompts#prompt fill#mor x andromache#acotar drabble#t writes#acotar#it’s angstttttttt#*nervous laughter*
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Currently thinking about the ideal relationship dynamic:
“I have been roland, beowulf, achilles, gilgamesh; i have been called a hundred names and will be called a thousand more before the world goes dim and cold. i am a hero.
she has been nameless since our birth; a constant adversary, caring for nothing but my ruin, a sword drenched in my blood; forever my greatest and only love. she is the dark one; the enemy and lover without whom my very existence would be pathetic and vulgar. her eyes steam and boil in the night (she is fantastically beautiful yet i cannot stand the sight of her). our relationship is complex and perhaps eternal.
our reunions there are epic battles fought without quarter, often in the dark as the moon is seldom visible and the sun never. i powder a granite monument in a soundless flash, showering the grass with molten drops of its gold inlay, sending smoking chips of stone skipping into the fog. she splinters an ancient oak with a force that takes my breath and hurls me to the ground. she leaves and i lie in the slow rain of burning slivers of wood, staring at the low, dark clouds, craving our next meeting.”
The Unformatted ‘Kill Your Television’ Terminal from Marathon 2: Durandal
This one applies to like, half of my OTPs (looking at you, Revalek. Holy fuck) and I’m pretty sure that means something not good.
We need more romance stories about ontologically opposing nemeses who cannot extricate their essences from the conflicts and forbidden passions they have with one another
#revalek#ship dynamics#romantic relationships#marathon#enemies and lovers#god dude I need a nemesis so fucking bad you have absolutely zero idea
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"warmth" for the writing prompt :)
i have written so much abt that first durge scene i will now write abt smth else i promise 🥺 u can trust me 🥺🥺☺️🔪
there’s a snake curled around the shoulders of a weeping child. there’s a snake in the heart of the grove. there’s a poison, dripping into the hearts of these wild folk, that makes them wilder. feral.
on another day, dante might have admired it.
today, however, they are of the opinion that one mind lost is more than enough. dante eyed the woman draped in her poison green, envy green, her perfect hair and sneer. they lifted their hand from their blade.
‘there’s still time to stop this.’
kagha’s sneer deepened. ‘why would i do that? you devils—we didn’t ask for you to come here, we didn’t want you.’ she’s so furious that spittle bubbles at her lips as she hisses the words. magic bubbles at her fingertips.
‘kagha, what is the meaning of this? does the rite do what they say it does? you cannot… you must see reason,’ the horned druid pleads. he falls silent as the added curls around his boot.
‘reason? you think i do not see reason?’ the words left her with the deadly quiet of a winding serpent. ‘i ssee the weight of these interlopers on us every day. our people go hungry. risk discovery and destruction to protect these strangers who do nothing but ssteal and sslink about our most ssacred pool.’ the snake had now wound up to proud-horned rath’s knee. ‘i ssee that halssin left us with the duty to protect ourselves—abandoned his post, his people, to play hero in the mud ssearching for worms. i am protecting our people. you are the one who ought see reason, rath.’
they were pretty enough words. dante could see how they would sway someone who was already falling from their path.
‘you are a druid of silvanus,’ they reminded her. was it their imagination, or did some confusion flicker in those poisonous eyes? ‘you hold to the tenets he left.’
‘of course!’
‘then you are not a shadow druid,’ dante told her simply. ‘you do not have to obey them. you shouldn’t.’
the words of the plaques were easily to summon; songs, stories, were their bread and butter. they recited them easily—and watched the horror creep across kagha’s face. what were these druids but protectors against the dark? since the beginning, they had opposed the shadow. poor thing. yet better still than dante, with her hands unstained.
‘the rite…we could cleanse it. the power - it - it is meant to protect us!’
‘you’ll be very safe,’ dante allowed. ‘in your grove of shadow and thorns. believe me when i say that some description is worse than mere death.’
kagha flinched. her eyes flickered from dante to the pack of rats to the deep green shade of her vine-wrapped grove. could she see the horror that would break through her world? thorns like blades slicing through the earth, the pillars cracking, the blood spilled. the beautiful screams.
‘i—by the oak, what have i done?’
betrayer, the monster crooned. kill. eat the heart of the heartless one.
go fuck yourself, dante thought back as powerfully as they were able.
a smile flickered at the corner of dante’s mouth. it was starting to be truly fun, ignoring the monster within. how it howled, tearing at their soft insides.
‘end the ritual. hold the path until i bring halsin back. keep the refugees safe. and kagha,’ dante waited until she met their eyes. ‘no more names. not foul blood, not devil, not hellspawn. refugees, if you do not know their names.’
‘y-yes. yes you’re right.’
‘believe me when i say it is harder to resist killing you than it would be to end your life.’ she did not look comforted by their words. good. dante hadn’t meant to be comforting. they could not forget tiny arabella, shaking, fangs at her throat. ‘and if you mean to prove your change of heart, i believe these rats are about to try and kill us. you as well.’
//
they were quite drenched in blood and mud when they walked from the grove, boots slapping wet against the stone. arabella’s parents had that look about them where they could see nothing awful about dante at all—just a hero standing in front of them, the one who saved their daughter.
a tiny spark of something kindled in their chest.
dante’s fingers pressed to the padding of their jerkin. to disguise the gesture, they bowed to the grateful pair.
‘thank you, oh thank you—i swear she’ll never steal again, we were terrified—she could have killed you, arabella! oh please—’
the mother grabbed dante’s hand. a bold move. they held very still. she had lovely horns and kind eyes. loathing clawed at their throat. if she knew what they were… hero? ha!
‘you saved my baby,’ she told them. ‘take this. please.’
a locket dropped into dante’s palm. it had the glimmer of magic, and the metal rasp of age.
‘what-‘ dante cleared their throat. ‘what is this?’
‘a pittance. in return for her life.’
‘i didn’t do it for a reward.’
the mother smiled. squeezed their hand. and then the father—who also didn’t have any cautionary sense not to approach and touch the very bloodied murderer—grabbed their shoulder and pulled them into a hug.
‘it is not payment, my friend. this is our thanks—a meagre offering. you cannot know how grateful we are.’ he ruffled his daughters hair.
dante stared. had anyone ever touched them that gently? had they had a father? a mother?
‘thank you,’ they croaked, and reached out with their magic to explore it. watched as lights like fireflies began to pour from the latch of the locket. ‘oh,’ they murmured. ‘beautiful.’
arabella laughed, as one of the lights buzzed past her ear. she followed the path of the dancing orbs with clear delight.
dante frowned. knelt.
arabella swayed forward to smile, fanged, right in their face. ‘hi! thanks for saving me! i promise,’ she lied, with a glance back to her parents, ‘I’ll never steal anything every again.’
‘i’m sure,’ dante agreed, trying not to laugh. they turned the locket over in their hand. ‘this is a very kind gift,’ they said, making sure her parents could hear. ‘but i cannot accept it.’ they picked it up by the chain and carefully, slowly, passed it over the nubs of her horns and over her head, letting it rest around her neck. ‘there are things we do because we are heroes and fighters and all those things are very fun and we get lots of treasure. and there are things we do because we are alive, and have hearts in our chests,’ dante said, and cuffed her very gently about the ear. ‘saving naughty child in over their heads is one of those. so you keep this close. and be careful. and check for traps.’
her parents sighed.
arabella grinned. ‘thank you!’
‘you’re welcome, little one. be smarter.’
‘i will!’
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I was today years old when I found out that cornflowers can also be white/purple and pink.
My first instinct was to never refer to Jaskier’s eyes as being the colour of cornflowers again. My second instinct was to write this instead:
Soulmate AU
word count: ~3k
pairing: Geraskier
Content warnings: blood, injuries
The Colour of Cornflowers
Jaskier’s eyes were the colour of the sky, of the sea, of sapphires. At least that was what people said, when they tried and often succeeded in wooing Jaskier. People who had been lucky enough to have found their soulmates and foolish enough to risk that happiness for a bard who would leave them come the morning.
Geralt would never understand those people. They had something so precious, so special and they were willing to throw it away for a pretty pair of eyes.
Geralt never understood those comparisons to sky, sea and sapphire either, and not only just because he had never seen the colour of either of those things. They just sounded so… cliché. As if someone tried painfully hard to sound like a poet. And didn’t the sky change colour during the dawn or at night? Did every body of water have the same colour? And didn’t some lord or another once proudly present his differently coloured sapphires, knowing full well that Geralt wasn’t able to distinguish between them anyway?
And he never would. It wasn’t uncommon for people to never see the world in colour – soulmates were rare and it wasn’t unheard of that some people lost all sight of colour after rejecting their soulmates for whatever reason.
But all of those people could at least still hope to have the world burst into colour at some point in their lives. Unlike Geralt.
“It is a mercy,” Vesemir had said when he had explained to the frightened boys that would become witchers or die in the trials that they would lose the ability to ever find their soulmates, “that you won’t have to go through that. You won’t get distracted by searching for them. And you won’t get your hearts broken.”
Because even then, Vesemir hadn’t made them believe what everyone else accepted as fact: That witchers didn’t feel, didn’t love.
Vesemir had known better. And he had known that that didn’t change a damn thing. A witcher would fall in love all he wanted, no one would ever accept a witcher’s love.
When Geralt had been younger, he had told himself he would be different. He had thought himself a knight that would one day rescue a damsel or meet a stable boy who loved horses as much as he did. He had thought they might fall in love – for who wouldn’t want to love a hero? – and they would be happy together, Destiny and soulmates be damned.
And then he had saved his first damsel. When she had seen his face, she had screamed and vomited and passed out. And Geralt for the first time understood what Vesemir had meant when he had said it was a mercy not knowing one’s soulmate.
Whoever was cursed to be a witcher’s soulmate, they would draw back in horror once they saw the sickly yellow of their eyes – at least that was how Geralt’s eyes had been described to him – and they would reek of fear rather than of love when they realised just whom Destiny had bound them to.
No human should have to get punished with such a fate. And Geralt knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from shattering if he ever saw disgust on his soulmate’s face.
So it was better that he would never know if he ever met them. It was better that he would never see the colour of Jaskier’s eyes.
He didn’t need to anyway. People never shut up about them, after all.
Between all of those descriptions that made Geralt want to roll his eyes, there was one that somehow got stuck in his mind, no matter how he wanted to shake it off.
Cornflowers.
For some reason it sounded right. Geralt was sure a poet, or even just about any man who was better with words than him, would be able to create a beautiful and meaningful connection between Jaskier and the preciousness of gems, the ever-moving sea or the freedom of the sky or other such sappy nonsense.
But cornflowers…Jaskier had named himself after a flower, hadn’t he? And cornflowers weren’t so different from buttercups. He had heard farmers complain about them, about how difficult they were to get rid of once they had started sprouting in their fields.
Geralt’s lips had twitched upwards when he had heard that and looked at Jaskier who had returned his side-eye with a cheeky wink, as if he knew exactly that Geralt was thinking about the way Jaskier had attached himself to Geralt no matter how hard he had tried to prevent that.
He tried no longer.
He had grown used to Jaskier’s presence. No, it was more than that. He had gotten to appreciate it. To enjoy the humming and chattering. To relish in the feeling of Jaskier running his fingers through Geralt’s hair. To feel his stomach twist in anticipation when he saw Jaskier again after months spent apart.
And when they were apart, Geralt found himself looking at cornflowers, unable to stop his lips from twitching into a soft smile. He might not be able to see their colour and never would, but that didn’t change the fact that they reminded him of Jaskier and of how he hadn’t drawn back in disgust or flinch from his touch even once.
Of course it helped that Jaskier had never seen his eyes in colour either. He couldn’t have. Because if he did, then surely he would have reacted in some way. No one, not even Jaskier was that good an actor.
True, his songs about Geralt often featured descriptions of his eyes – of honey, gold and sunflowers – but Geralt didn’t need to see colours to know that those descriptions were ludicrous. Predatory, sickly, creepy. That was how his eyes were normally described. Jaskier must have just heard the word ‘yellow’ and then asked other people for other, more pleasant things of the same colour. For surely, no one who had ever seen his eyes as they really were would think of something so kind that the first time Geralt had heard it, he had to leave the room for he was sure that he wasn’t able to keep the fondness and admiration he felt in that moment out of his eyes.
Fleeing hadn’t helped, of course. Jaskier didn’t need to sing of honey-eyes or silver moonlight-hair to make Geralt’s chest clench and his fingers itch to reach out and pull Jaskier close.
A single smile from him was enough. A quiet moment shared by a fire. Laughter and bad jokes as they travelled side by side.
Witchers could love and in those moments, Geralt was more thankful that fact than he had ever been for anything else. Loving Jaskier was beautiful.
And it was the most painful and terrifying thing Geralt could imagine.
Never in his life had Geralt been as scared as he had been when he had seen Jaskier run towards him while he was in the middle of a fight. For a terrifying moment, when the griffin’s talons had hit their mark and torn deep gashes into Jaskier’s chest, he had thought this was it. This was how Jaskier died. Because of him.
But as Geralt had dropped to his knees next to him, pressing his hands against the wounds and pleading with Jaskier to stay with him, Jaskier hadn’t blamed him, hadn’t yelled at him or tried to evade his touch. Instead he had lifted one of Geralt’s hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against it, heedless of the blood sticking to them.
Jaskier’s eyes had fallen shut and Geralt’s blood had run cold.
His eyes had opened again, later, when Geralt had bandaged up his wounds and brushed his hair out of his forehead tenderly, the same way Jaskier sometimes did with Geralt’s hair when he woke up, drenched in sweat and with his heart racing from a nightmare about the trials, about the day he had lost all hope of ever finding his soulmate.
When Jaskier’s eyes had fluttered open and his face had broken into a smile so soft as if Geralt was the most beautiful sight Jaskier could imagine, Geralt had known. He could never let something like this happen again. As long as Jaskier was with Geralt, he was in danger.
But Geralt had also known that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of Jaskier – neither would he be strong enough to push him away, nor would Jaskier ever willingly go.
Not until Geralt did the unthinkable. Through friendship, through deadly injuries and insults being spat at them, Jaskier stayed with Geralt. But even he had his limits. Even he wouldn’t be able to stay with a witcher, knowing he was loved by him. By a mutant, monster, butcher.
Geralt knew it, the world knew it and surely Jaskier himself knew it too: Jaskier deserved better than someone like him, better than being loved by someone like him. Confessing his feelings to Jaskier would be the last straw that would finally make Jaskier act upon this knowledge and go find someone good enough for him. Someone who wouldn’t put him in danger. Perhaps even someone who could tell Jaskier that his eyes looked like cornflowers and see it too.
Geralt knew that saying the words would irrevocably drive Jaskier from his side. He knew the moment of rejection and disgust would forever be branded in his mind. It would be the thing Geralt would remember when he got injured on a hunt while knowing that Jaskier wouldn’t be waiting for him with a worried look and tender touches.
And yet. Geralt couldn’t bring himself to just say it. He only got one chance to tell Jaskier how he felt, and although it would end in Geralt being shattered and alone, he wanted to relish the moment, the chance to let himself believe for even just a moment that Jaskier wouldn’t push himself away.
So Geralt waited and planned. A part of him knew that he was selfish, that he was only drawing this out so that he would get to keep Jaskier by his side a little longer. Another part of him wanted it to be perfect. He wanted Jaskier to think back to Geralt and remember someone who had tried despite everything to give Jaskier a confession that he deserved.
Except, Geralt wouldn’t ever be able to give such a thing to Jaskier. He wasn’t good enough for him and neither would anything he could ever give him be.
He didn’t have poetic words or grand gestures.
A simple gesture would have to be enough. Maybe it would even help to make Jaskier leave.
It was pure coincidence that they passed the field that day. Jaskier’s hair was lighter than normal in the sun and his smile was bright and easy. Geralt let himself look at him like this one last time. Jaskier was beautiful. Too beautiful for someone like Geralt.
Geralt shouldn’t get to keep him. He had to do it. Now.
Taking a shaking breath and clenching his jaw as if that would stop his hands from trembling, he bent down and plucked the cornflowers right out of the field.
To Geralt they were different shades of grey, ranging from almost white to dark grey, but to anyone else, they would be blue. Like Jaskier’s eyes.
As much as Geralt had always told himself that it was a good thing that he wasn’t Jaskier’s soulmate, he now wished more than anything, that he would have gotten to see the colour of Jaskier’s. He didn’t need to see the world in colour. Knowing blue would have been enough. Then he would have more than grey flowers to remind himself of Jaskier when he was gone.
“Jaskier.” His voice came out slightly hoarse and he had to clear his throat.
It was of no use. As soon as Jaskier turned around and laid eyes on the flowers Geralt held out to him, his throat tightened again.
At the same time, Jaskier’s eyes darted between the flowers and Geralt’s face, searching for something, looking almost achingly hopeful. Though for what, Geralt couldn’t tell. Perhaps Jaskier was for once silently pleading Geralt not to continue talking.
He did it anyway.
“Jaskier, I…these are for you.”
He took a step closer to Jaskier, half-expecting him to draw back. Instead Jaskier too came towards him with hesitant wonder in his eyes and took the flowers from Geralt’s hands. Their fingers brushed and the simple touch sent a jolt through Geralt. This would be the last time he would ever get to feel Jaskier’s skin against his.
“Geralt.” Jaskier sounded choked and there was a watery shine to his eyes that made Geralt’s chest tight and his now empty hands ball helplessly into fists. “Those are beautiful.”
“Like you,” Geralt said, before he had time to think and swallow the words. “Like your eyes. They – cornflowers. They look like your eyes.”
Jaskier stared at him for a long moment but he didn’t move. Geralt knew he had to say more, had to get Jaskier to turn tail and leave Geralt behind, but the words got stuck in his throat and burned like shards of glass cutting into him.
Still, as the moment dragged on, it seemed that Geralt didn’t need to say anything else. Jaskier let out a strangled sound, clearly supressing something else. Not for long, though. Not a heartbeat later, a laugh tumbled from Jaskier’s lips and once that first chuckle was out, he wouldn’t stop himself.
Ice pierced Geralt’s heart and he had to look away. For the first time he couldn’t bear to look at the way Jaskier’s face lit up as he laughed. He should have known. Jaskier was kind, but he was also expressive beyond believe. Geralt had no doubt that he would have tried to let him down gently, but it seemed that the idea of a witcher trying to be romantic was too ridiculous for even Jaskier to keep his composure.
“Oh, oh Geralt,” Jaskier said in between laughs, gasping for air and wiping away tears that had spilt free with his free hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t laugh. You’re being very sweet, it’s just-“
“I know. You don’t need to say it. I know.” Geralt interrupted, suddenly desperate not to have Jaskier say it out loud. Seeing him leave was one thing. He could still pretend that it was no different than when they separated for the winter. But hearing Jaskier outright tell him that Geralt’s feelings were a joke to him – Geralt wouldn’t be able to bear it, to have these words join the ones of hatred and disdain that he remembered whenever he lay awake at night, kept awake by self-doubt and shame.
“Oh, I don’t think you do,” Jaskier said and his smile didn’t falter, as if he wasn’t tearing Geralt’s heart out with it. “It’s just…Geralt, I know you can’t know this, but…my eyes are blue.”
“I do know.”
“Yes, well, but these flowers aren’t. They are lovely, of course, but this one for example is very clearly pink.” He tilted his head to the side like a bird as he looked at Geralt with mirth in his eyes. “You know, it’s almost the same colour your cheeks get sometimes when I sing about you.”
A painful spike shot through his heart. The flowers weren’t blue. The one thing he had known to do to try his hand at a romantic, albeit simple gesture and he had messed it up. Of course he wouldn’t be able to do even such a simple thing. Of course Jaskier would –
His thoughts came to a screeching halt and his eyes widened as the full meaning of Jaskier’s words came crashing down on him.
The flowers were pink. Jaskier knew, he saw, that they were pink.
“You can see colours.” He had meant for it to be a question, but it came out as a bitter truth.
Jaskier’s cheeks darkened. “I…yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to find out.”
“Why-how long?”
Jaskier swallowed nervously and his eyes darted away for a second, before finding Geralt’s again, pleading and scared. He clutched the flowers to his chest as if he feared Geralt would tear them off his hands.
“You know how long,” he said softly, almost apologetic. “Ever since I first saw you.”
“No.” Geralt shook his head. This wasn’t- this couldn’t be. He had expected Jaskier to flee from him, to tell him that he didn’t feel the same way. He had never expected him to be cruel. “No, you don’t – You can’t be. I can’t be.”
“I’m sorry.” The apology tumbled out of Jaskier’s mouth fast enough to slur the words together and his hand shot out to seize Geralt by the wrist. The touch burned him even through his clothes. “I know you don’t like Destiny. I never should have said… I don’t want you to force you into this. You must believe me.”
Geralt’s mind went blank. It almost sounded…he shouldn’t be foolish enough to believe this. He shouldn’t feel hope burning in his chest, but the way Jaskier said it….it didn’t sound as if he himself hated the idea of being soulmates with a witcher.
“You wanted me to choose you?” Geralt asked bewildered, still unable to comprehend.
Jaskier’s eyes softened and his smile turned into something bittersweet. “That was all I had ever wanted. I always thought you wouldn’t, but now…Please don’t take this back. Don’t tell me this isn’t what you chose, just because it’s the choice Destiny wanted you to make.”
Geralt’s brows drew together. “I couldn’t care less what Destiny wants me to do.”
Jaskier’s face fell when Geralt pulled his wrist out of his grip. After a moment of hesitation, Geralt lifted his now free hand to cup Jaskier’s cheek.
Jaskier let out a soft gasp, before leaning into the touch with an unknown desperation.
“I choose you,” Geralt said, his fingers caressing Jaskier’s skin. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Jaskier said urgently. “I would choose you time and time again, whether Destiny wanted me to or not.”
Geralt’s throat went tight once more. “You know I can’t see colours. You know I won’t ever be able to compare your eyes to something and know it’s what they look like.” His gaze dropped to the flowers in Jaskier’s hand. “I can’t give you flowers the right colour.”
Jaskier let out a watery laugh. He turned his head and kissed the palm of Geralt’s hand, before taking one of the flowers – perhaps a pink one, perhaps one of a different colour entirely – out of the posy and tucked it behind Geralt’s ear.
“It doesn’t matter. The colour never mattered. They are beautiful. Because they come from you.”
“You are beautiful,” Geralt echoed. “Because you are you. Colour or no.”
His hand trailed down until he was gently holding his chin, titling his head up ever so slightly.
“Jaskier?” he asked, one last hesitation, one last chance for Jaskier to choose to take his words back.
Jaskier made his choice.
He leaned forward and pressed their lips into a soft kiss.
Geralt had always known that loving Jaskier was beautiful, but in this moment Geralt learned for the first time, that nothing, no flowers and no colours could ever be as beautiful as it was being loved by Jaskier.
#i know nothing about flowers#so if those aren't cornflowers after all I'm sorry#soulmate au#geraskier#geraltxjaskier#geralt x jaskier#geralt#jaskier#fic#my writing#witcher#witcher fic#fanfic#i should have finished my other wip instead#or prepared for the presentation i'll have to do tomorrow#or slept#this is once again not edited#pining
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a nice break
(r18+)
hawks | takami keigo x reader
ao3
word count: ~3k
keigo really is just such a good boy for you, isn't he?
warnings: peggings, strap ons, wing kink, praise kink, spit kink, sub hawks, soft hawks, light religious imagery in the literal imagery, aftercare
enjoy some subby hawks pegging ;^)))
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Keigo had the prettiest voice.
Fuck whatever ‘bird of prey’ act he put on, the man was a songbird like no other. Perhaps not always, but it wasn’t particularly hard to get him to sing either. Unabashed pleasure would send Keigo into fits of cries and lamentations.
“Oh fuck, please—!” Keigo’s voice broke above you. He was straining so hard to keep any semblance of usual composure despite his wrecked state. It wasn’t like it was doing him much good with how beyond fucked out he was, but you appreciated the effort.
How long had you had him bouncing on your strap? Long enough that he had begged you to let him rest, his wobbly legs growing weak despite their tone and muscle. Yet, not long enough to award him a moment of respite. You had rolled your hips up, jamming your metaphorical thick cock against his prostate as his eyes rolled back in pleasure.
Keigo’s face had grown bright red, freckles dimming with the flush of his cheeks. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, drool escaping from the corners of his lips. He occasionally tried to wipe up the bodily filth on his face, but the action only served to make him even more of a mess. Keigo didn’t mean to, but his subtle, cute actions just debauched him more.
Keigo had a tendency to be a brat. That was just his private personality. Effortlessly laid back charm was a face he wore incredibly well for the public, but in the solace of his penthouse apartment, the man was a raging devil.
He typically took the lead on things. Throwing you up over tables and counters with the help of his wings, fucking you stupid without a second thought.
You loved it. Immensely.
Nothing made you soak yourself more than being on your knees for Keigo just before he would fuck your face in earnest, cooing and praising about how well you took his cock. He loved to see you sloppy for him, demanding and pushing and pulling you whatever way suited his pleasure (and yours as well, of course.)
But you also loved seeing Keigo sloppy. You relished getting to break him down, picking at his crafted facade with personal pleasures you made all for him, and you made sure to tell him so.
Keigo loved to praise you, any time, not just in bed. He’d tell you what a good girl you were while spanking his hand on your backside for the umpteenth time, you teary-eyed and half-sobbing. He’d coo about how beautiful you were while he fucked you into yet another orgasm with his crooked fingers. He’d smooth you over and tell you how proud he was of you, how good you were for him, as you cuddled into each other, fucked out, boneless and brainless. He’d come up behind you while you cooked dinner, kissing at your neck and whispering about how kind of partner you were. He’d grab your hand in public to lay gentle kisses over your knuckles, speaking lowly about how he cherished you and the time you were able to spend together.
It took you a while into your relationship to realize that Keigo also fed off praise. He showered you with love and compliments and craved receiving similar affections.
And, you weren’t one to deny him.
“Come on, Kei’, you can do it, you’re such a good boy,” You crooned, pushing your hips to press the thick dildo deeper in him.
Keigo sputtered, his hands flying to your chest for purchase, lip wobbling. His eyes flicked to meet your own, widened and pleading.
You just smirked.
“Keep going if you want to come.”
He cried out, lowering his head and wiping at the different smears of fluid that wetted his face. Slowly, he raised himself up, thighs trembling with exertion and exhaustion.
You tucked your arms behind your head, truly getting off on the beautiful sight before you.
Keigo looked god-like most of the time, all feathered and blood-colored. He was sculpted like a marble statue; sometimes, you felt unfit of touching him. Yet, you debauching him was one of your favorite acts. Turning Keigo into some defiled deity riding the silicone cock of a mortal, divine, crimson wings a backdrop to ambrosian pleasures that only the two of you knew. Despite how bratty he was, he loved falling apart while you fucked his cute little hole numb.
Keigo rode your cock so well, he knew it, you told him so. Despite how much his body ached and how he was chasing orgasm but never catching it, he tried really, really hard to make you happy. You could see it in the way how each of his actions was followed by an expectant look, delivered to you with puffy, kiss-bruised lips.
Who would’ve thought Hawks was a crybaby when getting fucked so well?
Below him, you smiled, languidly playing with your own sex while drowning in Keigo’s image. Your own slick coated your thighs, wetting your puffy clit as you stroked yourself slowly to Keigo’s display.
His cock was swollen, bright red, and weeping preek. The ring at its base was wet with lube, tightly holding Keigo back from any sort of proper satisfaction. All the while, his cock was so much more sensitive, not to mention how you’d been teasing him for what felt like hours. You wondered if Keigo felt edged or overstimulated. You could only hope that it was both.
You wrapped your fingers around his cock, moaning with Keigo in tandem. He wailed, voice shattering into pleads and begs for “more, please, more!” as you fucked his cock with your hand. He was so slicked and hot, weeping for release in more ways than one.
You removed your fingers from your own sex, frowning.
The slick covered fingers pressed at Keigo’s parted lips. He opened his mouth for you, letting you fuck his mouth with the digits, pressing gently on his tongue and the back of his throat. You felt the vibrations of his suppressed cries so well, it made your cunt ache.
“Good boys don’t talk with their mouths full, do they?” You taunted, pressing harder and pumping your hand faster around Keigo’s cock.
Keigo screamed against your fingers, sweaty locks falling over his eyes as he shook his head. With all of his hero-refined skills, his thin hips couldn’t figure out how to both fuck down on the strap and fuck into your hand. The infuriating amount of stimulation without a thread of relief made tears leak from Keigo’s eyes anew, running rivers down his cheeks and drip onto your torso.
“Aw, baby, why are you crying?” You loved teasing Keigo like this. He’d never let you do this shit to him unless he was this fucked out. You knew he liked it too, based on how the degradation made his cock throb in your grip.
You squeezed, rubbing a thumb at its leaky head. Keigo sobbed around your fingers, “Pweaze! ”
“Pweaze’? ‘Pweaze’ what, baby? Use your words.” You sneered, watching spittle drip from his mouth onto your lap. To taunt him even more, you pressed your drenched fingers onto the back of his tongue as he tried to speak. Unintelligible, garbled syllables were all he could produce beyond chest sobs.
He just looked at you helplessly, nails digging into your sides.
You relented, removing your fingers and wiping them onto Keigo’s swollen dick, still pumping it slowly.
“Please, let me come, please!” Keigo’s voice curled so well when he begged. You fucked up into him sharply, Keigo’s hands clawing into your ribs as he screamed in white-hot pleasure. His spent thighs trembled around your own, wet with sweat and shaking with exhaustion.
You ran a hand through his hair, feeling the layer of thin sweat and boiling heat. He leaned into your touch immediately, doughy and glassy-eyed.
Keigo was art, sculpted all for you. Any bits of his public, bastardseque persona had been ground away with pleasure and coaxing. He had fallen apart for you, gently pleading for release like it was a hymn to his god.
You crooked a smile.
“I don’t know, baby. Have been good enough to come?” You hummed, grinning smugly as Keigo’s expression fell. His lips moved in horror as he began blubbering, fucking himself again on the strap, harder, faster, and with more vigor than before.
“I have b-been, I’ve been good!” Keigo sobbed, rubbed at his eyes as one of his legs gave out no a particularly rough thrust. Your hand slid up to support the spent muscles, knowing he was beginning to reach his limits.
“Tell me how and you can come, Keigo,” You said his name so sweetly, you felt another flood of pre dribbled sticky from his cock, “Tell me how you’re such a good boy, for me, Keigo.”
He shook his head, breathing harshly, but still managing to fuck himself half-heartedly. He bit his lip as he looked at you with red-rimmed eyes, wings fluttering at his back.
It gave you an idea.
You’d pay for it later, but that was a future problem.
All contact with Keigo’s cock and body went away, holding your hands on your chest, slowly rolling your hips and strap into Keigo’s tight hole.
You stilled for just a moment, drinking him in.
Your hands shot out, just brushing against Keigo’s sides before burying themselves at the tender roots of his wings.
“F-Fuck!” Keigo wailed, bowing his back and falling against your chest, unable to hold himself upright.
You adjusted your legs, allowing yourself to still fuck into Keigo. Even better, this position perfectly allowed you to ram his most sensitive spot, sobs and cries muffled into the skin of your chest. He pawed at one of your tits half-heartedly, but you knew he didn’t really have it in him.
Pleads and cries for mercy spilled from his lips as you massaged at the base of his wings. The downy feathers were petal-soft, all the betters for rubbing deep into as Keigo twitched and wailed.
“Just tell me why you’re a good boy, Keigo, you’re so close,” You encouraged him, shifting so that his head was pressed into your neck. You felt his cock, hard and hot against your stomach. With this position, Keigo could rest his body to some degree. But, it provided an absolutely obscene amount of friction that would be damn-near brutal mentally.
His wings splayed out above the two of you, cocooning you in vibrant reds and scarlets as you thumbed at individual feathers. Keigo finally found his voice as you dragged the strap back from his hole.
“I-I ate your pussy really good,” Keigo’s voice was high, stumbling on his words.
You hummed appreciatively, scrapping your nails down thin bones of his wings. He arched against you, hands flying your hair and pulling. He broke into bawling, tears wetting your neck and the sheets beneath you.
You fucking loved it.
“I l-let you sit on my face, and let you fuck- ME!” Keigo howled as you dug into his feathers, tsking lightly.
“Up, baby. Sit up for me,” You commanded, though softly. Keigo slowly righted himself, shaking like a leaf. You could tell by the way he shifted his hips that he was more than a bit sore and overworked. Not to mention that his cock was turning darker red and bulging hotly by the minute.
“Those are all good things you did, but that’s not why you’re a good boy,” You trailed one of your hands down one of the lovely curves of his lower back, cupping his ass and squeezing.
He sputtered, shaking his head, rubbing at his eyes, “Please, I’m sorry, just let me—”
You’d done this song and dance enough with Keigo to know the way to really get to his cock. After so much mental conditioning and training, parts of him were still left raw. To touch and stroke them just right was an art you had taken upon yourself to master and perfect. You’d do anything for Keigo, anything to help him chase pleasures that could be too fragile or fear-filled to voice.
“Keigo, you’re a good boy because you’re you,” You massaged at his aching, sore parts with warm hands. “You’re such a good boy for me, Kei’. You ride me so well. Can you just a little more?”
If Keigo hadn’t been fully crying, he was now.
He tearfully nodded, bouncing himself on the strap again, sending loud moans far and wide.
You helped him along, rolling your hips, “You’re such a sweet boy, Kei’. You sound so pretty when you wreck yourself for me.”
He keened.
The hand that wasn’t helping to hold him up went to palm at the head of his cock, “You are so sweet and so beautiful when you’re fucked out like this. All stupid for me, right, Kei’?”
You trailed a finger up his shaft as he drooled, eyes struggling to focus, “So good at listening and following my rules. Do you like being a good boy?”
He was fucked too silly to manage anything other than a nod.
“Do you want to come, baby?” You pumped his cock with your slick hand, almost mockingly.
“PLEASE!” Keigo screamed, nails breaking the skin of your breasts, but you could hardly care. His head bent forward as a mix of his tears, snot, and spit dripped between the two of you.
Keigo really did deserve it. You relented.
Your fingers dipped slipped the cock ring off in one motion, grabbing his face by the cheeks with the other hand, “Then, come for me, baby.”
And he did.
Keigo fucked himself down on the strap one final time before screaming in divine rapture.
He collapsed on top of you, crying out and curling into you as his cock sprayed your chests and thighs. Thick spurts of creamy cum dripped between the two of your bodies as Keigo rode out his orgasm, your hand still on his cock, milking him for all he had. Any words he tried to babble out were broken and meaningless, only serving to help Keigo release his pent up need for relief now that it was finally squashed.
You kept your hand wrapped around his cock, rolling your wrist from base to hip as Keigo rattled on top of your own sweaty frame.
He sniffled, pressing into your neck and weakly pushing your hand, “T-too much.”
You released him easily, shushing Keigo when he tried to move or assist you. You carefully slipped from his tight, lube-slicked hole and undid the harness of the strap on. Your own hips ached from exertion, skin bruised by the biting of the straps, but you were sure it was nothing compared to Keigo’s full-body ache. You’d had him every which way throughout the course of the night, you were sure he wouldn’t be standing correctly for a few days. You mentally patted yourself on the back.
You fell back with Keigo, pulling him to your chest. His head fell against you as his wings spread haphazardly and unsupported. For a moment, you worried he’d passed out, but a short groan and gentle squeeze proved you otherwise.
You set upon his trembling form with all the love you could show him.
“Oh, Keigo,” You peppered his forehead and hair with kisses as he hid his face at your sternum. “You did so well, you took me so, so well, baby. I’m so proud of you. I love you so much, 'Kei.”
He nuzzled into you, making small noises with not much sense to them. You gave him a sympathetic smile, rubbing circles into his lower back, “Would you like some water, baby? Or do you want to wait a little longer?”
Keigo shook his head, weakly kissing the top of your breasts, “N-now, please.”
You grabbed a bottle on the nightstand, pre-chilled in preparation for the inevitable outcome. Keigo slowly rose when you offered the bottle to him, hardly going far before downing mo of the liquid in a few gulps. It was obvious he needed it with the harsh flush of his face and the sweat growing cold on his skin.
He passed the bottle back to you, nestling back into you as he did. His wings quivered as they covered your forms, plumage soft and twitching as Keigo sweetly came down from his overstimulation and mushy mental state.
You set upon him with more sweet kisses and enough praise to drown a man with an ego smaller than Keigo’s. It was all gentle, coaxing him from his mental fog with lots of obvious love and attention. Keigo didn’t fall into submissive headspaces easily and that made it all the more imperative to be deliberate and ginger with helping him out.
You started blowing and leaving kisses around his ears, making him jolt and giggle at you. It was something high and airy, a side only you got to see. You loved how it sounded and felt so close to you.
Keigo gently cupped your face, returning your affections, albeit weaker. With his sagging eyelids, he was clearly spent.
“Was all that okay? I know it was intense,” You asked, pressing into Keigo’s gesture. You needed a bit of extra attention too, and Keigo was more than willing to lavish you the best he could in his state.
All gooey himself, Keigo shook his head, wrapping his arms and legs around you in a tight embrace, “Very good. Still kinda fucked out though.”
“I can tell,” You laughed. You kissed into his honeyed hair, tangling your fingers to the scalp to massage and work any tension out of his neck. “Take all the time you need. I’m right here.”
Keigo purred around you, breaths evening out and slowing.
You silently slipped from the bed, running to the bathroom to wet a washcloth to clean him. When you re-entered the dimly lit room, Keigo was sitting up, rubbing at his eyes and finishing his water.
Keigo cracked you a smile, as you came back to kneel on the bed. His voice was hoarse with its prior activities and expletives, “You know, I’m gonna get you back for all of that. Even worse.”
You rolled your eyes, “I look forward to it.”
You pressed a kiss to the corner of Keigo’s mouth, urging him down to the sheets.
He didn’t fight you, but you were sure he would.
#salem writes#takami keigo x reader#hawks x reader#takami x reader#keigo takami x reader#hawks x y/n#hawks reader insert#reader insert#hawks smut#mha smut#mha#bnha#takami keigo x y/n#i tried to write smut without a bunch of lead up i rlly did#soft hawks#sub hawks#sub takami keigo#mha x reader#bnha x reader
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anonymous said: i would like to suggest, keigo having you on speed dial to call you up and use you whenever he's too pent up because his public girlfriend wont sleep with him. you feel guilty for being the other woman but you were such a big fan of his. you want to end this but keigo isn’t about to let his little bird get away
warnings: 18+, dubcon, rough sex, manipulation, minimal prep, cheating, mentions of caning, noncon photography, dacryphilia, slight degradation peppered with slight praise
words: 3.3k
Gentle vibrations coursing through your mattress and quivering softly against your skin rouse you from your half-conscious state, bleary eyes blinking slowly as you gain your bearings again. It’s late, the wall of full-length crystal windows allowing the moon’s beams to stream into your condo, weakened by the magnificent glow of the city below it, encased in halos of turquoise and jade and violet.
And then, the vibrations start again, and your heart drops.
You know who it is before you even glance at the screen of your phone. Only one person ever calls you this late.
You had been expecting it, to be honest. Crime has hit an all-time high, and it seems like every time you turn on the news, or scroll through your social media feed, there’s a fresh story about a new villain he’s just defeated, headlines in big bold letters, peppered with photos of windswept golden hair and an award-winning smile, or grainy footage of him zipping around, so fast he’s just a blur of gold and crimson, as he neutralizes the enemy, serif words chalk full of praise for the Number Two Hero. As always.
It makes you sick, makes your stomach churn with a toxic mixture of guilt and revulsion.
Yet, in spite of this, your hand moves on its own, disobeying your brain as it screams at it to let it go to voicemail, just this once, thumb pressing that little green button before bringing the heavy electronic to your ear, quiet and groggy as you answer.
“I’m in the lobby,” his smooth voice, always laced with just a hint of cheekiness, flows through the speaker like melted chocolate, dark and decadent. “Let me in?”
You know he could get in on his own if he really wanted to—he chose this building for a reason, after all. He chose you for a reason, after all.
He could’ve had anyone—could still have anyone—he wanted, with a plethora of beautiful, adoring, devoted young women hanging on his every word, but he picked you. He picked you, because no matter how dedicated and supportive all of those other girls are, none of them have ever loved him the way you did—the way you do.
The feeling lingers, much to your disgust. It lingers when he gives you that gentle, private smile—the one the cameras have never seen, the one that he saves just for you, in the middle of the night after he’s filled you with cum and sucked his name into your neck; lingers when he murmurs sweet nothings into your hair, arms curling around you in the early morning sun; lingers when he fucks you stupid, until you’re a sobbing, drooling mess, until all you can think about is his cock.
The soles of your bare feet echo as they pad against the marble floor, powerless to stop the heavy sigh that slips from between your lips as you fiddle with the little keypad close to the front door, those soft beepbeepbeeps forcing chills to skitter across your skin.
Once, this condo had been everything you had ever wanted. Once, you had considered yourself lucky to be the mistress of such a well-known, distinguished, so-called good man. Once, you had dreamt of him, every single night, of lazy smiles and easygoing drawls, of wicked golden eyes and matching tousled hair.
Once.
Now, it feels like nothing but a cold, empty cage. Fitting, you snort to yourself, shaking your head a little.
Now, all of those extravagant items he had bought for you—the expensive coffee machine, the stupidly massive 4K TV, all of the shimmering dresses and lavish coats, the silk sheets outfitting your gigantic bed, the delicate Agent Provocateur lingerie—have bile rising in the back of your throat, coating your tongue in bitterness, dread sinking thick and heavy in your stomach, turning your blood to concrete in your veins.
Now, that golden gaze makes your skin crawl, those large, impossibly soft hands—protected by those ridiculous gloves, of course—make you want to scrub your body with scalding water until it’s raw, until you’ve ridded yourself of his stare, of his touch, of his scent—sickly sweet and sticky like toffee, blazing and spicy like cinnamon.
And yet, the feeling still lingers, taking root deep at the very core of your body, feeding off your soul like a fucking parasite.
Teeth clack against yours the moment your front door swings open, your body slammed up against the wall a second later as he skillfully kicks the door shut, producing an echo of tremors through the surrounding walls much too loud for three in the morning.
Hands, silky and smooth, are gliding up your bare thighs, playing with the hem of your lacy babydoll slip, lithe fingers tangling in it and pulling as he sucks on your tongue.
“Missed you,” he mumbles between kisses, catching your bottom lip and tugging on it just to hear you whine, a delicious chuckle vibrating against your mouth a moment later, inspiring a shameful, scalding heat to begin spreading in the pit of your belly. “So much,”
“Did you?” and you hate how breathless you already are, hate the way your head tilts and neck arches as his lips travel down the sensitive skin, nipping gently with his front teeth.
“You know I did,” he singsongs, but you can hear the irritation sown into his tone. Hands grip your shoulders, pinning you against the wall, a soft noise of surprise escaping your lips. “Mm,” he hums appreciatively, pulling back a little as lidded eyes scan your form, dark like thick caramel when they meet yours again. “You know this one’s my favourite,”
It is, composed entirely of scarlet lace that dips just below your sternum, the delicate material clinging to your body like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination.
His hands roam, taking the hem of the dainty fabric with him as he pushes it over your hips, up your abdomen and to your breasts, before letting the garment slide down your body again.
The softest, sweetest mewl of his name escapes your lips as the tip of his tongue flicks over a lace covered nipple, circling it once before taking it between his teeth and tugging slightly.
Another laugh, deep and dark, vibrates against your chest, while a hand slips between your thighs, a soft groan rumbling in his chest.
“Such a good, good girl for me, aren’t you?” Two fingers rub achingly slow circles into your clit, Keigo’s tongue darting out of his mouth to lick at a pert nipple again, drenching the lace in saliva. “Following the rules, just like I asked,”
A whimper catches in your throat and you nod, spikes of sharp fear shooting through your stomach as faded memories float languidly through your mind. You can barely remember it, brain so delirious from the pain that you hardly retained any of the experience, but the sound of the cane slicing through the air, mingled with the sound of your own wails echoing throughout the bachelor condo, the intense sting of its impact against your bare skin, the ache in your fingers from gripping the bedsheets that lingered for days later…Those you remember.
He had turned your backside into a brilliant piece of art, you remember him telling you, the morning after when gentle fingers were rubbing cream into your wounds, the obnoxious click! of his phone camera sounding a few moments later seared into your memory. Such a beautiful masterpiece, full of periwinkle and indigo, and it was all for him—because of him.
You couldn’t sit properly for a week and a half after the incident, and that you’ll never forget, either.
All because you had broken one teeny tiny rule, a rule you didn’t even know was a rule, a rule you thought he had been joking about—no panties when sleeping.
Two fingers pushing into your little hole snaps your mind back to the present, a whine falling from your lips as your hips push towards his palm, instantly craving more of him. Curved lips, formed in the shape of a sinful smirk, drag along your jaw as he murmurs to you. You like that, baby? Huh? Did you miss me as much as I missed you?
It’s only been a few days since you saw him last, but you find yourself nodding anyway, breathy little yeses exhaled through parted lips as his fingers pump in and out of you, knuckles curling with each pull out, catching on the spot that has you moaning out his name, that has you pathetically trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, that has you begging for more.
He’s always impatient anyway, barely takes any time to stretch you out—just enough so it isn’t uncomfortable for him, really, scissoring his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit until it’s throbbing, until he deems you wet enough to take him.
The drywall quivers as Keigo deftly spins you, shoving you against it, a low whine sounding in the back of your throat.
“I’m gonna fuck you in this,” he says decidedly, as if he’s just chosen what his lunch will be for tomorrow, big hands roaming over your ass, kneading and squeezing.
“Keigo, please, not here—”
“Shh,” he hushes you, and his voice is so gentle, so tender, gathering the delicate lace in his fists and pushing it up, up, up, until it bunches around your waist. “Be good for me, yeah?” sharp teeth sink into the back of your neck hard enough to break the skin, an alpha marking his territory, your responding cry muffled by the wall. “I’ve had such a long day,” he mumbles against you, licking over the bite. “Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you all day, y’know,” his hips grind against your ass, hard cock nearly slipping between your cheeks and accentuating his point, the thin fabric of his grey sweatpants being the only barrier between you. “And that bitch couldn’t satisfy me right even if her life depended on it,”
His tone darkens at the end, and you hate the way it still manages to send a flock of butterflies fluttering through your stomach, hole clenching greedily around nothing.
“So be a good girl—” a slap echoes throughout the empty apartment as his palm collides with your skin. “—and lift your hips for me,”
And then he’s tugging, hands wrapped around your hips as blunt nails dig into your flesh and hoist up, forcing you onto your tiptoes. You obey, of course, because you always obey, aiding him by pushing your ass towards him, chest and cheek pressed up against the wall.
A shiver courses through your body as he leans away for a moment, taking his body heat with him, the shutter of his phone camera click!ing a few times in quick succession.
“Fuck,” he breathes, heat returning as he taps the head of his cock against your soaking cunt, reveling in the soft, wet little slaps. “You’re so beautiful,”
And he sounds so honest, so sincere, unexpected tears springing into your eyes and blurring your vision. Because his words shouldn’t, they absolutely shouldn’t inspire a deep warmth to bloom in your chest, but they do. It’s selfish, and pathetic, and derisive, sour shame taking root at your core a moment later, black and inky and rushing through your veins, eating up the warmth in an instant.
But Keigo shatters it all a second later with one quick, sharp thrust, burying himself deep within you, cockhead nudging against your cervix.
A yelp hitches in your throat at the sudden action, tears spilling over your lashline as your little hole burns, struggling to accommodate his girth. “Too thick, Kei, too thick,”
He doesn’t care, he tells you with a breathless chuckle, hips setting a punishing pace right from the start, refusing you even a moment to adjust. He knows you love it, he says to you, words growled into your ear with a sadistic smile, punctuated by the harsh slap of skin against skin that accompanies each of his thrusts.
Your nails scrape against the drywall, trying in vain to grip something, anything, to keep you upright as he pounds into you. A harsh gust of wind swirls around you, cool against your heated skin, and then his wings are caging you in, slamming against the drywall with such force that bits of it crack and crumble. Your hands fly out to grip them, little fingers curling around the edges as you try to keep yourself steady for him.
The sweetest moan escapes his lips, hoarse and whiny in the back of his throat as you clamp down on them, fingers slotting through the sharp feathers, hissing through your teeth as they leave superficial cuts along your sensitive skin.
It’s beginning to build, that familiar heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter and tighter with each snap of his hips, broken whimpers and airy little Kei!’s slipping from your parted lips as your legs begin to tremble.
A deep growl rumbles in his chest as he tells you to keep standing, damn it, the order spit through clenched teeth as his fingers grip your hips, spots of blue and purple blooming under them.
You’re trying, you want to tell him, words leaving your throat in the form of pitiful little sobs as your fingers clutch his wings, joints aching and stiff from being curled in the same position for so long.
The heat is rising, higher and higher and higher until your choking on it, scalding your tongue and blistering your throat.
“M’gonna—” you gasp out, the words garbled with spit as teary eyes roll back in your skull.
“Yeah—Y-Yeah,” he encourages breathlessly, hips gaining more speed with each piston into you, cock repeatedly dragging against that spot, the one that alights your entire body, that shoots tingling sparks up your spine and through your veins. “C’mon, baby, cum for me, cum—” a low grunt cuts him off, hips stuttering. “—Cum on my cock,”
It’s pathetic, really, how quickly your body obeys, knees nearly buckling as uncontrollable mewls of his name escape your lips, catching in your chest with his ruthless thrusts as you gush around him, cute little cunt clenching almost painfully on his thick cock.
“Good—Good girl. Now beg for it,” and he’s nearly whining, voice cracking as his movements begin to falter.
Pleads spill from your lips before you even know what you’re saying, voice absolutely wrecked as you beg for him to please, gimme your cum, please k-keigo, want it, I want it, I want it, fill me up, please, please, please!
Honestly, how can he deny you when you’re asking so nicely, so prettily for him, hips messily pounding into you three more times before he stills, the weight of his body crushing you against the wall as his cock pulses, filling you with ropes upon ropes of thick, hot cum.
And he’s relentless that night, insatiable that night—fucking you over the arm of the couch, deep and hard and fast, cockhead slamming against your bruised cervix as a hand fists in your hair and yanks you up, snarling out the dirtiest words as his lips graze your ear, then praising you for being such a good little cockslut for him; fucking you in your giant jacuzzi bathtub, nimble fingers digging into your hips as he forces you to ride him, reinstating the fresh bruises from not long before; fucking you into your plush mattress, sharp hipbones signing his name into the soft flesh of your inner thighs in blotches of navy and violet as endless tears leak from your eyes, streaming into your hairline, head beginning to throb from dehydration.
The sun is just beginning to rise, peaking over the horizon and painting the city in a soft golden light. The buzzing of a phone on your nightstand rouses you from your half-asleep state for the second time, lifting your head to blink blearily at Keigo, who rolls his eyes without even glancing at the caller. It’s her—you know it is, calling to ask him where the hell he is, if he’s alright, if he’s coming home soon, if he’s safe—and acrid guilt settles on your tongue.
He lets it go to voicemail without a second thought.
“I hate her,”
“Break up with her, then,”
“And what, date you?” he snorts, and although you know he doesn’t mean for it to, it still stings. Rolling over, he turns to face you, his head propped up by his palm. “You know I wish I could,” he says softly, his free hand reaching out to cup your cheek, fingers grazing your cheekbone. “You know I would if I could, but…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to—you’ve heard it a thousand times before.
Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.
But she’s the daughter of a world-renowned, established hero—you’re a quirkless nobody. But she’s good for his image, good for his brand—you’re not.
Sometimes, though, after he’s fucked you into a boneless mess, when he’s laying in your bed with a cigarette perched so artfully between his fingers, he opens up, allows you a tiny peak inside that gorgeous head of his.
Tonight it’s something you’ve heard before, but you don’t mind listening anyway, drawing nonsensical patterns on his bare chest, little fingers following the dips and curves of strong muscle, gliding under smooth skin that almost shines gold in the pale morning light, little blonde hairs catching in the beams as he breathes slowly.
It fucking sucks, he’s telling you, honey eyes trained on your finger’s movements, following its ministrations in a trance. He never wanted this—never asked for this, he admits to you, as he has so many times before, at four in the morning when the city is at its quietest, just before it begins to wake with the dawn of the sun. He hates it, all of the obligations and responsibilities that have been thrust upon him since he was a child.
“Sometimes I feel like my spine’s gonna fucking crack under all of it,” he laughs a little, though it’s wobbly and frail, looking away from you as he stubs out his cigarette.
“It’s just exhausting,” he flops onto his back with a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling. And you can hear it, his voice heavy with fatigue, with the duties that have been forced upon him, the ideals he’s been forced to uphold, laced with a hint of melancholy.
It makes your heart ache, despite the derision you now feel towards him. You don’t know his struggle—never could, never will—but he looks so…sad, eyes desolate as they gaze up at nothing, lips pressed together in a thin line. And that spark of love, the one you repeatedly keep trying to snuff out, blazes with the need to comfort him.
Reaching over, gentle fingers card through his sweaty golden locks, soft and shining in the dim light. His chest rises and falls with the effort of another sigh, eyes closing briefly at your touch, nuzzling ever so slightly into you.
“But at least I’ve got you, right?” he rolls onto his side, hands finding your hips as he drags you towards him, pulling you into his embrace and crushing your body against his chest. “You’ll never leave me, will you, my little bird,”
And although it isn’t phrased as a question—because he already knows the answer—you respond anyway, swallowing thickly against the acid rising past the lump lodged in your throat. “No, Keigo, never,”
#takami keigo x reader#takami keigo smut#hawks x reader#hawks smut#takami keigo#this is how we're gonna do ask oneshots now#because they're TOO LONG jfc#my own fault i know#WHEWWWW WAY LONGER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN LOL#HAPPY BIRTHDAY KEIGO I GUESS#tw manipulation#tw cheating#tw degradation
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If I Can’t Have You
Based on this request: “one shot of Wanda and the reader are married and Agatha likes the reader and creates problem in their relationship. one day the reader and Wanda were fighting, the reader leaves to find Agatha who controls the reader to fall in love with her. Wanda finds the reader and removes the mind control.”
masterlist
Agnes walks down the sun-bleached sidewalk, arms full of a stack of hardbacks that most certainly were not transformed spellbooks. Of course they weren’t- she is Agnes now, not Agatha, and even nosy neighbours would never be caught dead studying incantations. She has to keep up the illusion of innocence, and that is final.
Agnes’ cheerful grin slips when her eye catches on something in the bushes. They should be drab shades of gray (they’re still stuck in the 50s, no matter how much Agnes wishes they would just change decades already), but there’s a flash of color inside them. Agnes groans. Is Wanda’s control disintegrating so quickly? Agnes gestures towards the bush ever so slightly, and the color fades back to black and white in a second, with only a flash of purple dancing around Agnes’ fingertips to show that anything had changed.
However, in the split second that Agnes’ focus had been diverted away, her tall stack of books had begun to slide out of her arms. Agnes reaches out to steady the pile once more, but it’s too late- the books cascade to the ground, spilling out over the pale concrete. Agnes kneels, ignoring the spike of heat slicing up her knees from the sunburned sidewalk, and begins to gather up the books. To her surprise, a second figure leans down beside her, picking up the scattered hardbacks as well.
When Agnes looks up, her breath catches slightly in her throat. There’s someone standing over them, sun shining out in a halo over their head. A smile flashes across their face as they hold out the remaining books. “I’m Y/N. I don’t think we’ve been able to meet before.” Agnes shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. I would have remembered you, hon. The name’s Agnes.” Y/N grins, teeth flashing in the sun. “It’s nice to meet you, Agnes. I think we’re neighbours- I live down the block with my wife, Wanda. Great to make some new friends.”
Agnes clears her throat. “Well, thank you for your help.” Y/N tilts their head in acknowledgement. “Well, I figured I might as well do something quickly. Wanda’s right down the block, and I don’t think you would have wanted her to see you summon up some purple sparks to retrieve the books.” Agnes stares. “You-” Y/N waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to say anything. I saw you fix that hedge, so clearly you’re here to help. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s keep a secret for a friend. See you around, Agnes.”
With that, Y/N heads back down the sidewalk, footsteps echoing down the concrete path. Agnes is left staring. Y/N knew about the magic and Y/N is married to Wanda, yet they aren’t going to say anything? As Agnes walks back to her house, she realizes there’s a new feeling of rage bubbling up in her stomach against the red-haired witch. It’s not just envy of Wanda’s chaos magic. No, this is something different. It takes Agatha a while to realize what it is, and then it occurs to her. She’s jealous that Wanda has Y/N in her life every day.
Agatha can’t take this feeling of envy for much longer. She begins small spells targeting Wanda and Y/N’s marriage, ones that will sow seeds of discontent that will draw Y/N to Agatha instead. At first, they’re barely noticeable- traffic is bad so Y/N arrives home later and later each day, Wanda keeps forgetting to keep a space out for Y/N at the dinner table. Then, it’s time for Agatha’s magnum opus- one thunderous rain storm that forces Y/N to dash into Agatha’s house to escape the torrential showers.
Y/N only has to knock a couple of times before Agatha opens her door, quickly ushering the drenched neighbour into her house. Y/N apologizes profusely, but Agatha just shakes her head. “It’s fine, trust me. I’d rather you stay in here for a while and dry up than have to run home in this sort of weather.” She hands Y/N a blanket, which they accept gratefully, wrapping around their shoulders.
Y/N gets distracted by a bookcase in the corner of the room, a deep mahogany number with intricate carvings detailing the sides. “You have a good collection of books here. Rivals even my own.” A faint smile slips across their face as they examine the titles, a warmth in their eyes as if greeting dozens of old friends. At last, Y/N’s finger stops over one book in particular, and they carefully draw it out from amongst the others.
Agatha leans over to Y/N, curious. “Which book is that?” Y/N delicately opens the cover, poring over the detailed illustrations and long swoops of text. “Greek mythology. I’ve always been a fan.” Y/N flips through the pages, stopping before one particularly beautiful depiction of a myth. In the drawing, a goddess lies desolate over the body of a lover, roses beginning to form where blood pools from their body.
“Aphrodite and Adonis. That’s a classic. The goddess of love and the queen of the underworld both fell in love with this one mortal hero, Adonis, and they fought over him for a long time.” Agatha furrows her brow. “What happened?” Y/N shakes their head sadly. “Adonis ended up dead, killed by a boar. The stories differ over the killing- some versions say it was Ares, Aphrodite’s husband, or it could have been Persephone herself, jealous that Adonis was falling in love with her rival. Either way, he ended up dead and they both ended up unhappy.”
Y/N sighs. “There are a lot of myths like that, actually. Two gods fall for one lover and in the resulting fight, the world seems to be torn apart. Something similar happened with Hercules and the river god Achelous over Deianeira, actually. Every time, two fall in love with one, and every time, violence always follows. If one god couldn’t have their lover, then nobody could. It never made sense to me. Why tear apart the world over love? Besides, it always hurt the lover, who never had any choice in the matter. A waste, honestly.”
Y/N closes the book and glances outside the window. “Look, it stopped raining. I will stop intruding on your hospitality with my sad Greek myths and leave you to your afternoon.” Agatha starts to raise her voice to protest, to say that Y/N could never be a waste of time, but Y/N is already donning her coat and slipping out the door with a raised hand and a final declaration of gratitude.
Wanda waits for Y/N when they get home. She stands in the middle of the living room, just waiting for when her spouse walks through the door. Y/N has barely closed the door behind them when they see their wife, and their smile fades. “What’s wrong, Wanda? You look upset.” Wanda’s gaze remains steady, bordering on harsh. “I wonder why that would be. I wonder why my spouse would show up late again, especially when I asked them to be here early for dinner.”
Y/N gestures loosely at the door behind them. “I couldn’t go anywhere! It was raining so hard I could barely see two feet in front of me. Here, you can see my jacket, my hair, they’re wet-” Y/N’s voice breaks off as they reach for their coat and find it perfectly dry. They rush to the window, but there is no sign of rain. No puddles, no clouds, nothing. Y/N turns back to Wanda, a look of bewilderment fogging up their eyes.
“I have no idea what happened. I swear, it was raining, but now there’s nothing there at all.” Wanda raises an eyebrow. “Yes, that’s very convincing, isn’t it? A magically disappearing rainstorm apparent only to you.” Y/N tilts their head, irritation beginning to show. “Don’t use that tone. I would never lie to you. This is just strange. Something is happening and I can’t understand it.” They throw their arms up in frustration, but just as they raise their hands, Wanda flinches. It’s a small movement, barely there at all, but it’s enough for Y/N to notice. Instantly, all annoyance fades from their face, replaced by swift betrayal.
“You flinched- you thought I would-” Y/N’s voice is quiet, barely there at all. Wanda shakes her head fervently. “I didn’t mean that. It was an accident.” Y/N looks back at their wife, expression bleak. “It wasn’t an accident, though. You thought I would hit you? You truly think so little of me?” Y/N turns around, grabbing their coat from the door once more. “I think I should go. I think that would be best for both of us.”
Wanda reaches out to stop Y/N from leaving, but her spouse has already disappeared through the front door. A quiet gasp comes from the stairs behind Wanda, and she turns to see Billy and Tommy clustered together on the stairs, twin looks of horror on their faces. Billy is the first to speak. “Are they leaving us?” Wanda rushes over to them, hurrying in her apologies. “Of course not. Everyone has disagreements, you know? It’s impossible to be perfectly happy forever. Y/N is going to come back very soon, and we’re going to talk things out again. That’s what makes us love each other, you know. We always come back to each other in the end.”
Wanda’s voice is light and untroubled, but her children still don’t look entirely convinced. In fact, Wanda doesn’t even look convinced herself. After Billy and Tommy retreat back upstairs to their rooms, Wanda walks slowly to the kitchen and sits down at the table, placing her head in her hands. What has she done? What if Y/N really doesn’t come back?
Y/N regrets storming out of the house as soon as the front door closes behind them. They want nothing more than to go back inside and apologize, but they’ve always had too much pride to swallow. So, they walk out of their house, heading out into the street. Maybe they’ll go into town for a while, shoot the breeze and cool down, and then come back home and make things right. Y/N has never been able to stay away from Wanda for too long, especially during an argument. That’s what made them work so well together- they always returned to each other.
However, Y/N hasn’t gone more than a couple of feet down the road when someone walks up to them. Y/N glances over, recognizing Agnes. “Look, I’m sorry but I don’t really want to talk right now. I’ve already messed things up with Wanda, I think it’s best that I stay by myself for a while.” Agatha’s smile doesn’t falter for a second. “Of course you want to come with me, hon. You love me.”
Y/N frowns, but with a wave of Agatha’s hand a violet streak flashes across Y/N’s eyes and a relaxed smile spreads across their face. “I do love you.” Agatha holds out her hand, and Y/N takes it without a second’s hesitation. Agatha glances over at Y/N, considering them. “Actually, I think we need one more spell. I can’t have Wanda recognizing you, after all.” Agatha murmurs a spell under her breath, and Y/N’s features ripple and change into an entirely different face. Even if Wanda happened to see Y/N walking with Agatha, she would have no idea who they were.
Wanda is growing more uneasy as the hours pass by. Y/N should have returned by now, they should have made up by now. The fact that they aren’t here tells Wanda that something is wrong. Wanda knows it must be the aftereffects of the argument, but yet there’s something in the back of her head telling Wanda that there might be some foul play. After a while, Tommy slips into the room, pausing as he walks by Wanda.
“Are you still looking for Y/N?” Wanda nods, then frowns at Tommy’s tone. “What do you mean, still? Do you know where she is?” Tommy shakes his head, but he hesitates slightly. Wanda jumps on this uncertainty like a lion. “Tommy, love, I need you to tell me where Y/N is. We both know something isn’t right, don’t we? This is really important.”
Tommy still deliberates, but after frantic glances from Wanda he finally relents. “I was running past Agnes’ house and I saw someone in there. I had never seen them before, and Billy says that nobody new has come into town. It didn’t look like Y/N, but it was still strange.” Wanda swoops forward, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s forehead. “Thank you so much for telling me. I’ll go look into that right away. Stay here with Billy, alright? I’ll be back in a second.”
The methodical rhythm of Wanda’s boots echoes down the street as she heads purposefully to Agnes’ house. She knocks a couple of times before the door opens, and Wanda is face to face with an utterly unfamiliar person. Wanda blinks in confusion. “Hi, I’m Wanda. I was looking for someone.” The stranger in Agnes’ house smiles. “Well, come on inside. Maybe you’ll find them here.”
Wanda nods, following the stranger inside. “What’s your name, by the way?” Wanda asks, and the stranger just looks at her. “I wasn’t given a name.” There’s a moment of tension, like the stranger is almost begging Wanda to realize something, but then their face smooths over and everything returns to normal. Wanda is shown to a seat in the living room, and she stares around Agnes’ house. She reaches out with her mind, searching for Y/N, but nothing happens.
The stranger bustles back into the room. “Agnes is out, but she’ll be back in a little bit. Is there anything I can do for you right now?” Wanda shakes her head, standing up. “Actually, I don’t think so. I’m sorry to waste your time.” Wanda starts to head to the door, but the stranger quickly walks in front of her, blocking her path. “Are you sure? I thought you were looking for someone.” The stranger is staring at them with a look so full of pain and hope that Wanda almost has to look away. What would the stranger want Wanda to know? What would they know, except-
Then Wanda realizes, and she reaches out a tentative hand to the stranger’s temples. Wanda concentrates for a second, searching, and then she feels the spell masking the stranger’s thoughts and pulls it away like she’s removing a blindfold. Instantly, the stranger straightens up, and they shudder for a second as their face changes into a more familiar countenance. Wanda cries out in relief, wrapping her arms around Y/N, for of course it is they who stand before her.
“I thought you were missing- I thought you hated me-” Y/N holds tight to Wanda. “No. No, I could never. I tried to go back, but then the spell hit and I couldn’t do anything.” Y/N leans back, cupping Wanda’s face gently in her palm. “I’m so glad you found me. I was so scared that you wouldn’t know it was me.” Wanda smiles bittersweetly. “I will always come back to you. Every single time.”
Wanda and Y/N leave Agatha’s house, heading quickly back to their own home, back to their twin boys who look up excitedly when they see Y/N return. Wanda and Y/N do not notice Agatha, who just arrives at her house in time to see the married couple disappear back through their own front door. Agatha glares, storming into her house to see the hated truth- Y/N is indeed gone, the spell broken. In a moment of utter rage, Agatha lets her power flow through her, murky indigo smoke pouring over the room as walls crack and glasses break.
When Agatha is at last able to control herself, she stands panting in the middle of the room. Her eyes catch on a book that had been yanked from its shelf, a book that now lies open on the ground. Agatha’s eyes widen as she takes in that familiar drawing of the goddess and the lover, from the story Y/N had been talking about earlier. Aphrodite and Adonis, forced to repeat their pain once more.
But Agatha understands it now, understands it as Y/N had never been able to fully comprehend. Why shouldn’t the gods tear apart the world? This feeling in Agatha’s chest, this empty broken rage, will never be able to subside. Y/N loves Wanda, and Wanda loves Y/N. There is no room for Agatha in that story.
A twisted, fractured smile begins to wend its way across Agatha’s lips. Before, she had been hesitant about messing too much with Wanda’s reality, but now, all rules are gone with Y/N. If Agatha can’t have Y/N, no one else will. Wanda doesn’t stand a chance.
wanda maximoff tag list: @mycosmicparadise @mionemymind @xxxtwilightaxelxxx
#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff imagines#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff oneshot#scarlet witch#scarlet witch imagines#scarlet witch x reader#scarlet witch oneshot#avengers#avengers imagines#avengers x reader#avengers oneshot#mcu#marvel#mcu oneshot#mcu imagines#wandavision#wandavision imagines#wandavision oneshot
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Not yet
pairing: angel sunoo x (f) human reader, can be interpreted as either platonic or romantic
genre: angst ig?
wc: 1.5k
warnings: mentions of suicidal thoughts, blood, death and school shootings so I apologize if these are sensitive topics for you
a/n: my loving parents went halfies with me on a new laptop so hopefully more of these will be coming now, im also on study leave so watch me fail my exams and write a bunch of trashy stories :P
summary: reader has had an angel watching over her all along, waiting patiently for the right time
The girl knew there was something different about the boy when she first met him. Their initial encounter occurred a few years ago, when the pair were supposedly in their first year of high school.
She had been pushed, accidentally, by another student as they walked alongside the train tracks on a school trip. Before the girl could even register she was falling, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her. Butterflies followed as she met eyes with her saviour.
“Are you alright?”, he asked. Worry painted all over his face. Dark brown hair falling over his eyes slightly. The girl nodded numbly in response. Confused and overwhelmed by the sudden events.
“You have to be more careful, now is not your time,” His cryptic words left her brain fuzzy, but she hummed in response. Trying to pretend as though she understood, although she was too enwrapped by his beauty to fully grasp what had happened. He smiled at her, helping her stand upright once again, before disappearing, as if he was never there to begin with.
She thought that was odd, but she didn’t question it too much. The girl was dizzy and probably just lost sight of him in the crowd. Everything happened too fast for her to even register what had occurred.
Their next encounter was during the dark winter, in their second year of high school.
Rain pelted against the girl's umbrella. Her skirt bellowed in the unforgiving winds as she struggled to stay upright. Shivers continuously ran up and down her spine, feet feeling like heavy ice blocks as she dragged them along the concrete path.
Her school uniform was drenched, and wet pieces of her hair were plastered to her face.
The girl stumbled once more, harsh winds blowing her till she fell in the middle of the road. Once again, her mind was hazy, like it always seemed to be when she encountered him. Swiftly, a pair of arms wrapped around her torso and before she knew it she was standing upright on the side of the road. Cars tooting their horns only faint noises as she listened to the pounding of her heart.
She looked up to meet eyes with her hero, the same boy as the year before at the train station. He looked down at her with a frown. His hair was fluffy, and now a bleached blonde. However it only seemed to make him appear more ethereal. Many wouldn't have recognized him, he had matured, but she couldn’t mistake his eyes even if she wanted to. She knew it was him.
He wore the same school uniform as her, minus the skirt. The girl wondered why she had never seen him around school. He looked the same age as her, maybe even in her year? She wanted to wipe the pout off his face, but she couldn’t even form any words in a response.
“You’re so clumsy aren't you?” He questioned with a voice like honey, almost speaking to himself, as she stared at him in awe and amazement.
“Well,” The boy began, seeming as if he didn’t quite want to leave yet. The girl looked down bashfully, staring at his pristine white shoes which didn’t quite match the weather for the day.
“Get home safely, I don’t want to have to save you again, now is not your time.” And with that final sentence, the girl looked up to find he was once again gone. She didn’t even get his name.
For two years, she didn’t see the boy again, but he often entered her mind. As she wondered, who was he? Where was he from? What did he do? What was his favourite colour? Did he like chocolate, or vanilla ice cream? She wanted to know more, but she guessed she would never know the answer.
It was currently her final year of high school. And to say the ride had been hard would be too gross of an understatement. The countless nights she had spent, tears leaving trails down her rosy cheeks as she hugged her pillow close to her chest.
The blade of her father’s razor called to her as she sat on the cold tiles of her bathroom. It would be so quick. It would be so easy.
‘Not now,’ She would hear, whispered softly by the wind. So quiet perhaps she imagined it. Her brain craving for some form of attention and love.
The nights were awful. But she couldn’t deny the feeling of comfort she often got. Almost as if someone was sitting right next to her during the breakdowns. Rubbing her back soothingly and telling her everything was gonna be okay. Filling her heart with warmth.
While everyone had close knit friend groups, who spent every waking moment together, the girl knew she wasn’t that close with her supposed friends. She knew they hung out without her. And that they most likely only let her sit with them out of pity.
Walking through the empty hallway, trying to avoid heading back to her dreaded calculus class, the girl felt a sudden tap to her shoulder. She slowly turned around, dreading the stern voice of her teacher of even principle. Instead she found the soft eyes of her hero. Her saviour.
His hair was cotton candy pink, and his eyes still sparkled with warmth. The girl's eyes widened, cheeks becoming dusted with red as she blinked rapidly. Unsure if he was really there or if it was just a dream.
“What are you doing here?” They asked in unison. Causing the boy to giggle as she remained frozen.
She could hear loud noises coming from behind her, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the boy. He was like a magnet.
The longer they stood together, the less hazy her mind got. She could see his eyelashes, which fluttered gracefully. She could see the smoothness of his skin, and longed to reach out and touch it.
Banging continued to interrupt her thoughts, trying to drag her back to reality. But she didn’t want to let her eyes leave his figure, in case he disappeared from her once again.
“I’m here to finally take you,” He whispered, voice like silk as he gazed upon her. She nodded, not fully understanding what he meant. Ignoring the screams that called her from behind.
The boy reached out, grasping her hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. His hands were soft, and comfort overwhelmed the girl's senses. She never wanted him to let go. He began to walk, and she watched as his feet started to lift off the ground. The girl followed, amazed as she did the same. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. But when she opened her mouth to question it, nothing came out.
Panic began to over take her as she glanced around, now noticing the blood staining the hallways of her school. The limp bodies of some of her classmates lying against the lockers. She turned behind her, to see her own body, framed by a puddle of blood. Eyes glazed over, unmoving.
“What’s happening? What is going on?” She questioned aloud, watching as a group of men with black masks stormed into another classroom further behind her. Screams ensuing as the sound of bullets echoing made the girl's stomach turn. Sirens blared loudly, paired with the constant ring of the school emergency bell.
She turned back around, feeling a soft hand on her cheek. The boy was smiling sweetly at her, although it was bittersweet.
“I’m taking you back home, I’ll keep you safe right next to me,” He told her, but she still didn’t understand.
Her head flicked between the boy, and her own frozen body lying on the ground of the school hallway. Her hair was sprawled around, soaking up the blood which leaked from her wounds.
So this was it?
She didn’t die by falling onto train tracks. Or getting hit by a car. Or even by her own means. No. She died from a group of school shooters who had nothing better to do than kill children arbitrarily.
That was how her life was going to end.
The girl looked back up at the boy, who was waiting patiently for her. Wanting her consent before he took her back to their supposed ‘home’.
Was it heaven? Or was it hell? Perhaps somewhere else entirely.
“Are you ready?” He asked.
How could someone ever be ready for death?
So much was uncertain. But she supposed, she had no other choice. No one could save her lifeless body, which lay upon the floor.
She turned back, nodding. And with that he grasped her hand a little tighter, before flying them off. Away from the horrors of reality.
“By the way, I never got your name,” She spoke.
The boy smiled, his face glimmering in the sunlight as they continued their ascent into the sky.
“My name is Sunoo, y/n, and I can’t wait to be best friends forever and ever,”
#enhypen#enhypen sunoo#enhypen jay#enhypen heeseung#enha#enhypen angst#engene#enhypen au#enhypen sunghoon#park sunghoon#kim sunoo#lee heeseung#park jongseong#sim jaeyun#yang jungwon#nishimura riki#enhypen fluff#enyhpen x reader#enhypen niki#sunoo x reader#sunoo angst#sunoo fluff
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The Shackles of Duty
Pairing: Diluc x gn!reader
Synopsis: As a weapon of the Abyss, your obligation towards your Princess should be eternal.
Warnings: Unedited angst. Pls ignore any mistakes besties <3
Word count: 2k
You've never really given the weather any thought. It's not as if it matters to you. Stormy day or not, your responsibilities—no, your duty towards the Abyss will remain the same.
It's still raining. The mud thick underneath your boots, slippery against your heel, the putrid smell of grassy dew lingering miserably against the air.
"You know what you have to do." The Abyss Princess commands you, her loyal servant, hers to dispose if she so desires.
"The dragon...Stormterror." You explain, goosebumps forming on your skin as a result of the damp clothes that adorn your wet body. "Your brother, the honorary night, along with others, thwarted our plans by eliminating the fragments."
"Why?"
"You know why, your grace." Is all that you can give to her. "I shall follow him. Keep him away, from inciting another encounter—"
"No," Lumine declares, no room for argument. "Infiltrating their ranks is no easy task. You mustn't be relieved of your post, not yet at least. We need to extract as much information as possible to further avoid outcomes like these."
Exactly the answer you don't want to hear in the middle of this archon forsaken storm, all bruised and bumped up from Stormterror's confrontation.
Don't make me do this again. I don't know how much more I'll be able to take.
You bite your tongue, knowing full well the finality of her words. "As you wish, my princess."
The familiar redhead suddenly plagues your mind, stoic, and with years worth of anger at the world. The hero in the shadows, the man with an agonizing past, a sense of retribution albeit his severed connections with the knights of favonious.
Despite the obstacles of life and the intellect honed from his journey, he's reckless. Reckless enough to still believe that he can make a difference. That anyone can make a difference.
Diluc is reckless enough to love someone, reckless to think that his sworn brother would be the only one capable of betraying him.
—
"There's no point." Diluc whispers loud enough for you to hear him underneath the stars, adding onto the lull of night. "They all keep walking—no, running, aimlessly because of duty. They follow orders without knowing where they come from. It's utter chaos."
"But in all the chaos, there is calculation." You lean against the stone of the walls, and as always, you know how to speak to Diluc. How to open him up and read him like a book.
You're sure he can do the same with you, but he just isn't looking where he should be. You need him to look; to realize he's tangled up in your web of deceit and that there's no way out.
"How do you do that?" He says, aware all at once. "How do you give me so much yet so little?"
I want to give you everything, the pretty and the ugly things alike. I want to give you my secrets, fold them up in a dirty, black, envelope, and have you turn it to ash with the violent flames of your heart.
It's a lot of work hiding under false pretences.
"It's a beautiful night, my love." You say instead.
Diluc's never gotten used to the term of endearment, still new to receiving affection. It warms him up differently to his vision, pleasant yet unfamiliar. It takes a moment for him to come back to himself.
You briefly jolt at the pleasant warmth of his hand atop yours, a silent reassurance, one that worsens your guilt, weaves it into something that pierces your rotten core.
—
You don't know what you're thinking when you stand in front of Jean's office, fist hovering.
Is forgiveness why you're here? No, because you would've went to Diluc first. You would've confessed to him right then and there about what a vengeful weapon you are, a mindless soldier that will do anything for their queen.
You don't even get a chance to think of the various ways he'd kill you when the door is open, and you're met with the view of the acting Grandmaster herself. Another dear friend that will come to despise you.
"Y/N! I'm glad you're here—"
"I'm a servant of the Abyss." You cut her off, and don't stop yourself, letting the words run freely against the fast pace of your heart. "I've infiltrated Mondstadt under the orders of the abyss princess and used what I've learned to conspire against the archons."
Everything's spinning, so fast you can barely breathe.
Jean doesn't move, doesn't even blink as the confusion dawns on her face. You aren't looking for confusion.
"Don't pretend you're blindsided completely," You give her a humourless chuckle, and by the hush of your tone it's as if you're telling her a secret to any spectators. "You've known for a while now that there's been a traitor within your ranks. Every single attack from the Abyss—too clean, too unpredictable, one could say with coincidence."
"But the universe is rarely so lazy." Your voice is smooth, calm, the complete opposite to the flurries of emotions that bloom your being. "Varka knew that. And so do you."
"No," Jean finally speaks up, denying your claim incandescently. "We've fought together for years. You're one of our best, our most dependable. Everything we've done—everything you've done has been for Mondstadt. As always."
If only that were the truth.
You wave a hand over your right eye, releasing the magical bind to reveal the intricate marker. Jean's eyes widen, and she's far from her usual composed self.
"Still don't believe me?" You ask, knowing full well she's still in denial. It's not everyday your best mate, the one that fights alongside you, admits to being a traitorous scum of the abyss drenched in years worth of lies.
Ah the trials and tribulations of friendship.
"Fine then," With the flick of your wrist, it doesn't take much effort for the main doors to open up with a bang.
The acting grand master draws back at the shrill sound, teeth gritting.
She isn't the only one that's provoked. Wood and Wyratt, the only two guards on duty at this time let out shouts of surprise, reaching for their swords on instinct.
You summon your abysmal magic, which shapes into deep blue, if not black, appendages. They glitter, hiding the entire galaxy in them, with stars that burst into life. Breathtaking if not used on the battlefield.
In mere seconds, one latches on to Wyratt's leg, while the other takes Wood by his arm. All it takes is a jerk of your index finger, and they're sent flying outside the doors, which unceremoniously slam shut behind them. The lock clicks into place, cherry on top.
Jean materializes her sword, taking on a defensive position. You don't think you've ever seen the woman irritated, let alone as livid as she is right now.
That's more like it.
"Go on. Arrest me." You bring your wrists up, casual as ever. "We'd better hurry. They'll come after me soon enough, it's in your best interest to listen to everything I have to say if I'm willing to die over it." There's a tightness in your chest that you can't explain.
Jean hardens her gaze, not allowing herself to relax. You know what she's going to say. You've been her friend, her advisor, long enough to understand where most of her actions and decision stem from.
She says—well she says nothing, because she doesn't get a chance to when an abrupt screech erupts from her office, causing your ears to perk up and your blood to run cold. A series of heavy footsteps, footsteps you're all too familiar with follow.
Although you're fairly certain you know who it is, you glance over her shoulder anyways to meet the fiery red eyes that have reserved a place in your heart. The sole reason you're blowing the whistle.
You feel a sharp pang in your heart.
The pure, authentic, hurt in Diluc's hardened features are enough to have you gutted completely. Mouth dry with a rock in your throat, you don't so much as allow yourself to exhale.
You finally understand why you didn't go to him first. You were sure he'd be able to survive the betrayal, but you weren't sure you'd be able to survive it yourself.
Diluc. You want to tell him, tell him how sorry you are. Tell him how much of a piece of shit you are. Tell him that he doesn't deserve this, that he deserves so much better. Tell him that you love him, devastatingly so.
It isn't supposed to end this way. Things never go as planned.
You avert your gaze, clench your jaw shut, and wait.
"Jean." Diluc says, and there's grim finality in his voice. "We need a moment." His words send small pricks throughout your spine.
Jean regains her composure, mulling over his request, but any resistance is placated by a simple look from the redhead.
When she reluctantly leaves, the quiet is near unendurable.
"Why?" If the way Diluc's fixed gaze could set anything on fire, you would've been burned to the stake by now.
You'd calculated this moment countless of times, predicted exactly how this would go, lived through every outturn in the dead of the night as you struggled to find sleep in his arms.
Living through it is far more dreadful than you could've ever imagined it to be.
His body closes in at your lack of reply, hands gripping your forearm to pull you in and kick the door shut. "Why?" This time it's more firm.
You open your mouth to speak, like a fish out of water, and out comes nothing.
"I trusted you," Diluc says weakly, in a way that has your heart shattering a million times a second. Tightening his hold on your arm, he continues "You were the only one I...I should've known. I was foolish to think I could believe in you." a sharp exhale, and he pushes you back against the door, but it's not harsh at all. He's gentle, and somehow that makes everything so much more worse.
Your inability to reply sparks a different kind of rage in his heart.
"It must have been quite the show, watching everyone run in circles." He seethes, furious, wounded. "Was it all just a lie? Were my feelings ever returned? Or was I just another one of your fair games?"
You wrench away from his hold as if it's burning you. The words are like needles, pinning into you with so much force it has you lurching in place, and then they twist deep within your blackened veins.
"Stop it." You should've just left. Should've just pushed back the nagging in your brain and jumped off a cliff or a something. Surely the unexpected death of a royal guard—no, the death of a fundamental piece in their plan would surely be enough to cripple them for at least a few days, if not weeks.
Anything but this.
You meet his gaze. "I do love you Diluc, that I am sure of. You don't have to believe me. I know I wouldn't."
"Is that all you have to say?" He all but hisses, gloved fingers closing in to form a fist. "You've betrayed everyone. Your friends, your family...me."
"You think I don't know that?" Your voice breaks when you look away. "I don't know what's right anymore, what's wrong. I don't even know what I've been fighting for this entire time." A sharp, mirthless laugh escapes your lips, "To allow myself to carry out orders I do not believe in is too much to bear. How long do I delude myself into thinking that this is all for Khaenri'ah? That this is all for a reason that is beyond me?"
There's a sliver of softness that shows in his features, but you're too busy calming the waves crashing in your head.
"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore." You say, the sinking of your chest only expanding. "I've already contravened against the abyss, and for that they will come for me. The only thing I regret is that they couldn't get to me before you did."
A stricken look passes across his face, brows furrowed and desperation as clear as day when he reaches for you.
This time, you let his arms curl around your shaking figure, welcoming the comfort that you're undeserving of. "I won't let them."
"I'm sorry." You whisper shakily, fisting the fronts of his coat. "I'm so sorry Diluc."
Diluc hums as he strokes your hair soothingly, with the utmost of care. Although his trust in you has shattered, like irreplaceable fragments of glass, his love for you will remain constant.
Even with the storm that is fated to come.
#genshin impact#genshin impact oneshot#jean gunnhildr#diluc ragnvindr#master diluc#diluc x reader#diluc x y/n#genshin fanfic#diluc angst#genshin diluc#lumine#lumine genshin impact
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Oh my god, if it isn’t any trouble could you pretty please write something for Stain having his first time with his darling (preferably with his darling actually being really into him, at least by this point if not when he first kidnapped them)? I think this sounds so sweet and awkward and I really wanna see it if you’re okay with it 🥺
(Just as a heads up, I tend to default to a fem!Darling for sexual scenarios unless specified otherwise in the request)
It had taken weeks for ____ to not flinch whenever Stain reached out to touch her. It took even longer for her to stop crying herself to sleep every night. But throughout this entire period of "adjustment", he'd been patient and careful as if she were a frightened woodland creature instead of someone he'd fallen for and kidnapped. Slow movements, soft words, and a strict refusal to indulge any selfish desires he may have whenever he looked at her.
He'd never had much of a sex drive anyway; all of his attention had been dedicated to his life's mission, and he held himself to a high standard when it came to discipline. He rarely masturbated, and even then it was out of a desire to release stress and pent-up energy as opposed to having anything--or anyone--he wanted to sleep with. Even if he did want to lose his virginity, being the Hero Killer meant that his chances for sex were very rare...unless he wanted a casual hookup with one of his more unhinged followers.
Now here he was, his arms wrapped around ____'s nude body in a loving embrace. The two of them had gone farther than they ever had before in bed, exchanging heated kisses and touching each other with the inexperienced eagerness of two virgin lovers. He looked down at her, feeling her legs still shaking slightly after the attention he'd given her with his tongue; he'd needed a bit of guidance at first, with ____ leading him to her clitoris using her hand against the back of his head. After a few minutes though, he’d shown a natural talent for finding the best ways to make her squirm and moan in ecstasy as he swirled his tongue around her sensitive bud and explored her honey-drenched walls.
He was about to make her cum, when she’d suddenly pulled him back. Immediately, he looked up at her with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“N-not yet,” she replied, cupping his cheek with her hand. “I want the first time I...that I feel it...I want you inside me.”
Stain’s eyes widened. He would have been happy to have only used his tongue to pleasure her; he was afraid of potentially hurting her with his cock, especially since the two of them had never done this before. If he’d managed to make her climax at least once before asking to enter her, he’d be much more willing to take her completely knowing she was properly “taken care of.”
He stared intently at her, dark red eyes boring into her own. “Are you sure? You’re ready for me to do that to you...with you?” He reached up with one of his glistening hands to touch hers as she held his cheek. "You don't need to do this for my sake," he added firmly. "I--"
"Chizome."
Her voice was gentle, but there was a weight behind it that immediately made Stain shut his mouth. He was never one to deny his beloved whenever she spoke to him, especially like this. She smiled up at him and tucked a stray strand of black hair behind his ear. "I know I don't need to. You'd never force me, I know that." She traced a small pattern against his cheek and felt him shiver. "I want this. I want you to be my first."
Stain stared down at ____ in stunned silence, unsure of whether he was dreaming or not. He'd secretly longed for this ever since he'd first fallen for her, to be the first to claim her virginity and to give his own to her at the same time: the ultimate tribute to his goddess. He brushed a stray piece of hair behind her cheek and passionately kissed her, exploring her mouth with his long tongue. "I want you to be mine too," he breathed, pulling away for just a moment before going back to trail his tongue over her neck.
He guided his hard cock to her entrance and ran the head up and down her slit; even though she hadn't cum yet, she was already so slick with desire and Stain's saliva from when he'd been tasting her a few minutes earlier. "I'll be gentle," he assured, and ____ nodded while biting her lip.
"It…" ____ hesitated, and Stain immediately stopped to see what was wrong. She looked away, too flustered to look at him as she continued. "Um, it'll fit, won't it?" She glanced quickly at the first cock to ever be so close to her; the head had barely touched her, but it already felt so warm and wet and strangely intimidating with its reddened tip. "I know you'd never hurt me, but it just looks so…" she licked her lips. "Big."
Stain blushed and felt his cock twitch a bit in response to her words. He caressed her breast and gently kneaded it between his fingers, and ____ sighed pleasurably through her nose. A small smile formed on his face as he kissed her cheek. "I was able to fit most of my tongue inside of you," he said in a low voice. "It's longer than my cock by quite a bit, so it shouldn't have trouble fitting." He used his long tongue to snake its way from her neck to her peaked nipple, and both of them let out a shiver. “Y-you’re ready?” He continued to kiss her while lining himself up with her once again.
____ felt a rush of heat run through her body the moment she felt his cockhead brush against her glistening hole. “Yes, p-please,” she mewled, putting her arms around Stain to hold him close. “I can’t take much longer without you inside me, Chizome…”
That was all Stain needed to finally let his resolve crumble and give way to that burning desire to finally enter his goddess’s sacred body and worship it properly. He pressed his cock’s tip against her entrance and slowly eased his way inside of her. The two of them moaned in unison at the new sensation, and they gazed at each other through half-lidded eyes. “Oh my God,��� ____ gasped. She’d never felt this kind of pleasurable fullness before now, and all of her previous thoughts vanished until the only thing on her mind was how she never wanted this sensation to leave her. Her hips bucked forward a bit when his cock brushed past a gummy spot of flesh deep inside of her, and Stain groaned softly as he tried to set a pace to match her movements.
Stain hadn’t felt this lightheaded before, outside of fights where he’d lost a dangerous amount of blood while hunting a false Hero. Here though, there was no pain outside of the overwhelming pleasure of being inside of his Beloved; she was just so soft, so warm, so tight around him that it was almost unbearable. Every stroke of his hips against hers elicited a soft little gasp from his clenched jaw as his breaths turned into labored pants. He reached down as he moved a bit faster to kiss and suck on her pebbled nipples while caressing her thighs and hips with his hands. "You're so beautiful," he sighed. "You feel so wonderful around my cock, my beloved…" He suckled her breast even harder and he smiled against her skin when he heard her let out a lewd moan. "My treasure…"
The air became warmer and thicker around the two of them, and soon their gentle sighs and murmurs became louder and louder moans and cries of pleasure; not only that, but the sound of the old and worn bed frame creaking rhythmically also became louder and more frequent as the couple became more and more intertwined. ____ tried to swing her legs around Stain's waist, and once he realized what she was doing he eagerly helped hoist her up until she was in a seated position; Stain supported her back with his arms wrapped around her, and the new angle of his cock hitting her cervix pushed them both closer and closer to bliss.
Stain ran one hand through his Beloved's hair and gently squeezed her buttock with the other while she kissed and gently nipped his neck and earlobe, and he felt the pressure and heat inside of him come closer and closer to its peak. He pistoned his hips faster and rougher, and ____ threw her head back as she screamed his name and clenched around his cock as she came. The sight and sound and feel of her coming undone pushed him over the edge, and he came inside of her with a short-yet-passionate groan as he felt his seed fill her up completely.
Stain held her against him while she shivered from overstimulation, and gently massaged her lower left cheek as the two of them tried to catch their breath. After a full minute or so, he slowly lowered himself onto the bed while still holding her and keeping himself inside of her. He lay face up on the mattress and watched her turn her head to look at him with starry, half-lidded eyes. He stroked her hair and upper back, relishing in the shared warmth of their bodies and the feeling of her heartbeat as she curled up and clung to his body. "I...My God, I love you," he murmured.
____ moved herself up to rest her head in the crook of his neck. Stain felt her lips ghost against his collarbone as she softly kissed him. The two of them stared out the nearby window and twinkling lights of the city skyline and the stars. For months, ____ had dreamed of when she'd be able to escape her captor and find freedom outside of the Hero Hunter's hideout; now, she never wanted to leave their shared home...and especially didn't want to leave the warmth of their bed. "I love you too."
#.bnha#yandere bnha#.stain#yandere stain#.myshit#female darling#tw: kidnapping#tw: stockholm syndrome
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Steamed Buns and Spicy Fried Chicken
Woooohooo guess who was inspired for tooth rotting sappy birdie romance? You guessed it, me! Here's a little piece for honey baby Hawks.
Pairing: Hawks/ Reader
Summary: Hawks takes you on an impromptu first date on the roof of the tallest skyscraper in Fukuoma and things take quite the romantic turn.
Tags: romance, fluff, the smoochies™
"I think you should let loose for once."
The small urban street you're walking in is flooded, deemed and outshone by the numerous dark silhouettes of bypassers that seep onto warm golden light that eagerly emits from each tiny shop. Their voices are loud and they merge into one another creating an unbearable buzzing that you can feel thudding in the hollows of your chest. Yet, despite that, despite your ears filtering most of the words that are spared from left and right, rising amongst others, you make out his voice perfectly.
The playful raspy voice licks on your eardrums and spreads a honey flavored pleasure and despite the fact that it makes you freeze on the spot, you can feel his words spill out of your ears, drip onto your earlobes and rush their way to the back of your neck.
Your hand irrationally sneaks up to your nape and taps on the harsh skin there in hopes of catching a guilty crimson feather on the spot, but you're surprised to find that you're merely shivering on your own. You let out a huff of air exit your mouth as you bring your empty fist and rest it on your uniform clad chest, the skin in your fist tingling from the raw force of your skin-digging fingernails.
"I'm loose all the time." You shrug.
"No you're not!"
Your eyes don't bother leaving the shop's window and tangerine lights bathe your face in the most iridian way while white quivering dots of adoration dance on your (e/c) orbs, as if they flicker like the dying fire of a candle light.
Before you, protected by a transparent tempered glass that looks like it has been licked to a shiny perfection lay the most beautiful sight you could ever set your eyes on. A plethora of round, puffy, ivory colored buns that gush ribbons of beautiful delicious steam. You almost taste the fluidity and jiggle in their teeny tiny movements as they coo next to eachother, your mouth watering by the extraordinary delight that causes serotonin to blast through your brain like a firework.
Your mouth is drenched in the bitter taste of craving, the all too familiar sheer saliva produces in gushes from the underside of your tongue and your wet muscle can't do anything other than bow down to it, bucking away every few seconds for the watery substance to wash inside your mouth.
"You're so stiff even when you're looking at something that you like." Hawks dares to speak again, and you bask away from his voice that is masked with what you perceive as arrogance.
But it's not.
It's not, but there's not way for you to know because you fail to notice how his hand shoots up to you to comfortly rest on your shoulders or how he pulls it away as if he's been electrocuted even before he manages to reach you. It's not, because you've only chosen to perceive him as your cocky millennial boss. It's not, but you won't let his kindness get through you. And that what's killing him ultimately and all the time.
At least, that's what he has come to understand from your interactions. Nevertheless, tonight's air feels a different type of fresh.
But for now, before letting his mind be filled with any other thought that bothers him, he can't help but stop and stare. He's standing only a few meters behind you, his feathery wings shivering from time to time as he refuses to jolt his body to your direction. His golden honey colored irises are fixated on you and a contintinuous thudding inside his chest is slowly growing louder by each passing second.
Could it be what he thought it could be? The mellow sweetness of a live that he's yet to even proclaim to himself taps in the back of his brain occasionally and tonight it's decided it's going to break down the norms. The little pitch of self control bows before the coiling in his stomach, the little monster that is cooking him up and torturing the words he doesn't ever dare speak out loud.
Looking back, Hawks would be lying if he said that he hadn't arranged your patrols in perfect synch. You were the perfect jewel to his agency, the most fierce adding to his team. With the heart of a true, selfless hero you had wiggled your way into the hearts of the citizens, and apparently, into his own as well. And rightfully at that because when he was a high profile celebrity bathed by the cold, yellow light of the limelight that followed him everywhere, you remained a vessel of self sacrifice for the masses a strong youth that strayed away from the public eye.
He was amazed by how you had stated that you didn't want publicity when you took his offer to be scouted by him. He was even more amazed by your borderline barbaric nature at times, but he attributed that to your brute quirk. Inhuman strength and stamina was what you had been blessed with and you had taken your abilities to a level that no one in your category could ever reach, rightfully earning your hero name, Amazona.
And somewhere between being you feisty, angsty and a little bit of a naive sweetheart Hawks had found himself unable to rip himself off your presence. He usually contemplated on whether he annoyed you or whether you were just secretly hating him, but despite the snarly remarks and the harsh glares you'd shoot him, the kindness and respect you showed to his person was unmistakably honest.
And thus the throbbing of his heart pumps scarlet blood in violent a gushes in his veins and a tiny spec on his thigh twitchs quietly, probably by the exhaustion of previous days and his eyes squint in borderline adoration while he is watching you as soft creases of skin accentuate the sides his puffy undereyes. Hawks feels his body shiver despite the warmth his camel jacket provides for him and his shoulders spasm slightly in quick bird like movements.
He has never seen you under such light both quite literally and metaphorically, but there's something about the way coral colored LEDs concentrate on illuminating your hair and the way your eyes shine in the wettest glimmers that allows them to remain wide in this heavenly state. Hawks feels unable to resist to this gut churning charm and for once, he decides to close the distance between the two of you.
He hopes he's right to do so because his anxiety is chewing on the inside of his intestines like a hungry wolf.
People occasionally comment on his public appearance, they throw small waves at him and mouth small greeting words but at the moment he misses all of them, his eyes fixated on your reflection in the window. Lingering his gaze between your reflection and your side profile Hawks' mouth falls agape, a few strings inside his chest close to ripping. He takes a notice of how your eyelashes graze over the top of the apples of your cheeks, or how your lips curl upwards in the tiniest bit, despite your lips being pushed in a thin line, resting between your teeth.
"I mean... take a picture it'll last longer." He comments awkwardly, as if it's something that will make you let him in and that previously reluctant hand of his is wiggling its way into your clothed shoulder.
You shake your head, your face falling into it's typical nonchalant expression. "Haha, very funny Hawks."
"What?" He smiles a sultry beam at you, his right eye squinting almost to a tiny blink, making you click your tongue.
You grunt a small yet harsh groan and snap your head to the opposite direction of his, trying to escape his golden gaze as you feel your insides boiling with anger as your hands cross under your bussom. He never fails to amaze you with his arrogance and his constant teasing, but tonight he's way too close to you and you need to be alone because shit, his cologne is making the inside of your nostrils cream in orgasmic jolts. Well, with a sniffling and and cringle of your nose you try to attribute the runny nose to the chaste kisses of tonight's wintery breeze.
"Do you want to buy them?"
"What?"
"You're basically ready to propose to these buns, might as well have them in your stomach."
Its only for a second that you turn your face to his direction, your foot stomping on the ground as your pouty face stares back at him. Your puckering lips are prominent, the little creases on them carrying all of the fun in your expression and in the fragment of a second Hawks' espression falls into a stable, serious one, mimicking you.
"Quit acting like a child, you want the buns right?"
Despite the fact that there's little distance between the two of you you feel like you are miles apart. And for some reason your heart screams at you that you want to get closer. He emits a burning hot light that pulls you in and it's hard to ignore. You've never wanted to admit that you were drawn to it but here you were, watching his chest falling and rising underneath his camel jacket, your brain freaking out as it tries to regulate the air supply to your lungs in any case your breathing can match his.
What is it about him that makes your heart pulse and your stomach coil? You were supposed to be mad at him for being sarcastic over your buns, weren't you?
Your legs rub together, the longer pieces of your skirt wiggle in the air as another cold breeze blows on you. You don't realise how you come to nod to him, but it happens before you even have time to hold back in your reactions.
Hawks is known for his unmatched speed and thus your gut oozes in panic as you see him turning his feet to the direction of the store's door. Your hand extends unconsciously to his direction, sort, swollen fingers grip onto the white feathery fur of his jacket, giving a tiny tag on the spot. Fortunately it's enough to make him stop.
"No."
"No?"
Honey eyes stare into yours from over his shoulder while a few of his red baby feathers dance in your vision. Long panting sighs emit from both of you, materializing in the air and falling perfectly onto each other's ears despite the surrounding commotion. Hawks takes back the few steps to you and you prompt him forward with your hand.
"Ever since I came to Japan," you confess, your voice barely under your breath, but he still catches it "I promised myself I'd first have them only in a special occasion."
"Oh really?" He questions, his bushy brow quirking. "Can this occasion be me helping you let yourself enjoy letting loose for once?"
This time you don't shrug, you simply knowingly nod.
Hawks doesn't need to be told more, if he is quite frank. The impromptu need to act like an irrational teenager hits him and a smirk is plastered on his adorning face. This time he doesn't hesitate to run inside the store, shagging your hand away from his jacket. His head shoots in your direction every few seconds, taking in the glints of surprise in your expression and the everlasting amusing nature of your pouting lips.
When he exits the store with an enormous, thick duffel bag your lips automatically loosen up, your spit forcing it's way down your throat. You fix your eyes on him harshly and huff through your nose in slight defeat. Under any other circumstance you wouldn't let him know he's broken down your usual defense but today is not a normal day.
Hawks reluctantly gives you a prompt by tapping his hand to the small of your back while the delicious smell of the freshly steamed buns reaches your nostrils and hits you like a tsunami. If it's even possible you swear that Hawks smells even better than the buns and the non existent distance between the two of you only proves to you how enchanting the smell of coconuts and axe wood is.
"Are you hungry?"
You cock a brow to his direction, your hands finally letting loose from the linking they had perfected over your chest and coming to sway loose on your sides as your mind goes to work. You feel your stomach protest and scream in excitement at the thought of food and before you ever have a chance to speak out a loud growl violently makes it way to Keigo's eardrums. For once, your brows don't furrow as you watch him fall into a dazzling moment of bubbling laughter, you simply smile back, a few chuckles escaping you as well as your stomach protests again.
"My speed is unmatched even by your stomach!"
"Yeah."
Despite the fact that you're not immensely talkative, your voice is rather soft and fluffy. Hawks is smiling at you with a wide luminous grin as his chin cringles and wiggles everytime his lips switch positions on his face. His chin hair puffs as he comes to scratch it; the slightest indicator that he's trying to put his mind to work.
"Well how about spicy fried chicken?"
"I also want fries."
You don't miss the way his face lights up when you speak the words.
"Come with me I know a place!"
....
The downside of living in an urban, overpopulated city in Japan lays on the fact that the sky is lacking its eternal beauty, the white ball spectrums, the numerous shining jewels that form shapes which are aknowledged by all generations and all cultures; stars. In a respectful attempt to make up for such atrocious deprivation Japan offers a vast scenery of over illuminated roads and buildings, decorating the ground instead of the sky.
As a pro hero you've come to understand the importance of being able to look down while trying to aim for the stars. And nonetheless the city that lays below you is alive, much like its winged protector who's sitting right beside you while you lay on the tallest rooftop in Fukuoka, munching on the delicious food you previously purchased while roaming around the town.
His shaggy bleached hair is flowing as the strong winter breeze blows on you creating a halo of blond hair around his laid back head, emphasizing his angelic appearance. His cheeks shine in a sheer peachy red and every time he sniffles the little watery substance that begs to run from his narrow nostrils his nose shines like a prohibited red button on a remote control.
You hate to admit but there's something biblical in the way you're looking at him. Mostly because you keep comparing him to an angel when he's not even close to being one. In fact none of you is. And you pretend to blind when it comes to that fact, momentarily hoping he'll see you as an angelbird too. Not as bird of prey.
You bite onto your chicken breast with a slurp, avoiding to make your eyes meet his despite how much you want to. Hawks is enthusiastically enjoying his food as well, gobbling on numerous tenders of the chicken in his large carton bucket.
You steal glances at him occasionally as you try to keep up with the conversation he has started -something about how he plans on financially supporting new costume designs for all of your team in the agency because he wants to enhance your capabilities with costumes that don't get in your way. And when he looks back at you with the slyest of glares you purge your lips together and snarl away, giving into that little cat and mouse game the two of you currently beg to always have established.
You decide it's the way that he looks under any light that makes your heart skip beats and then race at despicable paces. The blood producing and pumping organ is rooting for him, it's basically hanging from the tip of his tongue, ready to fall down along with the words that he speaks to you.
When you reach with your hand for your buns though you find your wrist cooed inside Hawks' fist before you even have a chance to realise that it has happened.
"Nah ah!" He says, wiping his hands with the napkin in the small paper bag next to him while managing to offer one to you as well "I gotta show you something first."
He blinks his honey orbs in yours with a lingering hint of a tease in his smile, his brows wiggling continuously in a playful manner. You gulp down some saliva, the strong desire for the buns you've had for so long urging you to muster up a snarly remark at him.
"Please I don't want to see your dick on the first date." You chuckle.
"Very funny, I actually wanted to help you let completely loose before you taste the buns, you know so you enjoy them to the max. Plus they don't get cold, it has something to do with the baker's quirk yada yada." He smiles and you nod at him sturdily. "Ah wait, so this is a date?"
Cheeky bastard, of course he wouldn't let that slip.
Naturally, you pretend to resent the way his hands come to cup the sides of your face by pushing your brows together but your heart is hammering beyond the point of regulation at this point. He blinks his eyes into yours for the upteenth time this evening and teasingly bites his fuller lower lip as he notices you're staring at it.
Instantly you take notice of a small freckle that rests on his lip and you almost feel your self heat up by the idea that even his flaws seem to be so fitting to his picture perfect and it's pulling you even deeper into him.
"Hawks, you're so pretty that it hurts to look at you." You breathe, panting cold puffs of air onto his face.
His eyes squint painfully as he pulls in impossibly closer. "Keigo. It's it's just us call me Keigo."
With his lips barely brushing against yours you take a deep breath, preparing your self for what's about to happen and how much you're only craving for it. His nose is pressed against yours, your tips freezing up eachother as your breaths mix under the crystal air. He is so warm that you feel your cheeks sweating, your lip is probing down to stay agape for him as he leans in closer.
And as your heart spreads to the point you think you're going to black out he pulls back a few of his feathers lifting you up in the air and right onto his back. Your eyebrows furrow in a whiny manner but you refuse to let it show further, your lips protesting in the absence of the kiss they had been expecting. The way he's keen on edging you whether it is for your sweets or a secretly long awaited kiss is driving you beyond wild.
A few feathers run away to his demand, picking up any mess you've left behind while lifting the duffel bag in the air before vanishing into thin air.
Hawks flies swiftly in between skyscrapers while taking leaps from now and then to avoid being spotten by the media. You pass by thousands of buildings, your eyes fixating on every possible angle of the town you've never similarly witnessed before. The few sounds of surprise you let out every now and then only sound like a robin's song to him, prompt long him to maneuver his way higher in the air.
He's not done leaping down the building in an almost too dangerous manner, his excessive speed making it hard for you to feel anything other that rushes of adrenaline in your whole body. Your hands instinctively spread wide open over his wings and you think you hear him grunt a little moan as you press your chest to the base of his wings to steady yourself.
"This is astonishing." You admit, cooing your head to the crook of his neck.
Suddenly an idea strikes you, the impulse that has been gifted to you by the ability to slice through the air on top of the winged hero catching up to your adrenaline rush. It's crazy to think about and it could go deeply wrong but your gut is telling you to trust the man who has just set an intimacy between you by merely giving you his coveted first name.
"Hey don't close your eyes, here's the best par-"
"Drop me!"
"What!?" Hawks practically screams
"Didn't you say I should let loose? Drop me off birdie, if you're fast enough you can catch me right?"
Reluctantly he turns his head to your direction, catching you with the corner of his eye. Slyly you bob your head to his direction, shooting him an amused, genuine smile and that's all he needs to comply to your wish. If he can manage to pull this off he might have a little plan up his sleeve.
"Shit, this is the craziest idea I've ever heard." He hisses. "Try not to scream because the media will notice."
He says, to which you nod with determination.
As you slide from his back gravity starts to pull you in maniacally, furiously putting tons of dead weight into your body. Your ears fall deaf to your surroundings, a mellow tingling silence conquers the depths of your brain as stories of strangely illuminated skyscrapers start to appear. Your stomach drops and twirls while a numbing sensation overtakes it, it feels tons heavier than a kick in the stomach by a Nomu.
Your eyes are focused on Hawks and the gleaming worry in his eyes that contrasts with the childish, sheepish smile that is plastered on his lips. Buildings rush in vertigos around you, the strong feeling of gravity still taking a toll you is now more prominent than ever.
Before you can start feeling a hint of worry two lean arms come to wrap around you and you skyrocket in the open sky; the warmth of Hawks' skin pulls you in and you find yourself being twirled in the air, feathers flying everywhere around you as scarlet wings swoon all over your form before they jet on his back like a bird of pray.
The only thing missing is a vast moon on the background.
Hawks' is looking at you again, his eyes traveling the distance between your eyes and lips feverishly a thousand times per second, as if he's hesitant to make a move, as in if he can't hold back now, he won't be able to do so ever. One gloved hand reaches for the tuff of hair that's stuck on your chin. A slight, boiling touch is placed on the spot she drags it opposite to the tress of hair, aiming to tuck it behind your ear.
Simultaneously his other hand prompts you on him, resting on the small of your back tenderly. Once the task of getting your hair out of the way is done he cups your cheek, feeling your hammering pulse even through the harsh leather material of his glove and you lay into his palm like a touch deprived puppy, ogling at him with such adoration that sets his gut on fire.
And it's only then that he doesn't hesitate to slam his face into you, because this is the easiest way to go with it. He knows that if he waits for a little longer he will hesitate, he will try to mask away his eagerness and the anxiety you're causing him with snarly remark and he doesn't want that. He wants to feel how your lips will feel against his.
Your lips respond to his immediately, shyly moving against his. When he is sucking with passion, hungrily opening up his mouth to savor every spec of your lips you act sophisticated, tenderly opening up your mouth and closing it over his lower lip, giving him tiny little sucklings and kitten licks, casually worrying the flesh of lip between your teeth.
You resist pulling back for air, your chest begging you to let it melt under his touch and you comply, feeling your insides turn into hot destructive lava, swiping every vital organ in its passing and only he and his cooking tongue can stop your body from turning into Pompeii.
Your own hands grip on his face, pulling him impossibly closer and now you decide on fighting back, angrily opening up your mouth with need to rub it against his. Soon it's teeth that are colliding and noses that are bumping and chins that crush into one another as your tongues lick around each other, your saliva mixing in the sweetest mixture you could ever taste.
It's him that pulls back with a hitched breath and an erotic look on his face. His cheeks are bright red, if possible more so than his wings, his lips swollen and his eyes half lid. If you know him, he's about to let out a comical remark.
"Do you kiss everyone like that on your first date or just me?"
See, you know him way too well.
"Ah, so this is a date!?" You mimick his previous remark, causing a bubble of laughter to escape him as he bumps his nose into yours. "This is what happens when you tell me to let loose."
"Well maybe you should let loose more often."
And he's right. You should. But for now you want to enjoy his sweet feathery pecks while you nom on your mountain of red bean paste buns. He's worked hard on making sure you will enjoy them so you own him that one.
Don't you?
AHHHH THANKS FOR READING ALL OF THIS SMOOCHES TO YOU :*
@sasageyowrites @nobody-knows-anymore here you go babes, I hope this is something.
#hawks x reader#hawks x y/n#keigo takami x reader#keigo takami x y/n#hawks imagine#mha hawks#hawksbnha#bnha hawks#bnha#mha#boku no hero fanfic#boku no hero academia#my hero academy fanfiction#keigo x you#keigo imagine#keigo takami#hawks
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Save Him -- Part 3
Shigaraki Tomura x Reader
No gender-specific terms are use here!
***18+ Fic***
Please, if you’re not 18 or older, don’t read.
Warnings: Kidnapping, good ‘ol fashioned murder, tooth-rotting fluff, gets a lil spicy at the end but there’s no real smut...yet?, also reader is kinda crazy (y’know, like the rest of the LOV)
Word Count: 1.4k
Author’s Note: Tbh I don’t know what possessed me to make it spicy at the end. If I get asked for a NSFW part 4 I’m gonna struggle keeping reader gender neutral... *internal panic*...Anyway, here’s part 3.
Part 1 - Part 2
Enjoy~
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The possibility was always there, but the likelihood of it happening was very slim. Tomura almost never took you outside with him. If either of you left, it was on your own. That’s because he didn’t want anyone to connect the two of you to each other. He didn’t want to put you in a situation where you’d be in danger because someone was using you to get to the leader of the LOV. Of course, things never quite worked out the way Tomura wanted.
The only difference here is that you were taken, not because they wanted to get to him, but because of your quirk.
You were aware of Kai Chisaki, head of the Shie Hassaikai, and his experimentation with the little girl he claimed to be his daughter. He’d been using her blood and quirk to produce both quirk enhancing and quirk cancelling drugs. His ultimate goal was to eliminate quirks altogether. That’s why you were currently here, strapped down to a chair in a lab, people in plague doctor masks asking questions as they lay out medical tools. Just the thought of them poking around in your body made your skin crawl.
You’d think with the League working in tandem with them, Kai would be a bit smarter about picking his targets. Apparently not, since he had no clue who you were outside of your quirk. But you guessed that was the whole point of keeping you hidden, wasn’t it? Now, Twice and Toga both knew you were here and had informed Tomura, which meant the League was no longer pretending to be on the same side as Overhaul. So when the radios on all of the bird-masked people blared signaling heroes were raiding the base, you took the opportunity laid out for you.
The second one of them took off your restraints, you were moving. You quickly picked up the two largest sharp tools laid out on the tables and got to work, removing your quirk-cancelling bracelet and fighting just like you were back on the street. You were in the zone, everything a blur of flesh and red, adrenaline coursing through your veins, a thrillride you hadn’t felt in a long time. And honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’d managed to take down all four men without a scratch, all because they couldn’t use their quirks anymore.
The clicks of locks sounded in your ears, and you bolted over to the metal door only to find it was locked. You were the only one left alive in the room, so it must have been because of the heroes storming the base. Every other door must be locked just the same right now. You swore under your breath and put the bracelet back on, then waited. It wasn’t even two minutes before you could hear your name being called through the heavy door.
You pounded on it, screaming out for Tomura to hear you, screaming that you were in here. He found you nearly instantly, and the door crumbled to dust as you backed away from it.
____
Fear shot through him as he took in your image. You were covered in blood, your hands and legs drenched, beautiful face splattered and eyes almost manic. Then he saw you were holding two very sharp tools that looked like they belonged in an operation room, and he took in the four dead bodies lying in their own blood behind you. Pride quickly took over that fear.
He hadn’t even realized you had leapt into his arms until he heard your voice. “Don’t worry, I’m not hurt. And I took off the bracelet, it’s okay.” He buried his face into your neck and breathed you in. It had only been just over a day, but fuck he missed you. “Alright, Bunny. It’s time to wreak havoc.” The uncontrollable excited giggle you let out was angelic in his ears.
____
Before you knew it you were back at the hideout, showered, clean, and cuddling with Tomura on the bed. The Shie Hassiakai base had been obliterated, and Kai Chisaki no longer had either of his arms. You’d never been with them on a mission, but the chaos you could be part of in the past 24 hours was exhilarating. But you had an inkling that it would be more of a one-time thing. Tomura clearly struggled to keep his composure with your disappearance, if his furious cuddling had anything to say about it.
As always, you lay on your back with the white-haired crusty boy completely on top of you, his hips between your legs and his lanky arms wrapped tight around your waist. Instead of him laying his head on your chest, though, his face was in your neck as he nuzzled into your skin, his fingers grasping at your flesh under your shirt. ‘Geez, so clingy’ you thought to yourself. It was absolutely adorable.
“Thank you for coming for me Tomu.” His low hum vibrated against your skin, and he popped his head up to look you in the eyes. “Of course I came for you.” His eyebrows scrunched together lightly, a slight pink dusting his cheeks and a little pout on his lips. “I…” His eyes were almost frantic as they darted around, looking everywhere but at you. You reached up and grabbed his face, squishing his cheeks and forcing him to look at you. “Relax. Whatever it is, you don’t need to say it right now.”
His eyebrows scrunched up further and he shook your hands off his face, instead choosing to sit up on your stomach and grab your face in his own shaky hands. His frame bent over you, his forehead touching yours and his hands trembling on your cheeks. His beautiful red irises stared down into your own eyes, then flicked down to your lips and back up. Suddenly his lips were on yours, gentle and sweet and passionate, and when he pulled away you almost couldn’t hear him breathe out three beautiful little words.
Your eyes snapped open and you held your breath, staring up at him. A long moment of silence passed between the two of you. “Say it again.” He blinked, “I love you.” He began to pepper your face with kisses, muttering ‘I love you’s in between. He didn’t stop until you grabbed his face again and smashed your lips onto his. You could feel his body shaking from the excitement. God he was just so adorable. When you pulled away you whispered those same three words to him, and you showered each other in kisses and affection until he held you so tight to him you couldn’t move.
It was like he never wanted to separate from you again, never wanted to go a moment where your bodies weren’t touching. Now he was on his back, arms tight around your waist and your arms wrapped around his neck, legs clamped around his hips. You lay there, just taking each other in, his hands roaming the skin under your shirt, basking in each other’s presence. When you felt something hard against the front of your hip, you poked your head up to see a very red Tomura squeezing his eyes shut tight.
“Tomu~” The little squeak that came from his throat almost made you coo. “Tomu I can feel you. Is someone excited?” He kept his eyes closed, giving the smallest of nods. You leaned up and pecked him on the lips. “Do you want me to help you?” His eyes shot open, shock taking over his features before a violent blush spread from his cheeks to his chest. At that moment you decided Tomura was nothing short of precious. Before you knew it you were flat on the bed, hands pinned above your head, legs pinned under his body.
He leaned down, his breath hot on your neck. “Be careful, Bunny.” His hot, wet tongue licked a long stripe up your pulsepoint, making you shudder. “You’ll be the one needing help after what I’d do to you.” He kissed up your neck and jaw before resting his forehead on yours, panting heavily, clearly trying to restrain himself. “Now, Bunny, the question you should be asking is ‘how do you want me?’ and the only options you get are ass up face down or on your back legs spread.” The tone of his voice made you shudder, heat pooling low in your belly.
Fuck you were in for a long night.
#shigaraki tomura#tomura shigaraki#shigaraki x reader#tomura shigaraki x reader#shigaraki tomura x reader#shigaraki tomura fluff#tomura shigaraki fluff#shigaraki fluff#shigaraki bnha#shigaraki mha#shigaraki x reader fluff
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Blood in the Library
Well, I finished it even though I was planning on posting it tomorrow. Not my grandest piece, but to me it has a delectable taste of whump and a little comfort seasoning. Mmmm yum. You can tell I'm hungry. Anway, this is shorter than normal, but, not to be a spoiler, still has my classic cliffhanger.
Warnings: gorey descriptions of blood, collapse/loss of consciousness, descriptions of murder, begging, descriptions of someone's lack of weight and muscles
~
Then he just... collapsed?
Fell down the stairs in epic slow-mo, eyes turning white just before his head cracked against the concrete surface. Face growing into a snowy blanch as his injuries caught up to his rapidly tiring body.
Civilian rushed forward in a desperate attempt to catch him, but it was an effort close to pointless. He had already fallen deep into a pit of blackness and painless sleep.
Civilian scooped up his fevered body and hugged him close. His bloody head lolled limply across her chest until it settled in the crease of her shoulder, content to just rest there for eternity.
Civilian's eyes scouted his body, taking in the countless bruises and pools of blood. It was a horrendous sight- one that would make a squeamish person retch with revolting nausea. But she wasn't one for that, so she pressed her hands firmly against the worst of the bubbling blood geysers to staunch the streaming flow.
When the blood flow minimized to a manageable amount, she grabbed her phone and proceeded to call the ambulance, but a weak hand stopped her.
Civilian looked down to see fluttering indigo-colored eyes meeting her own rustic browns. They were, indeed, more than beautiful- dare say, gorgeous to some degree. Civilian couldn't help but admire them. The way green swirled into navy... it was a sight that she didn't want to stop seeing.
But of course, her wish was denied when the poking and prodding of the situation reminded her that the injured man was awake and quite distressed.
"No," he begged. "No...nnn, no stop stop... phsl-phslease please no." His shaky hand floated about aimlessly, but the dark azure eyes guaranteed the intensity of the weakly said plea.
For a split second, Civilian was dumbfounded before realizing that she needed to comfort and soothe the man.
"Hey," she set down the phone. Immediately, the man's anguished features relaxed, looking approvingly at the laid phone.
"I'm not gonna hurt you," she told him, not quite understanding his sudden placidity- the painless look of serenity in those irises. It was as if all agony faded with the simple gesture, but the quivering of his lips and sporadic twitches determined otherwise.
"Not that," he slurred in incomplete syllables, his eyes closing despite his best efforts to stay conscious.
"Okay," Civilian went to pick up her phone again, to call the much needed paramedic, but a sudden outburst from the man made her drop the phone, startled.
"No amb'lanch," he cried, but it was a waste if energy. His head dropped back against her, eyes rolling backwards once again. Civilian shook him to the waking world.
"Who are you?" She asked as if that would give her some clearance about not calling the ambulance.
"Villain..." He mumbled, slurred and incoherent, but Civilian heard it as if it was screamed at her. Then, his eyes shut all the way and he was lost to the world.
Civilian dropped the man and scurried to her feet, hands grappling at her cheeks. It was... Villain. One of the most feared criminals in the whole city. The one who strung people up by wires to slowly kill them in the most gruesome way possible.
The one that even heroes didn't dare to cross.
And he was passed out at her feet, bleeding and barely breathing.
She should've turned him in. Turned him in so that the proper authorities could finally arrest the menace that plagued the city- especially now that he was subdued and probably very compliant.
Yet... he was shivering. Shivering from the cold, exhaustion, and pain. It would be merciless to leave him to suffer- possibly die- alone. Civilian had some morals affer all.
Villain didn't. That much was clear from the way he razed cities to the ground. It was clear from the way he mercilessly slaughtered innocents. And it was more than clear when he threw bombs in front of traffic to kill and destroy everything within a half mile radius.
But he was injured.
But he had killed so many others without even blinking an eye.
No one else had to die.
Now, Civilian was not a model of muscles. She was more accurately described as a "bag of bones". Heck, some people even told her to go to a doctor- she had grown in size since then, but still.
So, linking her arms and dragging the villain a foot unlocked new muscles that she didn't even know she had. Not that she had the muscles, but after walking just a little bit, she was exhausted and sore.
"How?" She sighed and slumped down to the ground. The villain was still asleep, not bothered by the ninety degree turn Civilian maneuvered him in.
The library that Civilian volunteered at was lazily sitting itself against the sunset in a silhouetted painting. The stairs leading up to it- the ones Villain fell down- weren't too tall... ish? No, they towered over the pair, guarding the marbled building. White pillars supported the small tiled canopy with vigor, giving the quaint building a classic Roman Empire vibe.
Inside was a small isolated office where Civilian spent her lunch break. It had an expresso machine to satisfy her zealous cravings for the brunette liquid with white creamer topping.
It also had a couple comfortable bean bags that were perfect for the villain to recline upon until he woke up. It wasn't like Civilian was planning on actually tending to the vibrant red gashes. Dragging him to a heated room was enough- a gifted treasure to the villain, she believed- and it would be unlawful to go any further.
It took maybe an hour until the fit figure and skinny one barged through the glass door- the only portion of the exterior that did not hold that Pompeii look. Civilian was dripping with sweat, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Villain had not moved. His face was still and lubricant.
Civilian laid Villain upon the red castle-like carpet that spread through the hallway of the library before shutting the dark sky out, closing the door and locking it.
She then took Villain to the earlier mentioned office with more ease for the red carpet made him slide like a bolt drenched in WD-40. She opened the office. Thankfully, unlike every other room in the building, the walls barricading it were made of plaster, not transparent diamond-shaped panel windows.
She laid him upon a gray beanbag and assessed his wounds before turning to leave.
But a small whimper made her spin back around.
Villain was awake, taking in his surroundings with dazed interest- not really understanding, but realizing his situation, or dilemma, depending on what his half-delirious mind thought. Finally, after a few slow moments of searching the walls for some hidden answer, those dazzling- and slightly familiar- eyes landed on the tiny body of Civilian.
Civilian didn't know what to say. Any statement her mind conjured was shot down with a contradicting question of "what if he asks this" or "won't that make me seem like I care for him".
So she settled on a simple question that anyone would've ask anyone.
"How are you feeling?"
The villain took a while to make sense of the peculiar question. He was, in fact, never asked that from anyone.
Not even-
He shuddered, not wanting to think of the one person who might've once cared for him.
"Weird," the villain replied, eyes shifting downwards to study the masterpiece done on him. Like paint, once it dried on the flesh-covered canvas, it would be an artist's hard work.
The end result.
"Like how?" Civilian wondered, despite her natural instincts to leave.
"Dizzy? Pain, hurts. Don't know," Villain forced himself to meet those kind looking eyes.
"You lost a lot of blood," Civilian answered, setting her body next to his. "I'm pretty sure these need stitches."
Villain nodded, blue eyes ragged with an uncharacteristic emotion. Fear, almost.
"You... Civ'lian?" Villain slurred, his body threatening to shut down once again.
"Yes," Civilian replied. "I am. And you are Villain." The words tasted like hot sauce in her mouth. She just admitted outloud to herself that she was caring for a villain. The most notoriously evil villain in the city, if that fact wasn't stated enough.
"Know you..."
"No, I think you are delirious."
"No. Know you," the villain asserted.
"Okay... who did this to you?" Civilian asked, watching the rapidly fading Villain's face.
"My boss and m' brother," the villain responded, his eyes slipping shut. "...Hero."
The world seemed to stop as the last word was uttered. Hero?
Those eyes. The familiar captivating gaze held in those blueberry-flavored irises. The notable green swirls, speckles of black dust... those were Hero's eyes.
Those were her boyfriend's eyes.
#villain whumpee#civilian caretaker#hero whumper#villain x civilian#writing#hero x civilian#blood tw#tw death mention#heros and villains
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