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gaylordscooter · 2 months

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One Year of This So-Called Hell

It's been awhile since they've started living at the castle. They've grown used to it. They wouldn't call it their home or call each other their housemates, but they certainly thought of it like that.

However, despite how long they’ve been here, they still have yet to get acquainted with Nightmare. They were all casual with each other except with him. For obvious reasons, including but not limited to the fact he kidnapped them all and puts them through grueling situations from time to time.

Though, that latter reason has diminished over time. They didn't know if he was running out of ideas or what, because recently these situations have become akin to game nights. Quite literally they would play some board game or card game. It was kinda fun. None of them were going to complain though, even if they found it odd.

But today something especially odd happened. Not only was there a breakfast setup for them when they arrived at the kitchen this morning, Nightmare himself was at the table.

At first none of them said anything to him. Then Killer decided he couldn't stand the silence and said a good morning that was directed at everyone.

“Good morning, Killer,” Nightmare responded in a formal tone. He took a bite out of his pancakes. The three were watching him in disbelief as he chewed and swallowed. He looked up, taking note that none of them were making a move to sit down. “I hope the food isn't that bad. It took me a few tries to make something decent.”

“you cooked this?” Horror asked in surprise. He shot a skeptical look at the food. He's never messed with their food before, but he wouldn't be surprised if he started now.

“I made an effort to. There are no eggs as I couldn't extract the edible part without getting the casing mixed up in it.” He continued to eat, trying to show the food wasn't tampered with.

Killer shrugged and pulled out a chair to sit down a few chairs away from Nightmare. He grabbed a plate and a few pancakes. He quickly inspected the food before dousing it in an ungodly amount of syrup and began to eat.

Nightmare couldn't help but stare at Killer's soul as they ate, as weird as that was. He was transfixed by the shape. It was different, much more reminiscent of a proper monster soul rather than the usual target.

“hey, bud, my eyes are up here,” Killer said.

Nightmare's eye snapped up as if he was a child that was caught holding a knife. He noticed that Killer’s eye sockets, which were usually empty, had ringed eyelights at the moment, but usually he’d only have them when he was experiencing intense emotions—often negative. He didn't sense any negativity from him at the moment.

“whatcha lookin’ at?” he questioned despite knowing the answer.

Nightmare felt the other two’s tension and wariness. “Your soul's different,” he noted.

Killer’s posture relaxed a little. “oh, yeah. it's been that way for a bit.” He glanced at the other two, silently pleading them to stop standing in place awkwardly and to actually join them at the table.

Fortunately, Horror read his mind and made a move to sit down, prompting Dust to as well.

“May I ask what it means for it to look that way?” Nightmare implored.

Killer seemed taken aback by the question. His smile went crooked, at least more than usual and he slouched as if to cover his soul with the table. “am i allowed to say ‘no’? you kinda already asked.”

“You need not answer,” he responded. He dropped the topic; the question made Killer uncomfortable and he would rather not drive him away.

Dust and Horror were finally beginning to eat. Nightmare was almost worried they’d never start.

“i’ll tell you if you answer two of my questions,” Killer eventually said, to his surprise.

Of course he’d turn this into a bargain. “Ask away.”

He noticed that piqued Dust and Horror's interest.

“what’s up with the breakfast? you've never done this before.” Killer said.

“I can be nice, once in a while.”

Killer scoffed, rolling his eyelights.

“And it's a special occasion. It's been a year since I first brought you all here,” he added. He debated doing something like this in the first place. His relationship with these three was unusual. He was their tormentor; their personalized hell. At the very same time, he was their provider, in a way. He’d bring them food, water and shelter, things normally a parental figure would do—even though he was everything but that.

Horror laughed dryly, “how nice, a breakfast to celebrate a whole year after you kidnapped us to treat us like your toys.”

However, as far as he knew, he was nothing but a demon and that was exactly how they saw him.

His brother was an angel, and he was a demon. That's just how things were.

“second question, why haven't you ever messed with our food?”

Horror’s expression soured as he glared at Killer like it was a warning.

“it'd be pretty effective torture, right?” He continued to eat despite the topic at hand.

“It’d be effective,” he agreed, “but only once. Afterwards, Horror would be too far gone to do anything with.”

Horror dropped the fork he was holding with a clatter. His smile was tense and nearly a straight line.

“you’d still have me and dust, though,” Killer said.

“you little shit—”

Killer turned his head to Horror revealing his serious expression to him to silently tell him, no, he's not giving him ideas. He's trying to get information.

“Killing or irreparably harming any of you would be a major inconvenience, that is why.”

Killer stood up and leaned towards Nightmare, putting his hands on the table. “you said we were easily replaceable,” he remarked.

“I said there were many like you, not that you were easily replaceable,” he corrected. He didn't like where this conversation was going. “I answered your questions, now answer mine.”

“fine,” Killer huffed, sitting back down and crossing his arms. “i don’t know,” he said.

“What?” Nightmare said in a low rumble. Was he tricked? He didn't take kindly to the notion that Killer was going back on their deal. His tentacles flicked irritably.

Horror, noticing the ends of them sharpening, decided to speak up, “he doesn't. at least, he doesn't know what causes it.”

His tentacles relaxed, no longer threatening to lash out at Killer. “Do you feel any different?”

Shouldn't he already know that?

“oh he sure feels different,” Horror said.

Killer shrunk in on himself, trying to look invisible. Embarrassment. Shame? Guilt.

Why was it suddenly harder to discern his emotions?

“I want to hear it from him.” His eye bore into Killer.

Killer groaned, bordering on a growl, “you’re telling me you haven't felt a difference? actually, i’m surprised you’ve kept me around before, considering i didn’t feel anything.”

Nightmare's eye widened.

He didn't feel anything before? That wasn't right. He could sense his emotions the whole time. That's how he found him in the first place. As far as he knew, he wasn't like Ink either. It was very clear he had a soul.

“You did feel before. That's how I found you,” he insisted.

Killer narrowed his sockets. Anger. “i was only acting, until recently. none of it was real.”

He could feel bitterness coming from Dust.

Killer frowned, risking a glance at Dust. “but it is now,” and it’s terrifying, “and it’s weird.”

“How long has it been like this?” He knew Killer was getting annoyed at all the questions but he couldn't just drop it now. He didn't care if he was getting annoyed.

Killer had the audacity to stand up.

“Sit back down,” he ordered.

“i don't need to answer you. i don't need to follow your orders. i'm not your pet,” he spat as he roughly pushed his chair in, making the table jolt.

“You aren’t,” he sighed as Killer stormed off. His eye darted to Dust and Horror. They hardly ate anything.

“it’s been fluctuating ever since we got here,” Horror said once Killer left. “but recently it's been staying that shape.”

Nightmare was surprised at Horror’s willingness to share that information. “I’ve been sensing fear from him recently.” It didn't take a genius to find out that it was connected. “But there's also been positive emotions—coming from all of you, actually.”

Horror scoffed in a way that sounded like a laugh, “call that stockholm syndrome.”

He did not know what “stockholm syndrome” was, but from his knowledge he knew that the word “syndrome” had negative connotations. Did he inflict a disease of some kind on them without knowing?

He stood up, picking up his plate with one of his tentacles that stretched over to the sink to place it down. “I will be taking my leave now. Thank you for humoring me.” His body melted into the shadows and he was gone.

Horror shook his head, “what a weirdo.” He put a few more pancakes on his plate and resumed eating.

Dust refrained from eating, merely picking bits from his pancake and dropping it back down on the plate.

“so…how are things between you and killer?” he dared to ask. It's been about a week since they had that fight. The two were avoiding each other. Well, Dust was obviously avoiding him. Killer just made no attempt to approach him—at least to his knowledge. This led to Killer spending more time with Horror, and honestly, he has no clue how Dust has tolerated this guy for so long.

Dust made a guttural noise that was basically a growl.

Though it was a clear show of his discontent, Horror couldn't stifle a chuckle.

That only exacerbated Dust’s sour mood. He stood up.

“hey, wait,” Horror said. “you hardly ate anything.”

“not hungry,” he signed.

Horror looked unconvinced. “that's bullshit and you know it.”

Dust sighed and picked up his plate.

“c’mon dude, don't go wallowing in your room.”

“don't play therapist,” Dust muttered.

“someone in this castle needs to stay level-headed. you didn't answer my question.”

“what do you think?”

“i think…that killer’s an asshole and you're right to be pissy, but you two should probably talk,” he suggested. He gave him a serious look, “he's driving me insane, dust.”

“it's all he’s good at,” he said bitterly.

“c’mon now, that's not true.”

Dust didn't even have to say anything.

“ehhh. we still care about him anyway,” Horror said.

Dust was mad that he couldn't refute that without lying.

Nightmare found Killer outside in the forest, he was nearby a make-shift shelter he made for the stray cats that lived here. It took him an embarrassingly long time to find him because he wasn't in the castle, but him being outside for once was a welcome change. Since he wasn't holed up in his room it meant Nightmare didn't have to worry about intruding on his private quarters.

Killer loudly groaned when he noticed Nightmare. He ignored him and continued to watch and pet the cats.

Nightmare remembered how terrified Killer was when he saw him hanging out with a bunch of cats. He thought he would harm them—he was so sure that he instigated a fight to protect them. Once that was resolved, he started going outside much more often just to see the cats. He was still tense whenever Nightmare was near them, however.

“Have you named them yet?” Nightmare asked.

“what’s it to ya? waiting for me to be more attached to them so you can rip them away from me when the time’s right?” Killer snapped. He didn't take his eye off the cats.

There were six of them, each of them having various colors and patterns. He was surprised Killer could take care of that many, considering he couldn't take care of himself.

Nightmare hummed thoughtfully, eye skimming over the group of cats. “I was merely curious, usually people name things they look after.”

Killer scoffed, “you named dust and horror.” The brown cat rubbed its head against his outstretched hand.

“Yes.”

“you don't ‘look after’ them.” He gently scratched the chin of the cat. It was purring.

“Depends on how you define ‘look after’. I definitely monitor them.”

“no shit,” he snarked.

“i also supply food, water and shelter.”

Killer frowned and stood up. The cats meowed in protest. He faced Nightmare. “what are you getting at?”

“You see me as needlessly cruel, as if I’m incapable of doing kind things,” he replied.

Killer laughed forcefully. It startled the cats, making them retreat to their shelter. “what? suddenly feeling like you deserve sympathy? i don't give a shit if you do kind things. that doesn't change the fact that you tortured us.”

Surely none of it was worse than their situations in their old universes.

“Right. Forgive me for digressing, but what, pray tell, is ‘stockholm syndrome’?”

It seemed like Killer found that question humorous. “you trying to do that to us? is that what your deal is?”

Frankly, Nightmare had no idea what Killer was talking about.

“you start being all nice and dandy to make us think ‘oh he's not all bad. i actually enjoy being here’.”

“You do,” Nightmare pointed out, “enjoy being here, I mean.” He could sense that clearly.

“fuck off. you don't know that for sure,” he said bitterly.

He couldn't deny the utter contempt Killer held for him.

He dipped his head. “I apologize.”

“you what?” Killer said incredulously.

Why was he apologizing? He was deceiving him. He had to be.

Nightmare didn't know what he was doing. He's hardly bothered to show remorse. There wasn't any reason to start now. Except, after seeing the companionship between the three, he couldn't help but feel jealous.

He wanted connection. It was pathetic to admit, but the only person he was close to was his brother. Was.

How cruel of the multiverse to allow him to yearn for something he wasn't allowed to have. He couldn't help but try to get what he wanted.

“For choosing you three to inflict pain upon, I apologize. You don't deserve it yet I do it anyway.”

“i don't deserve it?” Killer said. “hah! who the hell am i talking to right now? you really nightmare?” He strode closer to Nightmare and thrust a finger at him, poking him in the chest.

Nightmare was shocked by the sudden contact.

“y’know, you and me are pretty similar in some aspects. we don’t have the capacity to care and yet we're pretending we can anyway. you can't fool me. i know you're just trying to manipulate me with that apology.”

Nightmare took a minute to respond, scanning over Killer’s feelings and expression. Again, he was hard to read, like he was able to obscure it. He wasn't trying to manipulate him. He really wasn't. But he supposed he hasn't been upfront enough with him to believe that. “Do you recall when we encountered Fresh for the first time?”

Killer snarked, “what about it?”

“I could've left you, you said.”

“you didn't save us out of compassion, you just needed us for your stupid plans or whatever.”

“But you thought you were replaceable. Which one is it?” he countered.

“it's whatever's most beneficial to you,” he retorted. “you said it would’ve been a hassle.”

He did say that. Nightmare was stumped. He didn't even know where he was trying to go with this. It wasn't like he could make Killer’s hatred towards him disappear.

Maybe he could make Killer’s self hatred go away.

Why did he think that? Did he want that? That wouldn't benefit him.

Maybe he was sick of the feeling of hatred, like loneliness. Like being sick of having the same food over and over again.

He felt something down by his tentacles. He tried to hide his surprise but he hastily looked down to see one of the cats nudging against one of his tentacles. It was the brown one that cuddled Killer a moment ago. Nightmare froze.

“hey!” Killer barked and knelt down to shoo the cat away from Nightmare. “baked beans, i told you not to get near him,” he scolded the cat.

The cat meowed out a whine.

Killer frowned and stood back up as the cat walked away.

“‘Baked beans’?” Nightmare echoed. “Is that its name?”

“don’t hurt her.”

“You are awfully insistent that I’m going to hurt these cats. Has anyone told you about self fulfilling prophecies?”

Killer decided to take that as a threat and drew out his knife.

Nightmare made an attempt to seem less threatening, having all of his non-essential tentacles tucked away. “I’m not going to hurt them, Killer.”

“you're lying!” he shouted and pointed his knife at him. “i’ve seen it happen. you're going to do it, i know it! you're just trying to get my guard down.”

He’s seen it happen?

“Are you having nightmares, Killer?”

He didn't answer.

He couldn't reason with him now, he supposed. Nightmare decided the best course of action was to simply leave. He sunk into the ground.

Killer frantically scanned the area, taking a few minutes until he confirmed that Nightmare did indeed leave. He knelt down, curling in on himself as he sighed. The cats walked back over to him.

Nightmare reappeared in the kitchen, startling the two skeletons that were currently on the couch of the other half of the room.

Usually they wouldn't be startled at his appearance. At least, not anymore. He caught sight of the drinks in their hands, they seemed to be similar. He scrunched his eye in disgust. “What the hell is that?”

They were surprised at his language. Usually he didn't express surprise like that, or at all. Dust and Horror looked at each other as if neither had an answer.

Instead of verbally answering, Dust thrust the drink out. Was he offering it to him?

Nightmare got closer to inspect it. When he reached out to grab it, he saw the two’s sockets widen. He brought it up to his face, the goop covering his mouth melted away as he took a sip.

Oh god. That was awful.

He refrained from spitting it out and managed to brute-force his way into swallowing. A whole shiver rippled throughout his body, and it didn't help that it literally made the goo on his body ripple for a bit.

Horror and Dust remained painfully silent.

Nightmare calmly handed the glass back to Dust. “It's horrible,” he deadpanned.

“he was just trying to show you it, not…” Horror didn't even have to finish his sentence.

Oh great, he misunderstood. He didn't even have to drink that. It was painfully obvious he was embarrassed, even after he covered his mouth once more. “Why do you drink such awful concoctions?”

Dust shrugged, wiping the rim of the glass with his gloves before resuming the consumption of that horrific beverage.

Nightmare refrained from showing his disgust. He moved over to one of the chairs near the couch to sit down. All of his tentacles disappeared, revealing the rest of his cloak that covered most of his legs.

Dust spat his drink out while Horror gawked.

Nightmare flinched, “What?”

Dust gestured at the lower half of his body.

“you have legs!” Horror exclaimed.

“Of course I have legs!? I’m a skeleton like you two.”

“you’re a skeleton?”

Nightmare realized how little they knew about him. “What did you think I was?”

Horror scrunched his face, unsure how to answer. “not…a skeleton?? what's up with all the slime then?”

“I suppose you could call it melted parts of my own body fused with a surplus of magic. Would you care to see how I look without the ‘slime’?”

Horror was very confused at his willingness to be open about this. Which was fair. From their point of view, all of this was coming from nowhere.

Dust, however, immediately signed “yes.” It seemed like his curiosity trumped his confusion.

“Alright,” he said. He focused, shifting his energy into one concentrated point: his forehead. The usual glowing cyan crescent moon on his forehead grew into a full moon as the goop on his body disappeared, revealing white bones with a blue tint to them underneath.

The silence that came after was deafening. The way Horror and Dust looked at him felt different. It was like they saw him as a different person like this.

Sure he was less menacing in this form, but he didn't think he looked that different.

He did. He totally did. He was even smaller like this. He was probably shorter than the two if he were to stand.

“you look so young…” Horror said.

He didn't like the tone of his voice. Maybe this was a mistake.

He quickly changed back to his usual form. The dark goo flowed out from the moon like a waterfall until his whole body was coated in it once again. He immediately felt more comfortable. He decided he was never going to do that again. “As I said, I’m a skeleton like you two.”

“you’ve mentioned you had a brother, does that mean—”

“My brother is not a Papyrus, no. He looks just like me. I did not have a world like yours nor was I ever like you. In fact, I did not even have a world.”

Horror blinked at the onslaught of information. He just learned more about him than he ever has the entire year. “you're pretty chatty today.” About yourself, he meant.

“I suppose it's the torture for today.”

“torture for us or for you?”

At this point, what was the difference? Nightmare thought, but it went unsaid.

Once Dust finished his drink, he got up to put the glass in the sink. When he tried to go to the hallway, Nightmare opened a portal underneath him to get him back on the couch. He glared at Nightmare in protest.

“Dust, I know you and Killer are having some…complications right now,” he said, completely changing the subject. “Although it's provided plenty of energy for me, you two can't avoid each other forever.”

“but wouldn't that benefit you?” Horror questioned.

“I’m not going to risk Dust killing him out of anger.” That wasn't even an exaggeration considering their game of Monopoly the other day. He had to physically wrench them apart when Killer made him bankrupt. “Go make up with each other.” He summoned a portal underneath Dust, sending him to the forest where Killer was.

Dust managed to land on his feet, luckily. He didn't want to fall on his face right in front of Killer to give him something to laugh about.

Killer damn near screamed at his sudden appearance, but he played it off by coughing into his hand when he realized it was just him. Now all the cats around him were skittering about frantically. “miss me that much you had to drop by?”

Dust was completely unfazed by his pun, leaving Killer to awkwardly laugh at his own joke.

“‘m pretty proud of that one,” he mumbled as if to voice disappointment.

Of course he was proud, it was a miracle whenever he could think of a pun on the spot. It was something he was oddly insecure about, not being able to come up with jokes that well.

Dust supposed it was a reminder that he was hardly “Sans” anymore. It seemed like such a small thing until you thought about it. Dust knew he’d use humor to cope or to cheer people up. It was second nature, a skill polished throughout his life, even. To suddenly lose that ability…he wondered if Killer looks at his past self and sees a stranger.

“you just gonna stand there and stare at me like i stabbed your soul?”

While he wasn't skillful at punning, he sure was great at handcrafting every sentence he says to annoy him.

Killer’s cheerful facade dropped, “seriously, are you? i’m having a moment with the cats.”

Is that what he's been replaced with? Cats?

Even though Nightmare ordered him to make up with him, he really didn't feel like talking at the moment.

He wondered what Killer would do if he just continued to stand here in silence. Knowing Killer, he won’t be able to just ignore him.

Yet he turned around to face the cats. He knelt down to pick one up—the one with a pure brown coat—that one was his favorite. He named it something stupid but Dust couldn't remember it off the top of his head at the moment.

He just kinda held the cat for a little while, petting it in silence.

And then after a bit he stopped. The cat whined at this and hopped out of his arms.

He sighed. “i…i’m sorry, okay?” he finally said.

Pathetic, he couldn't even face him when he said it.

“i shouldn't have messed with you like that. i thought you were playing along. i forgot that…i refused to believe you really did care about me and it took you stabbing my soul to get me to realize.”

He had to pause as his breath shuddered, probably trying to keep himself composed. He still hasn't turned around or stood up for that matter.

“i don't know if i can care about you back. i care now, but,” his voice wavered, “you’ve seen how unstable my soul is. at any moment it’ll just snap back to the same old shape of a target and then boom, nothing! a pillow could care about you more than me.”

“i think all i’d do is hurt you,” Killer said. He turned his head to look at him, “you wouldn't want that, would y—woah,” only to see Dust right in front of him, crouched down to be at eye level.

Killer raised a brow bone, having zero clue where this was going.

Dust put a hand on his own chest and then gently brought out his soul.

Killer’s eyes blew wide open.

It was odd, seeing a normal monster soul for the first time in awhile. Well, it wasn't entirely normal. It was pale white, covered in cracks, and an unusual dim glow of red outlined the edges. He could guess where that came from and it wasn't LV.

Before he could ask what his deal was, Dust spoke, “get your knife.”

Oh, HELL no.

His own soul (metaphorically) jumped out of his body at the instruction. He immediately knew where this was going and he did not like it.

“no!” Killer objected. “the hell’s gotten into you? i’d kill you!”

Dust looked as calm as ever. “you're scared,” he noted.

“of course i…” Killer furrowed his brow bones. “you’re trying to prove a point aren't you?”

He saw Dust’s smile curl up. Bastard.

He held his soul out to him as if it wasn’t the culmination of his being. “hold it,” he said.

Killer stared at it, dumbfounded. “i’m not gonna—”

“forget the knife. hold it,” he repeated, apparently switching his approach to this.

Killer shakily held a hand out, allowing Dust to place his soul in it.

He dare not move, as if it was a motion sensor bomb. Nevertheless, he couldn't stop himself from trembling.

He shifted his gaze from the soul to Dust’s eyelights, unsure of which one to look at.

i could kill him. all i’d have to do is squeeze my hand shut. it’d be so easy. would it pop?

He didn't want that. God, he didn't want that at all.

“you're not going to kill me,” Dust stated like he was so sure of himself.

“i could.”

“do you want to?”

“god no.”

“and my soul’s still fine,” Dust remarked.

“what the fuck are we doing, dust?” Killer asked, looking at the soul in his hand in disbelief.

“i dunno, trust exercise?” he offered as an answer.

“pretty intense trust exercise,” he chuckled half-heartedly in an attempt to ease his tension.

“and stabbing your soul wasn't?”

“i wouldn't call a murder attempt a ‘trust exercise’.”

“you know i didn't want to kill you,” he reminded.

“right. you want your soul back now?”

Dust gave a nod.

Killer carefully handed his soul back to him. A moment later it was back in his rib cage.

He let out a sigh of relief, keeping his gaze on Dust to ensure that he hadn't become his namesake. “we chill?”

Dust smirked. “we chill.”

A portal to the kitchen opened near Killer and Dust immediately after.

They could see Nightmare and Horror sitting on the couch looking right at them. Nightmare was slowly clapping in a mocking manner.

“were you two watching the whole fucking time?!” Killer barked. He threw his hood over his head to cover his blushing face.

“Not the most conventional way I’ve seen two people make up,” Nightmare remarked. “It was certainly interesting to watch.”

“my life's not a goddamn sitcom, asshole!”

Nightmare guffawed. He was fucking with him and it was absolutely working.

Killer crossed his arms and pouted. He gave Dust a “can you believe this guy?” look.

Nightmare’s laughing ceased suddenly, “Hurry up and get inside. I have something to give you three.”

“oh, goody, is it a bomb?” Killer asked sarcastically. Despite his sass, he stepped through the portal alongside Dust.

“No, actually.”

A portal opened on the ceiling between Nightmare, Horror and them.

A shopping cart with a huge pile of clothes on it crashed down onto the floor.

It took Killer a second to realize those were the same clothes they left that time they went shopping, when they first encountered Fresh. He reached down to pick up one of the articles of clothing, they were still in fairly good shape. “how the fuck?”

“That is Killer’s gift, of course.” He looked at Dust. A wrapped present appeared in his hands. “As for you, I wasn't quite sure what would be appropriate for you.”

Dust cautiously took the present.

“how come he gets his gift all fancifully wrapped?” Killer complained. He was currently trying to get all the clothes back in the shopping cart. Alas, the pile he made the first time was a one-time feat.

“Because he's less annoying.”

Dust tore the wrapping paper and opened the box that was inside. He looked at the contents inside blankly.

“what is it?” Killer questioned.

Dust reached inside to take it out and show them.

Killer and Horror’s sockets widened as that familiar red-orange came into view.

It was Papyrus’s cape.

Nightmare was unsure what reaction this gift would get. He's seen other Sanses from Dusttale universes wearing it. It supposedly had sentimental value.

It seemed that Dust was also unsure how to react. There were conflicting emotions, Nightmare knew that much.

He carefully put the cape back in the box and signed a “thank you”.

“As for you, Horror,” He held out what appeared to be a rock at first.

Horror inspected it, realizing it was a phone—his phone. He was irked by the idea of Nightmare going to his home universe just to grab this. At least, he hoped he didn't do anything but grab this.

However, the phone might as well have been a rock. He doubted Nightmare knew the phone wouldn't even work. The thing hasn't been charged in years.

And then it caught him off guard by ringing. He flipped it open, seeing the words on the screen indicate that the call was coming from his brother.

He tried to stop his hopes from getting up. He reminded himself this could be a prank call and it wasn't his brother at all.

“Go on, answer it,” Nightmare urged.

This had to be a prank. Papyrus’s phone wouldn't be able to work there was no power—and even then he was in a completely different universe.

He answered the phone.

“SANS!” Papyrus’s voice immediately rang out. “FINALLY, I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER ANSWER! YOU’RE ALIVE! OH MY GOD YOU’RE ACTUALLY ALIVE!” He sounded on the verge of tears.

“bro?”

“YES, SANS?”

“just checking that it's actually you and not a prerecorded message,” Horror managed to say. The smile on his face grew as it became genuine. He saw Dust and Killer watching him in his peripheral vision.

“I COULD SAY THE SAME THING. I WASN’T SURE THIS WOULD EVEN WORK!”

“how are you calling right now? was the core fixed?” he dared to ask.

“OH. UH, NO. ABOUT THAT…” Papyrus trailed off going quiet for a minute.

“what happened?” His grin faltered slightly.

“DO NOT FREAK OUT.”

“you're gonna make me freak out if you don't tell me what happened.”

“OUR WORLD WAS KINDA DESTROYED, BADLY.”

Horror’s eye socket went blank. “what?!” he shouted.

Papyrus was quick to clarify, “BUT I’M DOING FINE! ACTUALLY, WE RELOCATED TO A MUCH MORE HOSPITABLE PLACE! SURE OUR HOUSE AND THE ENTIRETY OF SNOWDIN IS COMPLETELY GONE FOREVER BUT THERE’S FOOD HERE AND MAGIC AND I CAN CALL YOU! SPEAKING OF WHICH—WHERE IN THE WORLD HAVE YOU BEEN!?”

Horror sighed in relief. He glanced at Nightmare, who looked eerily indifferent to all of this, before he answered his question. “i kinda got kidnapped by an otherworldly entity, sorry bro.”

“YOU AND YOUR WEIRD HOBBIES, WARN ME NEXT TIME. I THOUGHT YOU DIED. THE ENTIRETY OF SNOWDIN DESCENDED INTO ABSOLUTE CHAOS WITH YOU GONE—ALSO THE WORLD-DESTROYING THINGY PROBABLY PLAYED A ROLE IN THAT TOO.”

“aw geez, is everyone else okay?”

“YEA, EVEN UNDYNE.”

Horror’s expression soured at the mention of her. “well, that's great,” he said sarcastically. He vaguely heard someone else on the other side of the call. From what he heard it didn't sound like anyone he knew.

“OH, ALREADY?” Papyrus replied to the unidentified person. “I SEE,” he sounded disheartened. “BROTHER, I NEED TO END THE CALL NOW BEFORE IT TEARS A HOLE IN THE MULTIVERSE.”

“huh?”

“I’LL SEE YOU LATER, LOVE YOU!”

“love you too,” Horror managed to say before Papyrus hung up. The second the call ended he felt incredibly drained. He felt like he got a mental whiplash when he looked at the room he was in.

Killer seemed to tune out the last bit of their conversation as he managed to get all the clothes piled back on the shopping cart. It seemed like Dust helped him.

Nightmare was also looking at those two rather than at him. He wondered if he was eavesdropping on the phone call or not.

It's been an entire year since they've been here. He had no idea how much longer this would last. He didn't even know what would happen after.

“I will be out for the rest of the day,” Nightmare announced, opening a portal behind himself. “We are stocked up on supplies, correct?”

“you got it, chief,” Killer piped.

“Not my name…” Nightmare muttered before leaving.

Killer sighed the moment the portal closed, looking up at the pile of clothes. “i have no idea how i’m getting this to my room.”

“bet you can't get it to your room by the end of the day,” Horror said, still recovering from that call.

“hey. you're totally wrong.”

Horror shrugged, “time's ticking.”

Killer then decided that pushing the cart would be an effective way to get it to his room. To his credit, it wasn't until he was met with the obstacle that was the doorway to the hall that his plan became flawed. He turned his head to Horror. “so what are we betting exactly?”

#utmv fic #the bad sanses #nightmare sans #horror sans #killer sans #dust sans

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devilander · 8 days

Text

in teaching you will learn (chapter 1)

18+ 3k. homelander x tutor f!reader. employer and employee sexual tension. abuse of power. fingering. AO3 link.

You accepted a job proposal to work as a History tutor to Homelander's son. It suddenly turns out to be more than you had bargained for.

prompt sent by @plasticfangtastic, thank you so much! beta'ed by @flaggermuser, love you!

Ryan was a very smart child. Powerful and smart, naturally, as any of Homelander’s offspring would be. So, to sate his endless curiosity, tutors—from the best universities, Homelander would settle for nothing else—of all subjects were hired to teach whatever was needed, whatever Ryan liked.

You had never imagined yourself in this position, History tutor to the Homelander’s son. But when you received Vought’s call, and they told you the paycheck that’d come with it, you immediately agreed. A non-supe, you wondered what it’d be like to deal with such a special kid, if Homelander would disapprove of your ways and send you packing on the first day.

Insecurities were never your thing—you had received a M.A in History and Literature, for god’s sake! This was your turf.

But… teaching a child? Whenever you would envision your future, you always imagined yourself as a professor, strict and serious, dealing solely with adults or, at most, young adults.

You'd rise up, though, you knew it—even if you needed to spend all of your nights, from dusk ‘till dawn, watching videos on gentle parenting, endless courses on “childhood education” and teaching young learners. You would do it, and you would do it perfectly.

On your first day, you had a whole speech prepared, something about how much of an honor it was, how excited you were, how many ideas you already had; your stomach fluttered as you looked at his clear blue eyes, beautiful nose—

Homelander barely let you start.

“Now.” He raised his hands, effectively shutting you up. “Enough with the yada yada, ‘kay? Let's get some things straight—all of your ideas gatta be approved by me first. And Ryan.”

“I'm sure, sir, I only meant—”

“And you'll not be berating him, for whatever fucking reason. You're not the boss here. I am. And, well, if he complains about anything, anything really, you’ll be… dismissed. That understood?” He had a congenial smile on his face, though you swore his eyes shined red, if only for a second. “Take care of my son, huh?”

He patted you on the shoulder and left. You just stood there, fuming and exasperated. If there's one thing you hated with a passion was condescending men; interrupting and disregarding your words as inane silliness.

High and mighty as he was, Homelander was cut from the same cloth as them, it seemed. If it weren’t for your student debt piling up, you’d turn around and leave. As it were, you gritted your teeth and stayed.

After that, though, you hardly ever saw him, and when you did, he only gave you an indiscernible look and a nod.

Fine by me, you thought bitterly, mad at yourself that he'd surely noticed your flushed cheeks and quickened breath at your first real sight of him.

Ryan was sweet though. Sharp and eager to learn whatever you presented him with, such that you moved on quickly from fifth, sixth, to a seventh-grade curriculum.

You found a happy medium—keeping it fun and educational. And you knew, you knew, whenever you were there, Homelander was watching you.

And he was. Of course he was. He’d had his fair share of tutors Vogelbaum would present him with. Condescending little assholes, always thinking they knew better, reporting every minor thing he did, lecturing and punishing at their pleasure.

As if he'd let his kid suffer the same fate.

Education was, however, important, so he hired simpering tutors—a school would not do, no place was fit for Ryan—and those who didn't know their place were quickly taken care of.

Yet you, the third History teacher hired (the first one was such a fucking mess—snapping his neck as soon as he left Vought was not enough for having the gall to rudely reprimand his son) were doing well so far.

Oh, he had seen how you blushed and stuttered when you two met, and he had seen how you gradually steeled your eyes at his words.

He had also noticed the sway of your hips, your pink, heart shaped mouth, the addictive sound of your voice—your scrunched up nose as you looked at him in poorly disguised anger.

So, yes, of course, of course he was watching, for more reasons than one.

One day, when you and Ryan were talking animatedly about the creation of the American Constitution, Homelander decided to barge in, almost knocking the door off of its hinges.

You nearly fell off your seat in surprise, for a second scared and worried, until you saw his face. He looked as happy as a kid. Well, happier than Ryan.

“Wowza,” he said. “What party do you two have goin’ on here? I could hear you from the hallway.”

He could hear no matter how loud you were, but you got the gist. Smiling, though miffed at the interruption, you crossed the room, and he met you halfway.

“I was showing Ryan this book. Look.” He leaned down, his face touching yours. Oh God, oh God, wrong move. “It contains all of Thomas Paine's pamphlets published during the war in its original format. We were discussing how Paine's thoughts impacted on the Constitution’s writing.”

“Very nice,” he said, still so close to you the pure heat his body radiated engulfed your senses. And your body kept betraying, and betraying, and fucking betraying you.

“Oh, I love this part.” You thanked the heavens your voice didn't quiver, and started to read out loud. “Tyranny, like hell—”

“Is not easily conquered.” Homelander completed, and you looked up, only to find him already looking at you.

His hand then rested on your arm, lingering for a few seconds too long, his eyes locking you in place. You gulped, heart thumping in your chest—

“Dad,” Ryan bemoaned. Homelander dropped his hand instantly. “This is my class. You're interrupting us!”

Homelander frowned, then almost pouted.

“Geez, buddy, what a way to treat your old man.” He crossed his arms; you contained a giggle. His eyes glinted mischievously as he turned to you. “Can I be your student for the day? I promise to behave.”

“I don't see why n—”

“No,” Ryan exclaimed, interrupting you. “No, no and no!”

Though he tried, there was no convincing Ryan. He wouldn't share the time he had with you. Inwardly, you smiled at the kid’s innocent jealousy; and thanked the heavens for the save, you certainly needed it.

Huffing and stomping his feet, Homelander left the room, but not without giving his son an annoyed glare and you a look you couldn't—wouldn't—name yet. Maybe ever.

Weeks passed, classes going smoothly despite your warring thoughts. You were attracted to Homelander, because of course you were; lucky you. Your boss, supe, leader of the Seven. The man who had so far threatened you, talked with you, touched you…

Fear tinged with desire, confusion with curiosity. He was equal parts charming and infuriating. Would you dare to willingly put your hand in the mouth of the tiger?

It became routine for Homelander to participate—or interrupt—your lessons to share his own opinions, much to Ryan's chagrin. And you… you were endeared.

“Think you could've done a better job than Theodore Roosevelt? Really?” Your disbelieving tone didn't seem to put him off, just the opposite.

“I'm certain I could.”

His playful smile and arrogant tone annoyed you. Enchanted you.

“Well, you should try for president, then,” you joked, catching yourself turning fully towards him. “You'll beat the records of votes and rule this grand nation!”

He hummed, winking at you. “Yeah, no. Not really in my… interests right now.”

“Would you make a Shermanesque statement on that?”

Homelander laughed, shaking his head.

“Nah, maybe I’ll change my mind.” His eyes roamed over your body. “Couldn’t have that.”

“What’s Sherman—Shermesque,” Ryan piped in, furrowing his brows as he stumbled over the word. “What are you talking about?”

“If nominated, I will not run; If elected, I will not serve,” you spoke at the same time and giggled, giggled!, together. Stop giggling like a schoolgirl, you chastised yourself, but you couldn't help it. There was such a thrill about flirting with danger in the flesh.

Turning to Ryan, you explained. “It’s something William Sherman said. He was a popular general during the Civil War and was being considered as the Republican candidate during presidential elections. He, however, refused!” When excited, your arms had a mind of their own, and you found yourself gesturing wildly, enthusiastically. “His words became really popular from then on, such that it's now called a Shermanesque statement, and sometimes used by politicians and the like.”

Homelander couldn’t help but stare while you talked, entranced by your passionate speech, flushed cheeks and shining eyes. You were so fucking cute, deliciously captivating—even in your pitiful stubborn act, or all the more enticing because of it. He wanted to savor each and every moment you walked about the room; wanted to catalog your breath changes, the rises of your voice, your moving lips.

Would you be just as responsive in another, more interesting scenario?, he wondered. Maybe you would want to take charge, bossy little thing you are. Maybe he’d have to bend you just shy of breaking you only to see you beg—beg him to fuck you, to let you come on his fingers, mouth and cock.

His filthy thoughts raged on, only interrupted when you announced your time was up. Ryan groans in disappointment and Homelander has a hard time not doing the same. He hungers for more moments with you. Alone.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he says, noticing Ryan stalling to tidy up his books and supplies as he liked to do. “You gotta get ready for your shooting today.”

Ryan grumbles under his breath. “I hate these commercials.”

Before he can answer, you approach, tousling Ryan’s hair and leaning down to look him in the eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart, it will be okay. Just play pretend like we talked,” you said. “And if it gets too much, I'm sure your dad will take care of it. I'll bring you a treat tomorrow, how about that?”

He should probably put you in your place for daring to presume you know shit about him and his son—as if your puny mind could understand the greater beings they were. And yet, and yet… Ryan was smiling, rushing to embrace you though his quick heartbeat betrayed how nervous he was. You hugged him back, and looked at Homelander with such sweet grin that he—fuck, he felt fucking breathless.

He wanted to kiss you.

When Ryan left the room, you snatched your purse, seemingly wanting to leave as quickly as possible. But Homelander stood in front of the door, unmoving, his jewel-toned eyes intensely fixated on you.

A sudden heat spread through your body, and you let out a breathy sigh. And he noticed; eyes tracking over your face and chest, like undressing you with his mind.

Perhaps he was. He certainly could. The thought made you desperate, you needed to run. Your apartament wouldn't be enough, maybe you should catch a bus to Jersey. Or a fucking plane to—Russia, or farther—

“Want me to give you a ride?” You were so distracted you barely heard his words, much less the double entendre.

“What?”

He snickered. “I said—”

“No! I mean yes. I mean no!” You shook your head, dizzy. “No, sir, I wouldn't want to trouble you.”

“Ah but there's no trouble at all, it'll take a minute. I know where you live.”

“You do?” A shudder ran through you.

“Of course, you silly goose. It's in your resume.” He tapped your nose, a gesture so off-putting you snorted, suddenly aware he'd closed the distance without you noticing. “Let's go, little miss mouthy. Don't make me insist,” he declared, voice still cheerful, but you caught the edge of it, leaving no room for argument.

“Okay, okay… But only this time!”

Homelander simply laughed.

Reaching the balcony, you looked down and froze. Too high, too high!, your brain screamed at you.

“Hehe, on second thought…” You looked at him pleadingly, a weird laugh bubbling out in sheer nervousness. You gripped the banister as if your very life depended on it.

“Ah, ah. No takesies backsies.” He wiggled his finger in your face, and, for a single moment, two, three seconds?, caressed your cheek softly.

Before you could react, he grabbed you by the waist and took off. Panic stricken, you hid your face in his neck, dangling legs instinctively circling his hips; much like a koala, you held on to him in all ways you could—even your fingers found locks of his hair to grip mercilessly.

Through the rush of the wind, you felt, more than heard, his laugh.

It took some seconds to catch on to the overwhelming closeness between you two—how every inch of your body was adhering to his, how you could feel the impressive strength emanating from him, how his warm breath was hitting your neck, leaving shivers in its wake.

You could feel it all. No matter the padded suit, you felt the tension in his muscles, the upheaval in his chest as he drew you even closer and fuck you couldn't fucking help clenching your cunt and exhaling right next to his year—

In a second, Homelander had you on the roof of your building.

You didn't want to look up, fearing what he'd throw at you, anger and indifference or lust and temptation. Both shook you to your core.

“Wakie, wakie,” he said, breathless, a certain roughness to his tone. His hands squeezed your back with surprising care. Each second was too long, and yet not enough.

And then you felt it, as you started to disentangle yourself from his body, his cock, hard and throbbing, poking your stomach, dangerously close to where you ached for it the most.

You looked up.

There was no smirk, no mocking eyes—only a stare so intense your heart skipped a beat.

“Thank you, Homelander, for the—for the ride. I appreciate it, despite you almost giving me a heart attack at first.” You giggled, trying to dispel the mood.

“How about you thank me by inviting me in? Y’know what they say, actions speak louder than words.”

“No, I…” you hesitated, trying to think of an excuse but your mind went blank. “No.”

Homelander cocked his head, dazzling smile turning a little unnerving. “No? Is that right?”

“How about another day? I can—”

“I didn't fucking ask for a bullshit, out-of-pity mock invite, did I? What is it, hiding some terrorists in your shithole apartment? Or mommy’s dead body?”

If it weren't for his looming over you, you'd crack a laugh—his mind certainly went places.

“Listen—” You started again, only to be pushed until your back hit the roof's door, knocking the air out of you.

“You listen,” he ground out, eyes a kaleidoscope of red and blue. It was painfully exhilarating. “Don’t try lying to me. I can sense you, I can fucking smell you, your pussy is soaked.” To prove his point, he removed one glove and opened up your pants; your panties were shoved aside as he squeezed two fingers inside you. You whimpered at the burn of his intrusion, but you were so wet the squelch was loud even to your ears. “You either invite me in or I'll rip your clothes off and fuck you right here. Your choice, sweetheart.”

Homelander was being nice in giving you a choice, despite the fact you were a rude tease, and a liar to boot. His fingers kept pumping in and out of you, and he found it so fucking hard not to go all the way, not to have you against this door while you moaned so, so sweetly.

He needed you—to feel you clenching on his cock as you did now on his fingers. And you wanted him. Fuck, you were whining and opening your legs so he could finger you better, clinging onto his waist as your head rested on his shoulder. Still, you dazedly shook your head. What was the matter with you?

“Oh, please, please,” you half begged, half moaned, raspy voice driving him crazy. “We can't, I can't…”

“Give me one good fucking reason why not, huh. One.”

Instead of answering, you kissed him. He seemed surprised at first, but reciprocated in an instant. And it was all you expected it'd be, messy and passionate and hot; he consumed you, drinking in every part of you, all you had to give, and what you wouldn’t give, he would take.

You gathered his face in your hands, wanting a little bit of tenderness in the violent chaos of you, a little bit of love—if you could.

His hand kept working on you, thumb rubbing your clit in circles and, before you ran completely out of breath, you came so hard your legs gave out.

Perfect for Homelander to catch, hold you onto his body as you rode the waves of your pleasure—so beautiful he was enraptured.

After a few moments, you whispered. “I can't let you in. If I do, I won't think straight, I'll just let you do anything you want to me.”

“Is that a bad thing, sweetheart?”

“I'm… not used to this, I don't… I haven't done much of this. You never even asked me out!” You laughed. The good humor vanished as you continued. “I can't lose this job. I need it, I like it. If we do… What will even happen to me?” You cursed your own inability to talk about this, all your eloquence going to the drain when you needed to speak of something other than History. In those moments, you always felt like mimicking some speech taught to you long ago, as if talking about your own feelings was an unattainable device.

Yet Homelander found it amusing. Apparently he'd gotten you all wrong, or at least parts of it. For all your bravado in speaking to him, in challenging him—in your fearlessness and spunk—you were inexperienced. Innocent. Shy. Wasn't that his fucking lucky day.

“So the baby wants me to take her on a date first, that it?”

“I didn't say that.” You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “And don’t call me baby.”

“Also I boy-scout promise not to fire you if you are a bad lay, but I doubt that, baby.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said, though there was no bite to it, only a timid smile on your face. “Okay, alright. This weekend?”

“Friday. I’ll send someone to pick you up. Wear something nice for me.”

Before leaving, he kissed you deeply, hands nearly shaking with yearning. He wanted to take it all back and drag you to his bed, absconding with you for a day or two. But he’d waited this long and he could wait a bit longer—he’d savor every second and make it worth it.

As you walked down the stairs to your apartment you sighed, drunk in the haze of disbelief; there was no way you could run now. It’s clear you have a problem. What you should wish for isn’t what you want.

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #homelander x teacher #homelander smut #the boys #the boys amazon #requests #my writing #plasticfangtastic #sorry for taking so long with this im the worst #but i hope you enjoy it!#i reckon there'll be one or two more chapters at most #the boys x you

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bearhugsandshrugs · 7 months

Note

Prompts you say? Don't mind if I do!

Post game Tav and Gortash have a stable if very tentative partnership in ruling Baldur's gate.

Gortash is an inventor, he's got to be good at drawing/draftsmanship. Would love to see a Tav finding one of his many personal workbooks after a meeting. Full of meeting notes, but also lots of personal project ideas when clearly he's been bored during a meeting. Maybe there are rough schematics of the steel watch improvements, maybe drafts for other sorts of useful inventions.

Through all the snooping Tav has to admit that Gortash is a(n evil) genius.

But as they keep looking there's rough sketches made of Tav quickly in the heat of an argument, smiling during a party, trying not to fall asleep during a meeting. Maybe there's MORE than just one sketch that spans all the way back to that first encounter... Or even before through the first glimpses of the steel watch/scrying eyes (read someone headcanon that all they were controlled or provided by Gortash?)

Catching Enver's growing fascination with them...

Bonus points if they get caught snooping 👀💦

ughhhhh i am such a sucker for this side of him. honestly. i love it. i love this prompt. thank you.

It was a heat of the moment decision. After a particularly long meeting about employing the Steel Watch outside of Baldur's Gate, Tav and Gortash had, quite literally, run into each other. Tav's cup of by then cold coffee had spilled all over Gortash's clothes, and the Archduke had dropped his bundle of documents, paper flying down to the floor mixing with Tav's own notes. When she reached down to sort between his and her notebooks and letters and files, she accidentally grabbed his personal notebook, buried between her docs. She decided to keep it. For now.

Back at the guest room he'd provided her for the prolonged negotiations (this was day two of the expected six), Tav set down the stack of papers and poured herself a glass of wine, then settled at her desk to snoop through his personal affairs. The notebook dated years back, and it was extensively filled; the many many pages brimming with orderly, clean handwriting and meticulous sketches. It gave her a rare insight into his mind: Machinery manuals, engineering instructions, weight calculations, and various use cases for specific parts of (what she recognized as) the Steel Watch, the Iron Throne, and even the Scrying Eyes. There were some notes scribbled in between the margins ("Overload? Recalculate max. magical proximity" – "Visual specs tbd" – "input variables formula needed"), hinting at the genius behind the notes. Tav swallowed as she flipped pages upon pages, fascinated by the man she still couldn't quite place.

There were different sketches two thirds into the notebook: Minthara, hunched over a table in the goblin camp. Moonrise Towers. And then. Her.

Tav recognized herself immediately. He'd captured the moment she had waved into the Scrying Eye at the Goblin camp, a small note below simply reading: "Wiped them out. Sense of humor. Who is she?" What followed were details of the orders given to the Absolute cultists, bargains made with Orin ("Hot but insane. Staying away.") and Ketheric ("He's a fool. A useful fool."). Then, after their first real life meeting, it started.

An entire page, filled with sketches of her face, her body, her movements. One drawing was of her furrowing her brow ("Won't back down, annoying"). One was of her crossing her arms ("Will consider offer – good"). Others were of Tav walking out of the coronation, rolling her eyes, waving him off, and then, the last one, was of her, pouting.

More meeting notes followed that page, and once she got to the meetings they attended together, there were yet again more drawings of her. A meeting about taxation featured a study of her eyes and mouth. A meeting about refugees was adorned with sketches of her smile. A meeting about guard rotations included... Tav gasped.

Behind her, an all too familiar chuckle made her jump in her chair.

"Good book?", Gortash asked, walking over to lean against her desk. Tav's face burned red. She shouldn't have snooped. But that last – "They're probably not as realistic as the rest", he nodded towards the page that had left her speechless. "It's difficult without the real life comparison." His gaze trailed down to her breasts, and Tav pushed herself away from the desk, then stood up to create space between them, not wanting to give into the tension that had started to build.

"You can't sketch... this", she gestured at the page, "during work. What if anyone sees?" Gortash shrugged. "Accidents happen." It was quite clear what he meant by that. "Stop", she shook her head. "What if I don't want to?" He asked her, voice low and dangerous. "Besides... looks like I'm not the only one taking liberties. Or why is my personal notebook on your desk in the first place?"

There wasn't a good answer to that. And the drawings she had seen, of her, of her body, of her with him, had left her mouth dry and her focus hazy. As vulgar as those sketches were, there were also parts of him he had sketched, parts she now couldn't get out of her head. Everything else had been sketched realistically, down to the last detail. Did he.... look like–

"I can tell you have lots on your mind", Gortash chuckled, following her eyes that had subconsciously settled back onto the open page. "Best I'll leave you to it." Tav wanted to object, but she also wanted him to leave, lock her door, and maybe take an ice cold bath. The words only found her once he closed the notebook in his hands. "They're slightly off", she said, and she wished she could sketch, because the way his eyes widened was worth documenting. "Plus I doubt that's the face I make when–" "Oh?" "I just thought you should know." They stared into each other's eyes, sizing each other up. "I'll make sure to run the next draft by you for approval", he pulled back after a moment, unwilling to move beyond the current state between them. "Thank you." And with that, he walked out of her room so swiftly she couldn't even reply. This was bad.

A heat of the moment decision indeed. Otherwise Tav couldn't explain why she felt like her body was on fire.

Fuck.

#enver gortash #gortash x tav #i'm sorry to end it on that note but i have already written too much #anyway yes afterwards this intensifies and they 100000% fuck eventually #my writing #drabbles

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queers-gambit · 2 years

Text

Midnight Calls

prompt: your Dragon Prince summons you to the throne room late one evening.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 7.1k+

note: oh, this fucking guy is doing something to me.

warnings: not edited because wonky brain gave up, poorly written Iron Throne smut (too lazy for specifics), Daemon's a simp in this, too, cursing, descriptive language and situations, allusion to domestic abuse, murder plot? ... murder plot.

next: part two: High Noon

"My Lady?" You heard from the front of your room, turning mutely away from the newly-stoked fire to spy a handmaiden sheepishly standing in the cracked doorway. "I'm sorry to intrude, but your presence has been requested - "

"By whom? It's well after midnight, Mary," you snipped, exhausted from the day's events. Your husband laid in a separate bed with his company of whores, and you? You were chosen as witness for the Princess' marriage to the Heir of Driftmark, and after the excitement of the feast, you were ready to take yourself to bed. "I am retired for the evening, for I am beyond my wits in exhaustion, so, please, go inform whomever that I am not available at this - "

"Prince Daemon has sent for you, Lady."

These words made you come to something of a screeching halt; where your heels actually skidded over the stone floor of your bed chamber. Your hands instantly fiddled with each other, slowly turning to stare at the maid as if to sus out her lie.

Truth was, years ago, when you were young and stupid, you and the Prince Daemon had something akin to a love affair; though you had never coupled before, it was something grand. Mary knew of this due to the fact that she has been your handmaiden for as long as you had been apart of court - going on some decade now.

Your father had pushed for you to marry the Prince of the City, and in fact, Daemon often liked to entertain the idea of a wedding, and putting babes in your belly, and living a 'simple' life with you. He courted you royally, loved you wholly, and never once made you feel as if you were anything less than your status - yet still lit a flame of desire in your stomach that made you feel like a dirty whore. Everything was good, the court - and most of all, the King, Daemon's grandfather - seemed to approve of the love-match and would often show their support by addressing the pair of you together as one.

And then... The Queen, his grandmother, had struck a bargain with the Royce's of the Vale, and the second son, Daemon, was wed within a fortnight after his knighthood - where you had celebrated with him lovingly. Supportively. Protectively.

You had held his hand possessively through the entire reception (not that he let go, either), kissed his cheek with desire pitting your stomach, and played your part of dutiful Lady well. You celebrated the Prince with love in your eyes, before those same eyes filled with tears when you stood in the same throne room, watching him repeat vows to a woman he'd never love.

He was different after that, distant and stoic; cold and calculating. He became brutal and unpredictable, and after his wedding, he wasn't to be seen with you - as you were still unwed.

But you held no quarrels with that because seeing Daemon in court, even, weighed your heart to your feet. His absence was always noted, and you were never sure if you were more on edge when he was present or not; yet, when he was banished, nothing ever truly stuck, as he would always return, making your stomach and heart flip.

This time around, Daemon Targaryen had strut into the throne room of the Red Keep and was offered a chair at the King's table - his brother's table - during the wedding feast of his Lady niece, the Realm's Delight and Heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra.

You were in the crowd, a grimace on your face from your husband's heavy, greasy hands, and your heart turned to stone after Daemon's 'abandonment'. Sure, you understood he had no choice, but you still hated that he actually married her, and now, years later, he just pranced back into everyone's life following the news of his wife's untimely demise. And how tragic, for the young couple did not have any children, and therefore, no heirs to Rhea's home, Runestone.

To say you were suspicious was an understatement, but curiosity burned a fucking hole in your mind over what the Rogue Prince wanted with you now - after all this time - at this very late hour.

Huffing, your hands smoothed over the skirt of your evening gown, and your throat constricted with emotion to see no lie in the maid's eyes; only nervousness, and fear, as if she knew what would become of her if she did not produce you to the Prince.

Nodding, you assured, "Thank you... I will find the Prince soon."

"He's waiting for you," she glanced to the hallway; confusion knotting your stomach.

"He's out there right now?"

"No, no, Lady, but he lingers in the foyer for you," she nodded, watching you nervously pace in a small circle.

"Very well," you relented, sighing once more as you came to a halt. "Take the night off, Mary, you've worked all day. I will see you in the morning."

The maid nodded and sighed with relief, "Thank you, Lady. Yes, yes, I will see you soon for the tournament begins in the morn. Sleep well, my Lady, do not let the Prince plague you greatly."

"He's just a headache to the court, I can handle the Prince," you waved, slightly rolling your eyes; feigning passiveness while the idea of seeing the Prince again made hair on your neck and arms stand rigid with excitement.

It didn't take long for Mary to leave and for you to slip from your room, most of the castle already fast asleep from the exhaustion the day warranted. You moved along the darkened halls, still in your evening gown with heels clacking over the stone floors; thoughts and wonder over what Daemon wanted now - as you were married, and it was uncouth for him to call upon you like he was.

Yet, curiosity shot through your blood like an arrow through a pheasant.

You rounded the last corner to the foyer, slowing your gait as you glanced around; wondering where the hell your caller could've been, and why the hell you had so easily agreed to meet with him. Your hands joined in front of you again, twisting in anxiety as your head turned on a swivel to try and spy the white-haired-devil you had loved since you were a young girl, new and fresh to the courts.

You saw nothing to give any indication anyone was there, until your gaze caught the double doors to the throne room - where only one was cracked a sliver to allow a dusting of lighting to flood into the room. With as much bravery as you felt you could muster, you neared the doors, checked once more for anyone watching you, and pushed the door open only a hair more to allow you to slip inside.

The door clanged shut as you pressed your back against it.

The stone of the throne room floor was still wet with blood from the murdered Velaryon Knight, a few candles still alight to provide an outline of the room's furniture. Your eyes scanned the room before finding your caller, sat lazily on the Iron Throne - staring you down with a knowing smirk, fingers curled to toy with his bottom lip.

"My Prince," You greeted smoothly, dress fluttering as you descended the stone stairs into the lower landing of the throne room.

"What do you think?" He asked in his native tongue, having taught you what felt like a lifetime ago. And like muscle memory, your ears understood his words, and your tongue formed a response without needing to be reminded,

"Of what?"

He smirked when he heard you slip into Valyrian. "Of me, my sweet Lady, here, on the Throne," his other hand opened in a lazy gesture.

Your head cocked, shrugging, "Doesn't suit you. You look unnatural up there, my Prince."

"Is that so?"

Your smirk grew only a fraction, "It's a chair to grow old and fat in... Hardly becoming to a knight of your stature."

"My Lady knows how to flatter me," Daemon smirked.

Your feet stepped over the pooled blood, skirts of your dress dragging through the tacky substance to streak across the floor. "Why did you call me here tonight, Daemon?"

"Is that malice in your voice that I detect, my Lady?"

"You expected me to be happy?" You wondered, eyes casting to the half-burning candles around him. "Tonight has not been what I ever could've imagined - and then you send for me after midnight? I am not happy, Prince, but should you call, I'd be a fool to refuse, yes? Or so you've had it known."

"I am not the same as before," Daemon sighed patiently. "I am newly single, my Lady."

"Right. My condolences for your late, Lady wife, my Prince."

He waved your words off as you finally came to a halt at the base of the Iron Throne's pedestal. "Her passing matters not - "

"Especially since my husband still draws breath," you quipped, cocking your head; reminding him that you were not his.

Daemon sighed tiredly, "Oh, you bore me with talk of marriage to the wrong people. Come, my Lady, you know I would have you - "

"From what I've seen tonight, you'd have me, your niece, and her cousin, too! Lady Laena is truly a rare breed, a beauty beyond this age."

"Is that jealousy?" He mused, still speaking to you as if in Valyria itself. "First malice, now you are jealous? I must admit, it is not becoming on you, Lady."

"Matters not what I feel, for I am owned by a man. Who is not you, I'll remind."

This time, Daemon's head cocked, "Is that right? Never thought I'd see the day someone 'owned' you - you had the most spirit of any Lady in court - "

"Funny how things change, my Prince. Now, is there a reason for you calling on me tonight?"

Daemon leaned forward to press his elbows to his knees, gesturing you forward, "Come."

"Daemon - "

"My Lady, do you not trust me? Is that where our friendship has gotten us?" His head cocked naughtily, smirking deeper than before.

"Our friendship has brought us nothing but heartbreak, Daemon," you refused, standing your ground.

"And my wife is no longer around - "

"Leaving only one obstacle?"

"An obstacle I would gladly cut down - if it meant I could have what is owed to me!" Daemon snapped, standing to his feet in anger. "You would blame me for what was never within my control!?"

"You did not fight for me! You did not fight for us, Daemon, and now you want me to believe - that what? After all this time, you love me still?"

"I never stopped - "

"Yet you couple with your niece!?"

"ENOUGH!" Daemon roared, panting heavily.

"No!" You raged in return, stalking up the stairs. "No! You don't get to shut this down because you are uncomfortable or ashamed! For years - years, Daemon - you let me feel this! We've never spoke of it - let alone been alone to have such a conversation since the Queen Mother broke our engagement!"

His eyes turned hard, "I did not do that, dove, you do not - "

"Yet, you did nothing!"

"And what did you do?" He demanded. "Hmm? Why must this only be on me? We were both powerless against her, so, tell me - what did you do?"

"I plead," your voice wobbled, tears brimming from your confession. "I begged my father to do something - anything. I even took an audience with the Queen..."

This caught Daemon's attention, making him step closer, "What?"

"I took an audience," you repeated, emotion clawing at your throat, "to beg her to let us marry, that you were... You were all I ever desired. She spat on me in return, and married me off to Lord Tytos out of what I assumed to be vengence."

Daemon's jaw steeled at the mention of your husband, "You did not mention this before."

"When would I have? She married you within 12 days of announcing the end of our and the start of your new engagement! I had no time with you, we could not do anything - there would never have been a difference!"

His head shook as he slipped back into the Common Tongue, "You do not know that."

"I do know that you did not fight for us," you repeated, following suit and changing the way your tongue formed words. "You left me... Like it was easy to forget me..."

He stepped closer, a hand raising to your cheek and jaw, "I did not want to leave you, ever, my dove, and trust me when I say that walking away from you was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"Makes no difference now," you sniffled, allowing yourself a weak moment to enjoy the feel of his warmth. He always ran hot, like the fire in his blood warmed his whole body. You never could sleep properly, feeling far too cold at times - and with Daemon, you were always at ease.

"Tell me to do it," he growled, tightening his grip on you; tugging you into his chest to press closer. "Tell me to cut him down, my Lady, and I will. In the tournament, I will ensure your Lord husband meets his end," he spat the word 'husband', like it was acid on his tongue.

"Daemon," you breathed, his lips ghosting over your own, "I cannot ask that of you, I know you'd do it."

"And? You'd be mine again - "

"You are after too many, after too much! What? Did the other ladies already reject you? I know your niece married tonight, did the Lady Laena reject you, too?"

Daemon's body was pressed to yours, hovering over you in the dim candlelight of the throne room; the Iron Throne looming beside you both as Daemon kept your head tilted back.

"Watch yourself, Lady, I am still your Prince," his breath fanned over your lips and chin. "I could take you and make you mine, for you will never belong to another man. Tell me, my love," he purred sinfully, "has he consummated your marriage?"

Tears sprung to your eyes as you were forced back to your wedding night; gaze dropping to his chest as your lips pursed to keep emotion behind a mask of neutrality that had long since been perfected. But the change in body language, where you tensed under his hands, did not go unnoticed by Daemon.

"What is it?" he asked when you remained quiet, stroking your cheek. "What did he do?"

"Daemon," you breathed, begging him to stop without needing to say the words.

"Did he bring you harm?"

"Don't."

"Has he put his hands on you, Lady?" Daemon demanded, almost jostling your chin as he pulled you to look at him directly. "Tell me," he asked again, petting the apple of your cheek as you choked on your words. "Your Prince asked you a question."

"Daemon, w-what happens between a man and wife behind closed doors... That's sacred - that's not something we should discuss."

His lilac iris' bore into yours, staring straight into your soul, and as if watching it happen in his mind, seemed to understand, "He has brought you harm."

"It matters not," you swore, nudging closer to his chest. "You cannot help me now, Daemon, it's done."

"Tell me something?"

"Like it's a choice," you whispered, his lips pulling into a smirk. Gently, his forehead met yours, and time suddenly stopped as if you were young again.

"Why has his seed not taken?" His voice dropped to a whisper, as if afraid to shatter the glass illusion you had fallen into.

Your shoulders shrugged meekly, "He has other heirs, from earlier marriages. He... He does not share my bed often."

"No? He neglects the one duty a husband has?" He toyed, but your eyes fell from his again. "It is not welcomed, is it, my dove? You do not welcome his touch, do you?"

Sniffling, you answered, "In truth, my Prince, you have the only welcomed touch."

"Then ask me, and I will cut him down, and nothing will stand between us, my sweet," he pet the skin of your cheek, down to your pulse point - like he was drawn to the rapid beating of your heart. "There is no Queen left to tell us what to do, and we can be together."

"We speak of conspiracy, deceit, and me, of mutiny against the man I am sworn to..."

Daemon sighed, "What has he done to you?"

You huffed through your nose, "Only what you have allowed to come to pass. Tell me in truth, is my House so lowly that the Queen sought to undermine the King?"

"In truth, pet, I believe she saw the power we stoke in one another and feared for it," he licked over his lips, gently wetting yours in the process. Relishing in the smallest of gasps that fell past your lips, Daemon continued, "Knowing you and I had each other, she feared the hold we might have on the kingdom. She sought to undermine us, dove, because we showed promise to be stronger than she ever was with the King." Both of his hands seized over your hips to grind into his, hissing, "How powerful our children would be."

"Daemon - you speak dangerously," you whispered, gasping when his teeth gnashed over the sensitive skin of your neck. Your hands jolted to grab onto his biceps, squeezing in temptation as the Prince's mouth salivated from the feel of your breasts pressed against him.

"I speak only the truth," he breathed, forehead to yours; one hand now wrapped around your hips to keep them anchored to his, as the other slithered up to cup your jaw and cheek. "Give us the chance we had stolen from us," his mouth taunted your own, dancing over one another as you breathed one breath. "Let me love you, as a husband properly should."

Your resolve was crumbling, "'S improper."

"The only improper idea is that we are not together now," he all but hissed, frustration evident. "Why do you push me away, Lady? Do you not want me anymore? Say it - tell me you don't want me, and I will walk away. I will leave you alone, the only formalities being that of court."

The idea of Daemon being so far from you, and being someone else's husband again, drove your stomach into your throat. Your heart was his, and had been since you were all but 14; leaving you hardly any room to resist him, and yet duty and honor screamed in your head.

Your hand rose to pet fingertips down his face, catching his bottom lips as your mind waged war with your heart. "What if it's not the same?" You wondered, unable to draw yourself from him even if he asked you to.

Perhaps he needed to push you away - literally and physically - for you to truly let him go. But now that you were in his arms again, you did not want to stray far from them.

"You are still you," he murmured, "and I've always loved you as you are."

And like that, you were done for; rocking to your toes to press your mouth hotly against his, both releasing instant moans from the long-overdue kiss that's haunted both your dreams. His hands were everywhere at once, petting through your hair; over skin; over clothes; and gripping you in ways your husband could only imagine. Yet, your heart tugged, and your mouth muttered against his, "Tell me again."

He chuckled, pulling back to pet over your loosening braids, curling a portion behind your ear; staring beyond your soul, and into your very heart before speaking with the most conviction you've ever heard, "I love you, my dove, and I always have after all this time."

You groaned onto his lips, arms moving to coil around his neck and breathe him in as his hands squeezed your hips tightly. Daemon let his teeth rake over your bottom lip, trapping it, before suckling it wetly into his mouth; making your knees buckle some.

He breathed heavily against you, reaching back, and hissing when his palm was sliced by one of the sword points making up the Iron Throne. "See?" You mused, glancing back to the (stupid idea of a) chair and nudging Daemon. "Not suited for you, my Prince."

He chuckled, "Still... I bet you'd love to fuck me on it."

You nearly hiccuped at his words, "Daemon, if we're caught - this is already risky enough. I'm married..."

"Not for much longer," he rolled his eyes, stepping back to lower himself into the seat of the Throne; eyes never straying from yours as his legs spread almost casually, "and everyone is in bed after tonight's excitement. Wouldn't it be grand for us all to wake in the morning, to another wedding?"

You scoffed lightly, his hands holding yours tightly and easing you forward to his lap; never forcing nor rushing, but encouraging you. "Wouldn't it be a funeral first?"

Daemon cocked his head, smirking as he took hold of your hips to guide you into his lap, musing, "Technically, two of them, my dove."

With knees planted on either side of his slender hips, your cunt was pressed directly over his bulge; foreheads pressed together again, simply existing in your new position. You blinked once, then thrice, asking, "Daemon? Would you lie to me, my dragon?"

"To you?" He repeated, tutting after with a shift of his hips. "Dangerous woman, you know I cannot."

"Then tell me..." You paused, whispering over his lips, "Did you kill your Lady-wife?"

His hands tightened over yours, "Careful, dove. Those are heavy words."

"Do not lie to me, my Prince, I only wish to know the waters we are wading into," you purred, gently rolling your hips forward to test the waters of uncharted territory. Judging by how he stiffened some and held you in a bruising grip, you wagered you were doing something right as you were never charged with another man's pleasure.

You were barely charged with your own.

However, without Daemon, you felt no life in you - no reason to touch yourself, save for the few times in court he had made meaningful eye contact with you before and in-between his banishments.

Now, you had time to show him your adoration, and how perfectly ready for this you felt after the realm's biggest event of the year - a Royal Wedding. Your previous words added with your ministrations caused Daemon's brain to fog a bit before clearing when your teeth nipped his bottom lip. He confessed, "I did not kill my Lady-wife, but by the Gods, do I wish it were me. To get rid of that which stands in our way."

"She is not all," you reminded, his forehead slick against your own.

"I will handle your husband," Daemon promised, helping your hips roll into his at a more practiced pace. "Leave it to me, dove, just give me permission, and he's done for. You and I can finally be together, like we were meant to be, hmm?" he nodded against you, panting lightly as his experienced body felt like a virgin's again by the very idea of having the woman he loved - finally.

You whined against his lips, clinging to his body as your hips moved with his as if with a mind of their own; a wet patch forming under you from how aroused you were, and evidently, how much he was, too. Feeling bold, your hands clamped over his shoulders, and you pushed and pulled your hips with more of a swirl; gaining friction and speed.

"Shit," you cursed, the feeling indescribable. "'S always like this?" You slurred a bit, mouth at his ear as you were focused on the feeling of his hips under yours.

"Can be," he promised, pulling your face to his, licking against your lips; pressing a few searing kisses against your mouth.

"Fuck," you moaned, dry-humping Daemon like you were being paid for it; but not a single fiber of your being cared for how fucked-out you already were. He was the man of your dreams, someone you'd never move on from - and here he was, all yours.

How powerful you felt in that moment.

Daemon even hissed lightly in appreciation when your hand grabbed around his throat to hold him still as your lips and teeth nipped his. "Dove," he panted your old nickname like a prayer held at an alter, bliss coating every syllable; lips licking over the shell of your ear, "I'm not gonna last, and I'll be damned if I don't finish in you tonight."

The notion knotted your stomach, "And if your seed sticks?"

"Then we know who the Gods favor," he purred, biting his bottom lip as he fought off a knowing grin; hips hoisting yours up to hold, allowing him to reach for his trousers to find them already unlaced. "How'd you do that?" he asked with a small laugh, freeing himself from the fabric.

You only winked, leaning in to capture his smiling lips in another kiss as both his hands returned to your hips to squeeze. He let you grind over his lap once, twice, and a third time before lifting you gently again so he could gather the skirts of your soiled dress. "Oh," you gasped when your bare cunt came to settle over his glistening cock.

"Mh," he sighed out, holding you against him. "Just the smell of you is enough for me, dove."

A shiver raked over your body, wondering what the hell was wrong with the Lady Rhea Royce to not bed her husband... Or was that more his doing? "Daemon," you moaned wantonly against his ear, letting yourself squirm on his lap.

"Gods, dove," he hissed, grabbing at your throat to lift your head, "fucking soaking me." He groaned and tossed his head back when your hips swirled to coat his cock with your gathering slick. Another moan fell from your mouth as he reached between you to swipe his fingers down your slit; causing you to jump in slight panic as a fingertip dared to round the rim of your puckered hole - forcing a strangled moan from your throat. "Shhh," he crooned, "'s me, dove. Just me," he soothed, easing a finger down again, into your wanting, pulsing, hot and slick hole; licking his lips, "and you know I've got you. Hmm? Say it, my love."

The sentimental term of endearment was not lost on your ears, yet you only replied, "I know you've got me, my Prince. Only you - only ever you, fuck."

"That's right," he praised, adding another finger as your back arched and thighs quaked a little from straining in order to give him room to work. "There's my good girl, fuck..." His teeth nipped at your ear lobe, humming in appreciation, "Always were such a good girl for your Prince, weren't you, my dove?"

One of your hands was laid along his shoulder to hold the back of his neck as the other cradled his cheek; hips held at an angle as you pressed to him in an arch. "Only ever wanted you," you affirmed in his ear, rocking your hips as his fingers increased speed, "and I always want to please you."

He groaned lightly, your slick arousal causing his fingers to squelch in an echo across the throne room - both moaning at the explicit obscenity. "Fuck - you do, sweet girl," he whispered, voice hoarse from want. "Always fucking please me - just looking at you - fuck," he licked a bold strip up your neck, ending at your ear, "always were the prefect minx for me - no matter how broken you think you are, my dove, you're still so fucking perfect to me. Hmm?" His voice grew steadier as he held you up; legs giving out as his fingers found that spot within your walls, and focused all his energy on that single spot. "Know what you are to me? Know how I will spend my life worshipping you? Never want you to change, dove," his fingers curled inside you, "always want you wild, and free - " He trailed off with a taunt breath, gathering your wetness in his palm as if milking you for your nectar. "Such a good girl, making a fucking mess, mhmph, yes."

"Daemon," you whimpered in a broken whisper that told him more than your words could right now.

"Cum on my fingers, dove. Fuck - I wanna feel you. Fuckin' everywhere, just wanna be with you," he almost deliriously admitted as your cunt contracted around his fingers and he had to hold you close as your hips stuttered to trap his hand between you two. "Fuck, that's it," he praised you, "that's my good girl, such a pretty little thing. Gods, look at you," he teased lightly, looking down at you splayed against his chest as he retracted his fingers and hand from the warmth of your caverns. "My pretty princess, huh?" He slipped back into his native tongue.

You chuckled breathlessly, almost rolling your eyes. Instead, you hummed, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his pale neck and encouraging his head backwards for you to explore his flesh. "Only for you, my Prince," you promised, reaching between you to grab him in full. And oh, how delicious he felt in your hand - hot and heavy, like all those rumors whispered.

Daemon stiffened slightly as you acquainted yourself with the feel of his cock; the velvet softness a sharp contrast to that of the wrinkled displeasure your husband bestowed you with. "Yes, that's it," he whispered as your hand worked over him; letting your sopping-wet cunt roll in tandem, "oh, that's my good fuckin' girl."

"Daemon," you whined lightly, boldly smearing your thumb through the gathering pre-cum leaking from his engorged tip.

"What's my princess want? Hmm?" He taunted lightly through a thick tone, still very much in control of the situation despite letting you feel somewhat like the boss. A red flush was creeping up his chest and neck, making your mouth salivate as he demanded, "Tell me, sweet girl, and I can give you - "

"You," you whined, still rocking against him with your wrist rolling to accommodate the sheer size of him, "jus' want you, my Prince, please."

He growled, both hands now tightly fisting the ends of the arm rests of the Throne you were sat upon, "Beg for me again."

"Please," you whispered, "been so patient, please - want you inside me, my Prince - my love - please. Show me that what I dream of every night is truth, that those rumors I was forced to listen to after your marriage are right."

He stiffened lightly, knowing the rumors you spoke of - the rumors of him in bed, how whores would literally line up when he showed up at any pleasure house, how he fucked through most of the city by now all in an effort to avoid his Lady-wife.

Truth was, he couldn't get you out of his mind, and if he couldn't have you, he'd have anyone who reminded him remotely of you. Anyone with the color hair, eyes, skin tone - same smell - same height - or body shape. Anyone he could imagine being you, and occasionally, would pay a little extra if his bed companions would let him call them your name. He figured it was the only way he'd have you, but now, he knew what he had to do to ensure you never slipped through his fingers again.

"C'mere," Daemon growled, lifting your hips to position you; and with his eyes locked with yours, lowered you. Your mouth opened in a gasp when his cock rimmed the seam of you, holding on tighter as he pressed you further, pushing inside, and kept lowering you until seated fully in his lap. "No," he nodded when your hips went to move, "just take a moment, dove. Feel it - feel everything. Become friendly with this feeling," he instructed dutifully, uncharacteristically patient as his hands squeezed the fat at your hips. "'S pleasure, fullness, my dove. 'S me you feel," his breath was hot on your ear, "and it's me you'll feel for days more."

"Oh, fuck," you breathed, unable to think rationally as he guided you in gently rolling your hips to grind your clit against his pubic hair. "Daemon - oh, shit."

"Yeah?" he grinned wickedly, letting your movements naturally increase as your pleasure spread. "This is what it is, my dove. This is," he paused to groan when your hips lifted to glide you up and down his shaft. "Shit - this is what fucking is. A duty to a marriage, yes," he agreed against your lips, pressing a searing kiss there after, "but a primal pleasure few come to understand and enjoy."

"Th-This is how it should be?" You wondered, instantly hating the Queen Mother for breaking your engagement and robbing you of experiencing this feeling for years.

"Yes, dove," he groaned, both arms wrapped around you as a sheen of sweat broke out across your skin. "This is what it will be like everyday for us," he grinned, eyes locked with yours as he kept you bouncing in his lap; well-aware of the strain to your thighs, "because a husband's first duty is to his wife, ensuring her pleasure outshines his."

You whimpered.

"You close, love?" he muttered, feeling your tempo turn desperate, and groaned. "Fucking use me, that's right, my love, go ahead - ah! Shit!" He hissed, planting his feet to meet your thrusts now; fucking up into you, and making your mind stutter to a halt. The feeling and sound of his balls slapping against the wetness of your cunt was enough to fill a brothel; making you feel like Daemon's prized whore.

"D-Daemon," you begged, unsure of what you wanted; but he understood none the less.

"C'mere, I'm here," he promised; resting your forehead to his. "That's it, my sweet, yes, yes," his thumb dropped to your clit, "just fuck yourself on me, I've got you. Shit," he huffed, "all of this beauty, this wet, tight little cunt wasted on that fucker - waste of a man - fuck!"

"Tell me what you're going to do, Daemon," you moaned in his ear, feeling your climax approach rapidly. "Tell me how you're going to make me yours."

Daemon all but bared his teeth, "First, I'll kill that fat-fuck of a husband you have. He's all that's in our way, dove."

"Shit," you nodded, bracing your hands against anything you could reach; trying to ignore how the thrill of his warmed blood from his cut hand sent ripples of pleasure straight to your core. It felt wrong, but so fucking right since it was Daemon's blood on you - the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. "Keep going," you moaned, "tell me, my Prince, what you'll do."

He held your face to his, grinning, "You were never not mine, dove. But I will kill him first, then take you to Dragonstone, and make you my wife. Long overdue, my love, for you should've been mine this whole time."

"And now?"

"I'll never let you go," he grit his teeth, thrusting faster when your whimpering echoed around the chamber. When you came, your eyes screwed tight and your mouth latched to his shoulder to muffle the way you cried almost anomalistically. "Yes, yes, yes," he praised, milking you for all you had, before allowing his own pleasure to take hold; hips stuttering to eventually pause against yours as he bottomed out, spilling his seed deep in your womb.

And now, the only thing heard was the two of you panting; room much darker as a few candles had finally burned out. Daemon held you close, not wanting to let go now that he had achieved what he had considered 'impossible'. Your throat contracted as your swallowed, his eyes soft as they gazed over you, prompting your whisper, "Everyday of that, you said?"

He chuckled through his nose, nodding a bit, "Multiple times a day if you wanted."

"Oh," you bit your bottom lip, eyes scanning over him in haste. "That sounds most enjoyable. But where would we live?"

He smirked, "Wherever we desired. I'd take you anywhere, my Princess."

"Even Essos?" You smirked in a small tease.

"Anywhere, my dove," he reiterated, "so long as I am at your side."

"I don't want you anywhere else," you admitted in a whisper, still sat on his lap as his cum was plugged only by his softening cock that still kept you feeling full and stretched. Your eyes blinked back tears, turning so he would not notice, and laying against him, "Would you stay with me tonight, my Prince?"

He smirked, "What would your husband think? To find me in his marriage bed?"

"That it's just practice," you whispered in a gentle tease, slowly lifting to find his gaze.

His brows furrowed when you did not speak, asking, "Love? What is it?"

"Daemon... I fear I must ask you of the impossible..."

"Name it, sweet Lady," he purred, leaning forward to pepper a few kisses to your neck.

It was quiet, your lips moving only above a whisper at his ear, "Kill my husband for me, make me your bride after."

Daemon's hips shifted, groaning a low, "Fuck."

"Hmm?" You hummed, face hovering over his; his eyes scanning you up and down.

His bottom lip was trapped and released by his teeth, answering, "Think I just got hard again. That was music to my ears, dove."

"Promise me you will not make it conspicuous. I could not bare it if anyone suspected you, or foul play. Though I have never been openly fond of my husband, I do not want to see you suffer for his passing as I will have to play the part of mournful widow."

He huffed, "How long after can I wed you?"

Your shoulder shrugged, "When my Prince wants to."

"I'd take you now," he swore, shaking his head lightly. "Though, I respect you too much to let such gossip at court take place." He sighed, "Fine... Yes, all right," he sniffled, "I'll do away with him, my dove, and in six months, ask for your hand. Hmm?"

"Think you can wait six whole months?" You teased lightly, palm pressed to his cheek; thumb petting over his smiling lips.

"So long as you play widow well, and keep other suitors at bay," he joked, cocking his head, "then I do not have to wait six months to have you - just to marry you."

Your head shook lightly, snickering under your breath. "You'd do well not to sire your heir yet, as it would bring trouble before we need it."

"I'll have the Maester bring you tea," he sighed lightly. "But when we are married, you're not to take the tea again, my love."

"The moment we marry, it will be done away with," you promised in a whisper, leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss. When you pulled back, Daemon was content to just stare down at you; making you humm lightly, "Well, tomorrow fast approaches and I need sleep, my Prince."

Daemon nodded and just stared at you for a moment longer before sighing heavily, "Off to bed, then. Where does your husband sleep?"

"In a different wing so I do not hear him fucking his whores," you answered, wincing when Daemon helped you stand on shaking legs.

When on your feet before him, you gasped as his hand shot out to slither under your fallen skirts, scrape up your thigh to gather his cum that had dripped out before shoving up into your cunt. "Keep that there," he whispered, kissing your navel before standing and withdrawing his fingers. "And perhaps we should be grateful for his sleeping arrangements tonight."

"Oh?"

"He won't have to listen to me fuck his wife... Yet," Daemon smirked, hands all along your body as you moved from the Throne Room - knowing the next round of servants was sure to be up in a couple hours and not wanting to leave any traces, nor be caught. "We'll let him enjoy his last night on this earth, for tomorrow, my dove, you will be a single Lady."

With a small shudder, your head nodded before his hand caught your own and laced together as a gentle and simple sign of affection. "You would make it quick, right?" You wondered, keeping up with his longer strides; chin pressed to his bicep as you leisurely walked the castle's halls, starting towards your bed chambers.

But Daemon scoffed, "Oh, my dove, no, not after what I've learned tonight. No, he will suffer, and he will know why he suffered. The atrocities committed against you will not go unpunished."

Shock colored your system, nearly gaping at him like a gawking child. "You cannot - "

"I can," he assured with a firm nod, giving your hand a squeeze, "and I will, for he has acted with dishonor and that is intolerable. Now," he pulled you to your chamber door, looking up and down the hall, "which maids do you think will find us first? Or hear us?"

Your eyes rolled as you gently smacked the back of your hand to his chest, "You act as if we will fuck all night."

"Why would we not?"

"You need rest to keep your wits about you - especially for tomorrow," you alluded, his eyes softening. "There is too much at stake, we cannot afford any mishaps."

"Hmm, all right," he relented, watching you open your door. He sighed lightly, "This will have to change - your quarters should be with mine."

"Not separate?" You asked gently, watching him crowd into the room. The door shut firmly under his hand, eyes staring straight into you.

"As my wife, you would not be far from me, as I would not want you to be," he purred, slowly stalking forward. When he reached you, his hands physically held you in place while his gaze held you hostage, assuring, "You would not go a single night without the warmth of my body. I would do it all differently with you, my dove... Let me show you that I should've been your husband the first time."

Your head nodded, guiding his lips to yours in a frantic kiss; never truly registering what you had asked of him, nor what this might entail for the future. But you were damn sure - with Daemon, anything could've been handled. Though all that stood in the way now was faking the accidental death of your husband, publicly mourn him, wait a period of time, and then announce your engagement to the Prince - which sounds easy enough, right?

... Right?

part two: High Noon

Midnight Calls masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen smut #daemon smut #daemon hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd smut

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cwritesforfun · 5 months

Text

Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader: love as sweet as sugarcubes

You're a Victor from District 5 (Power/Electricity) and you won the 67th Hunger Games, two years after Finnick won his games. He was impressed by your knife work and immediately befriended you the next year. You both have been Mentors for 8 years together and have been each other’s best friend in the Capitol. This year is the 75th Hunger Games/the Quarter Quell.

Y/N = Your Name

** I do not own the Hunger Games plot. The scenes are in italics and from Catching Fire and all rights go to them.

this is a LONG one and it is not fully accurate to the books teehee

Y/N’s POV

I’ve been standing with the other tribute from District 5 and he has glared at me for hours. I have no idea what I did wrong. I walk away and lean against the wall away from people.

Finnick walks up twirling a sugar cube asking, "Do you want a sugar cube? I mean it's supposed to be for the horses, but I mean, who cares about them, right? They got years to eat sugar whereas, you and I, well if we see something sweet, we better grab it." I answer, “Don’t sugarcoat the truth. It’s bad for your teeth.” He smirks, reaches out to hug me, and says, “Oh how I’ve missed you.” I hug him back and say, “I’ve missed you too, Finnick. I will take a sugar cube though.” He tosses one and I catch it in my mouth prompting us to high-five each other. Finnick asks, “Hey, why does the other tribute from District 5 hate me? I asked where you were and he gave me the worst glare I’ve ever seen.” I answer, “He hates everyone. I don’t know why he’s in such a pissy mood. He was fine on the train here.” He replies, “So we hate him, good to know. By the way, you look really hot and I don’t think it’s the heat radiating off of your dress.” I smirk and reply, “Thanks. You’re hot too. It’s making me feel wet and I don’t think it’s because you're from the fishing district.” He blushes a little and says, “Hey…” My stylist runs up right then and pulls me away. It’s apparently time to be shown off to the Capitol. Damn, and I was just getting my flirt on... :(

Two Nights Later...

Finnick caught me as we walked to the elevator following our weaponry practice and told me to meet him on the roof in an hour. I don’t particularly like breaking the rules and being out late, but I’m going to die soon in the games anyway.

I walk out to the roof and see Finnick leaning on it. I lean next to him and say, “It’s quite pretty up here.” He replies, “It makes you think that the city is actually a decent place to live and somewhere you want to have a future.” I reply, “Yeah… people loved you during the opening parade. Caesar Flickerman complimented you and his praise will do wonders in influencing the people here. You have a real shot at winning this game.” He replies, “Yeah. Everyone loves you too. I mean, what’s there not to like? You won with kindness during the interviews and by showing your power with knives and sweet talk in the games. After the games, you’ve held your end of the bargain by appearing on TV with Caesar Flickerman and being the Capitol’s friend. And not only that, but every tribute here is practically in love with you.” I laugh and say, “Very funny. But, actually, everyone is in love with you, not me. I've heard many people say they'd choose you over me.” He replies, “Districts 1 & 2 think you would be a perfect addition to their team, but they know you won’t join them because I won’t. They think you’ll only go where I go, which is crazy because we're not that dependent on each other. Beetee and Wiress are in love with your brains. Your District 5 friend is mad at the Capitol for loving you more than him, even though he thinks he’s put more effort and work into it. Yet, he still wants you on his team and with him. Katniss let slip she wanted you on her team and she barely likes anyone here. I am. I could go on, but I won’t.” I ask, “Why did you just say you are? You didn’t even elaborate. What did you mean?” He faces me and I face him. He then exclaims, “I love you Y/N. I know we have less than a week left of our lives and I should’ve told you earlier so we had a chance to be happy. I'm such an idiot for not telling you and now I'm realizing that if you don't like me back, you will kill me first in the arena. I'm just regretting this. I should really learn to think with my head not my heart." I ask, "Wait, are you being dead serious?" He answers, "Yeah I am. Ugh, um let me just take it back. We can pretend I never said anything and we never met up tonight. Let's stay friends for the games." I answer, "You can't just take it back. Especially, not when I feel the same towards you! I love you, Finnick Odair!" He smiles and says, "You're lying now." I reply, "Pretty sure, I know my own feelings. In fact, I've always loved you. I thought I just liked having you in my life and around, but the longer we spent time together, I learned my feelings for you could only be one thing, love." He cups my face and asks, "May I kiss you?" I answer, "Yes."

SKIP to the Interviews ...

I'm watching Finnick's interview right now and I'm about to walk out. Caesar Flickerman says, "And Finnick, I hear you have something special to tell the Capitol about a special someone in your life." Who could they be talking about!? Finnick looks right into the camera and exclaims "My love, you have my heart. For all eternity. And if I die in that arena, my last thought will be of your lips." I gasp and start coughing as he walks off.

I quickly stop coughing and put on a smile. I walk out waving and hug Caesar Flickerman. He exclaims, "My oh my, Miss Y/N. You've grown so much and you've always been the Capitol's best friend. Right, everyone?" There are cheers and I exclaim, "And you're my best friend, Caesar." He laughs and the crowd cheers again. God, they're so easy to please. Caesar asks, "We'll miss you so much. Truly. Is there anything or anyone you will miss?" I answer, "Yes, I will miss so many people. Starting with, my family. I love you, mom and dad. I'll miss you, the people of the Capitol, and all of your excitement. I will miss the person with whom I shared my last kiss because if we had more time, I would've kissed you so much more and shown you so much love." He replies, "Oh, do tell us more." I reply, "All I can tell you, Caesar, is that this man that I kissed is someone who I've liked for years and I love him so much. He's got the kindest soul and he's one of the most loving men I've ever met." He replies, "Ah young love. I'm sure he will be cheering for you this year. Miss Y/N everyone!" I bow then walk up to my spot in the lineup.

Finnick glances over at me, makes a kissy face, and smiles. I smile back. God, I'm so in love. Why do we have to go in these Games?!

SKIP to the GAMES ...

Protecting Katniss is my new line of duty. Finnick, Beetee, Peeta, Johanna, and I are the main ones set to protect Katniss. Mags and Wiress are both on team Katniss as well. I know we don't need a team name, but it makes me avoid thinking about the games. Team Katniss for the win! Even though, we've only been in the arena for a day.

I'm with Johanna, Beetee, Wiress, and Blight right now. I love Johanna to be honest, she can come off as rude, but deep down, I know she cares about people. She just doesn't want to show weakness of any kind.

Before the games started, Finnick begged me to find him first and I told him that Katniss had to be our first priority to survive. He was pissed and said that our relationship should be number one over Katniss' survival. However, to survive and get out, we have to save Katniss. I can only hope that Finnick and I find each other alive. Honestly, we were both not explaining ourselves clearly enough during that last night. We both were just filled with so many emotions and we needed to let them out.

We just ran through the blood rain and made it onto the beach. Johanna starts screaming at Wiress and Beetee. I hear my name being screamed and I see Finnick. I keep washing the blood out of my hair because there is no way I want to hug him covered in blood.

Finnick starts running his hands through my hair washing it out and I exclaim, "Careful, Finnick. We'll all know who you were talking about during your interview." He says, "Let them," as he spins me around and brings his lips to mine.

Finnick pulls away and says, "Look, I need to say I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so rash and rude the night before the games started. I didn't even let you explain your side and that's not a healthy way to start a relationship." I reply, "It's not. I'm sorry as well. I shouldn't have blown things out of proportion when you said we should prioritize each other. I love you so much and wanted you to be okay. I do want to prioritize us and be in a relationship with you, before the end." He smiles and says, "I love you so much too. Now let's get this blood off of you!"

... SKIP to the end of the games...

... The plan is hatched!!!

Katniss insists I go with her and Johanna if Peeta cannot come. Finnick pleads with her to not take me and I agree that I should be with Katniss causing Finnick to shake his head. He walks forward, puts his hand on either side of my head, and says, “You do know what this means, right?” I answer, “It means we’ll survive. We signed up for this, Finnick. I’ll be okay. I’ll come back to you, I promise.” He replies, “I love you.” I reply, “I love you too."

I split off with Johanna and Katniss. As if on cue as we walk, Johanna pins Katniss down. I grab Katniss' legs trying to keep her down to the ground and we yank her tracker out. I whisper, "Careers, we need to move." Johanna nods.

Johanna and I lead the final Careers, Brutus and Enobaria, away from Katniss. It's all for Katniss.

The last thing I remember about the Arena was the loud boom and it sounded like electricity breaking everywhere.

... PART TWO??!?! ...

I'm already writing it hehehehe

#the hunger games #the hunger games catching fire #catching fire #thg finnick #finnick odair #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick fanfic #thg series #thg fanfiction

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rainyprompts · 6 months

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✧✦⭒ SHADOW & BONE S1 —

a collection of random dialogue prompts from season one of shadow and bone! change all pronouns/gendered language as you need!

❛When I was young, I was afraid of the dark.❜

❛Who can hear a whisper here?❜

❛Have you ever put out a fire by adding more fire?❜

❛You don’t seem like the type that does what they should.❜

❛What information do you have for me tonight?❜

❛Either you take your time or you take your chances.❜

❛No businessman worth his salt bargains for what he can take.❜

❛Answer the question. What are you?❜

❛Never make decisions out of fear, only spite.❜

❛Drive a knife into their heart.❜

❛You would choose their life over my freedom?❜

❛Planning on making a break for it?❜

❛Now call the sun.❜

❛Pray, scream, do whatever you have to do to push this out of your mind and move on.❜

❛The bone road ebbs and the bone road flows.❜

❛Our saint has arrived too late.❜

❛That’s why you look at me like that, isn’t it?❜

❛Are witches so used to deceit, they can’t accept good manners?❜

❛No saint ever watched over me… not like you have.❜

❛I will not take scraps from the likes of you.❜

❛Am I… disturbing you?❜

❛Your show of power will determine who will remain our ally.❜

❛Where did you learn to be so commanding?❜

❛You will become even more dangerous, still.❜

❛I thought I had more time to prepare you, but it’ll have to wait.❜

❛I… I killed him.❜

❛Oh, I always have hope. Even you can’t kill that.❜

❛If you put her/him/them in harm’s way, think about what I might do.❜

❛So there is a brain inside all that muscle.❜

❛They knew I was more important than any of them.❜

❛Your wet clothes will be the death of you.❜

❛A good magician is a good con artist. The trick is to make it look real.❜

❛It’s not natural for someone to be as stupid as they are tall and yet, oh, there you stand.❜

❛I just settled our tab with the last of our coin.❜

❛I may not see you just yet, but I can hear your heart racing.❜

❛Using my power is definitely changing me.❜

❛Their blood is on your hands as much as mine.❜

❛If not saints, what do you even believe in?❜

❛Do you know the only thing more powerful than you or me? The two of us together.❜

❛Choosing friendship over survival was not a luxury I could afford.❜

❛Telling half the story is not the same as lying.❜

❛You could have made me your equal. Instead you made me this.❜

❛Fine, make me your villain.❜

❛What can you really do on your own?❜

❛They are infernally happy there.❜

❛I can’t wait to introduce you to my truest love.❜

❛How do you claim such power?❜

❛I don’t have to kill you. Your past will do it for me.❜

❛It’s dangerous to go looking for the dead.❜

❛Saints become martyrs before they get to become heroes.❜

#rp prompts #rp starters #sentence prompts #dialogue prompts #fantasy rp #roleplay meme #rp meme #shadow and bone prompts #shadow and bone rp #rainypromptsoriginal

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folkwitchofthewest · 10 months

Text

Hostage

Author’s note: Hello peeps! This is my first post here on Tumblr. I am very excited, and I hope you enjoy the story. This story was based on a writing prompt I found and immediately fell in love with it. Angst and fluff are 2 of my specialties. Also the reader in this story is a yokai, you decide what kind. Anywho, happy reading!

Description: ROTTMNT Donnie x F! Reader!

During the battle for NYC, reader is captured by the Kraang, and is held hostage. Used as a bargaining chip to force the turtles, mainly the reader’s genius boyfriend, into surrender. After the battle they wake up in a strange place with a familiar voice.

Reader’s guide: Y/N (your name), e/c (eye color), (y/s) your species.

Warnings: Blood, injuries, fluff at the end.

Word count: 2,838

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was bad. This was very, very bad, you thought as the leader of the Kraang slammed you into the floor for the second time during your fight.

A cry escaped past your lips, no matter how hard you tried not to make any noise, you didn’t want to give that thing the satisfaction of knowing how much pain it was causing you. A choked gasp was drug into your lungs as it pressed its seemingly unbreakable and ridiculously powerful robotic hand into your chest, restricting your breathing, like a snake constricting around its prey.

You were the Kraang’s prey, you realized with a shudder. And true to form, as prey would, you squirmed, and struggled as if your life depended on it. Because it did.

“Stop struggling, weakling,” Kraang shouted, as lifted you off the ground just enough to slam you back down again.

Another pained gasp slipped past your defenses, as you scrunched your face in pain, and bit your already abused bottom lip hard to keep from groaning. A ragged cough tore out of your burning lungs, feeling as if someone was raking rusted barbed wire through your chest. Thank goodness you were a yokai, or you doubted you would have survived this whole ordeal thus far.

“Your resistance is futile,” he growled, menacingly lowing his pink face closer to yours,” And yet, I might still find some use for you.”

You shudder as his hot breath brushed against your face. You wanted to gag, scream, cry, push the monster away, but alas you couldn’t make your body obey the simple command to move. Sharp claws wrapped around your limp body and picked you up as if you weighed no more than a feather.

“Come, let’s see just how much these menacing little pests care about you,” your pink captor sneered.

No, he had seen the bond you shared with the turtles, with Donnie. When had he seen it? The invasion had only begun a few hours prior. He planned to use you as a hostage. Oh Pizza Supreme in the Sky, no. You were going to be a bargaining chip in this deadly game of poker. Please no. Donnie would surrender without hesitation if it meant saving you. Your beloved purple turtle has always been your knight in shining technology, your rock, your shield, your everything. The Kraang could not do this. You wouldn’t let it!

An adrenaline rush shot through you, a grim determination settled over you, and you began to thrash, and kick, but to no avail.

“Stop squirming!” Kraang snarled, holding you up by the throat. Out of nowhere the metal fist of the suit punched repeatedly in the stomach. Blood spurted out of your mouth suddenly, coughing and spluttering. The fit left you gasping for breath as warm slick blood ran down your chin and neck. The coppery taste left in your mouth made you want to puke.

‘Coughing up blood after severe trauma is most likely a sign of internal bleeding,’ you remembered Leo telling you once.

Oh great, you would probably bleed to death before this was all said and done, and no one would be any wiser. You suddenly felt extremely light headed, and weak.

“Y/N!” the voice of your beloved boyfriend screamed somewhere to your right.

In a dizzying blur of far to quick motion you were suddenly face to face with Donnie, who looked as if he had just laid eyes upon the most horrifying sight ever. Claws dug into your left wrist and jaw, as your head was lifted slightly, your body going rigid, tears finally cascading down your cut and bruised cheeks. Tears of fear, for your life and your boyfriend’s, and pain as your arm was twisted cruelly behind your back.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, locking eyes with Donnie.

“Don’t apologize, dearest,” Donnie shook his head, ever so slightly.

His white knuckled grip on his tech staff looked as if he could shatter the device with his bare hands at any moment. His body was ramrod straight, and if you looked closely you were sure you could see a small tremble claim him.

“Let her go, and I might let you live,” Donnie snarled words dripping with venom, as he elegantly twirled his staff to point threateningly at the Kraang.

A nauseatingly amused laugh came from the slimy monster behind you.

“You are in no position to make threats, you wretched little thing. You see, if you do not surrender, I will kill this one,” the Kraang smirked, scraping his claws from your jaw to around your throat.

Donnie twitched. He was enraged, and terrified, feeling so many emotions he did not understand nor wish to feel. How DARE this monster threaten you?! The poor turtle stood frozen for what seemed like an eternity in his head.

“Oh, did I touch a nerve, threatening your mate? Lower your weapon and surrender. Or she dies,” Kraang smirked, a strangled sob escaped your lips as it’s cold, hard, claws pressed around your delicate throat a bit harder,” On your knees. Now.”

An ultimatum was laid in front of the genius, and for once in his life, Donnie did not know what to do. If he surrendered, he lost the world; if he did not, he lost his world. His thoughts were racing a mile a minute. You were not his mate, not yet anyways, you were both still teenagers after all. But in the few short years he had known you he had fallen hard, and knew you were the only one for him the moment he laid eyes on you. He could not lose you.

“NOW!” Kraang roared, wrenching your arm behind your back so violently a sickening pop filled the air, and you felt a blinding searing pain rip through your shoulder.

You screamed, loud, long, blood curdling. The hand around your throat the only thing keeping you upright as you suddenly feel your strength leave you. The marrow in Donnie’s bones seemed to freeze. The sound shattered his heart, and he knew what he had to do.

His staff clattered to the ground as he raised his hands slightly in surrender, dropping to his knees.

"Wait, don't hurt her. Please," His voice held tense resignation that you had never heard.

“D-Donnie, n-no. D-Don’t give h-him w-what he w-wants,” you begged, through the tears and blood streaming from between your tightly clamped teeth.

“Beloved, save your strength. Everything will be alright. I promise,” Donnie tried to reassure you, his voice shaking, barely above a whisper.

The sight of Donnie on his knees, head bowed, looking at you as if his soul had been crushed with those heart wrenchingly beautiful eyes, hands in the air to signal he would not put up a fight. The sight forced open a pit in your stomach that threatened to swallow you whole. The pain you felt now, looking at him, was so much worse than the physical pain plaguing your body.

Kraang's laugh echoed in your ears, taunting you and your dear boyfriend. Your eyes squeezed shut, you could no longer keep them open. Your alertness was fading, and icicles began floating in your veins. You were cold, and disoriented. Where was Donnie? You knew he was close, you could hear his voice, muffled as it may be. He always kept you warm and safe.

Suddenly you were flying, weightless and free. And then the world came crashing down, ever so painfully around you. It felt like there was fire everywhere, licking your skin, deep in your bones. Fire so hot, it felt like freezing cold water had been dumped all over your body. And then something soft, and strong lifted you from the fire. You cracked your eyes open, and purple filled your vision. Donnie? Was he…was he cradling you in his arms? You could barely hear his voice over the blood pounding in your ears, crushing your skull. He was saying something, but you could not make out what. All you knew was exhaustion, and pain. Darkness, blessed, sweet darkness beckoned to you. Donnie was here, Donnie was holding you; if he was then you were safe, and everything would be ok just like he promised. You let the darkness have you, while Donnie’s pleas for you to stay with him went unheard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something soft and warm was wrapped around you, and something squishy under you. These were the first things you were aware of as your muddled brain emerged from the void. Annoying beeping pierced through your consciousness next. What was that, and wasn’t someone going to turn it off? It sounded like the microwave announcing whatever delicious food it had been warming was ready to be eaten. The thought of food made you nauseous, or was that the oddly salty smell that filled your nose and mouth? You felt floaty, like you were drifting lazily on a cloud through thick and heavy fog.

“Y/N…….ome…ack. Lease…..cme…ba,” a smooth rich voice drifted into your awareness.

It was soft, and comforting. Whoever it belonged to seemed slightly distressed. Who did that voice belong to? You knew them, and you trusted them with your life. That much you remembered. Something soft brushed across your cheek, the touch light as a feather.

“Open your eyes darling,” the voice called again, still muffled, feeling like cool aloe on a searing burn.

Maybe you should do as the voice asked. It sounded important. And you trusted this person, what was their name again? It was right on the tip of your tongue.

“Y/N, please come back to me,” the voice was clear this time, desperate, longing.

A sharp inhale and your eyes snapped open, bright light came flooding in, blinding you. A small quake ran through your body, which felt oddly weak and heavy. A sensation ran through your body, one you had never felt before. It wasn’t pain, simply an uncomfortable burn in your muscles, especially your chest and left shoulder.

“Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me, dearest?” A purple mask and wide, concerned, bloodshot eyes filled your field of vision, shielding you from the harsh lights above.

“Donnie?” your voice barely above a whisper, but full of deep affection.

“Oh beloved! Are you alright? Are you in any pain? Can you breathe properly?” he peppered your tired mind with concerned questions, his hands hovering over you as if he wanted nothing more than to touch you, but afraid you would break like glass under his calloused fingers.

“I’m ok, sore but perfectly fine. I promise,” you reassured him, your hand reaching out to grasp his.

Your throat felt like sand, dry and scratchy. Your e/c eyes drifted over to a cup sitting on a small table behind your dear boyfriend. Donnie followed your line of sight, and quickly scooped up the object of your desires. He gently held the straw to your lips and instructed you to sip, not gulp.

You did as you were told and a sweet reward met your parched throat. Your eyes drifted around the room’s bland walls and obnoxiously beeping machines, while Donnie’s never left your battered face. He looked pale, the bags under his eyes prominent despite the mask, eyes puffy, and red. Had he been crying? Once you had your fill and your voice felt suitable for civil conversation, you looked to Donnie once again.

“What happened? Where are we?” You inquired, softly.

Donnie explained that after the battle the family escaped to a yokai hospital in the Hidden City. After all, they couldn’t very well waltz into a human hospital with 2 frantic humans, an exhausted rat, 4 mutant turtles in varying states of injury, and a critically injured y/s yokai asking for help. Besides every medical center topside was surely flooded with casualties nor would they know how to treat the injured beings. Yes, the Hidden City was certainly their best bet to get the treatment they all so desperately needed.

He also gave you a run down on his brothers and his own injuries before moving to yours. An abundant collection of ghastly looking bruises and nasty gashes littered your body. Plus an unholy number of sprains, tears, and pulled muscles. As you suspected, you did in fact have extensive internal bleeding, a punctured lung from multiple broken ribs, a badly dislocated left shoulder, a severe concussion, and several broken bones.

“I thought I was going to lose you. For 12 deplorable hours I thought I would have to navigate my way through this dreadfully dark life without you, my light. You are the air I breathe, and while we were waiting for news it felt like I was suffocating, terrified of losing my air. My precious diamond, do not ever scare me like that again,” Donnie blurted out, rare emotion filling his voice as even rarer tears flowed from his expressive eyes.

He quickly buried his head in your shoulder. Whether it was to hide his tears, the blush that was rapidly growing on his cheeks, or to find comfort you did not know; however you were left speechless at the uncommon display.

“Donnie,” you stammered, failing to find your words just yet.

You settled for running your hand over his bandana covered head, and caressing his cheek. Donnie was never one for physical touch unless it was someone he was very close with, or he was in need of a way to express emotions he was uncomfortable with. He was never good with feelings either, so such an outright statement driven by emotion was quite unheard of.

“I’m sorry, I just - I was only - I was simply…..frightened. Beyond belief,” Donnie muttered into your shoulder, obviously having a hard time finding the words to express how he was feeling.

Now this was more on brand for your certified mad scientist. He must have put a lot of thought into what he was going to say to you when you woke up, and you suspected had a little chat with Dr. Feelings.

“Tello, look at me darling, please,” you requested, your fingers moving his chin up so his red rimmed eyes met your tired ones,” Dearest, I will never leave you. I swear as sure as Metro Tower is still standing I will always fight to stay by your side. What we have, well, you would think someone tore it right out of one of those nauseating love novels Leo reads. You are my guiding light, what makes life worth living, you are my everything. I love you, Donatello. I always have. Today, tomorrow, and forever.”

His eyes seemed to bore holes into your very soul as he soaked up the meaning and significance of your words. And suddenly more tears sprang forward in both your eyes as a smile graced his lips for the first time that night.

“I love you too. More than you will ever know,” he sniffed, as you brushed his tears away.

“You look exhausted. Have you slept at all?” you questioned, resting your hand on his cheek.

Donnie simply hummed and leaned into your wonderful touch.You let out a sigh, and painfully shuffled over in your surprisingly soft hospital bed. His drawn on eyebrows shot up in a silent question, rather alarmed. You couldn’t help but giggle at the expression on his face, you found it quite adorable.

“Come,” you said, patting the empty space in the bed,” keep me company.”

“Leo would freak if he saw us, spouting some nonsense about tearing your stitches or infection,” a sly grin creeping onto his features as he slipped off his battle shell, and climbed into bed with you.

“Well, it’s a good thing it's only us then, isn’t it?” You giggled.

After several minutes of readjusting making sure not to jostle each other's injuries, you were both comfortable, cuddled up close to each other. Your head rested on his plastron, and his arms were wrapped snugly around you. You began to gently draw patterns on his plastron, this always relaxed him, and you knew exactly how to get him to sleep.

A contented churr rumbled through his chest, deep, comforting. A contented sigh escaped your lips as your eyes became heavier.

"I love you, darling," you whispered.

"I love you as well, beloved," he whispered back, before drifting off to sleep.

In that moment, everything was perfect. Yes, you had all been through hell. Yes, it was going to be a struggle to return everything back to normal. But you would all be there for each other, because that's what family did. You were safe in Donnie’s arms, and he in yours. You had 0 intentions of letting him go anytime soon, vowing to keep away the nightmares you knew would surely come.

But for now everything was alright. You had all survived, and would continue to do so.

You finally lost the battle with sleep, and your last conscious thought was of your purple turtle, and the undying love you held for him.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise donnie #donnie x reader #save rise of the tmnt

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mrmustachious · 26 days

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Fishtank Week 2024

I've written a lot of fishtank over the years, so for fishtank week here are a bunch of fics I've written for you to peruse and get your fill of the two best bros :D

Shaky Hands - Rescues didn’t always go as planned.

Human Shield - Virgil thinks Gordon is an idiot. Gordon just thinks he's a good brother.

Shackled - Rescues are hard when evil lies around every corner.

Unconscious - Sequel to Shackled. Virgil gets worried when there's no sign of Gordon, so he goes investigating.

Stitches - “I think you’re going to need stitches.”

Secret Injury - Gordon’s hurt, but Virgil needs him. He can set aside his own injuries if that’ll mean his brother is safe, right?

Fever - Gordon and tonsillitis.

Don’t Hold Your Breath - Gordon woke up trapped, underground, and running out of air.

Grow Up Fast - He thought that he was being helpful, that an older brother was supposed to protect a younger one from harm, but maybe doing so just made everything worse. Prompt: “I'm not a kid anymore so stop treating me like I am."

Out of Control - Something was wrong with his brother, Virgil just didn't know what.

All Trussed Up and Still Nowhere to Go - Virgil couldn't remember what had happened, but he knew one thing for sure. He wasn't going to let anyone hurt his brother.

My Spidey-Sense is Tingling - A rescue involving a chemical spill soon leads to some unexpected consequences.

Coughing Up a Lung - Gordon woke up this morning suffering from a cold. At least, he thought it was just a cold...

That’s Where the Blood’s Supposed to Be - A sea quake leads to a concussed brother and Virgil having to pilot a ship that isn't his.

Hide & Seek - After being captured, Virgil and Gordon know that if they have any chance of surviving, they must find their own way to escape.

You Will Go Down With This Ship - Gordon decides to take a walk around the island, but he never intended to end up stuck and injured in a hole with a storm looming overhead.

Six (or more) Feet Under - The ground slipped out from under him, and then a white blanket swallowed him whole.

More Than This - Gordon had dreams and plans for the future, but then one fateful day it all came crashing down. Plans changed, for both him and his family, and now nothing was the way it was meant to be.

Crushed Metal - Hanging your brother above a giant machine that was out of control would have its consequences.

Shrapnel - How did Gordon escape unscathed whilst the Mechanic tried to crush his ship with him inside? Maybe that's because he didn't.

Get Out of My Head - Virgil hurts Gordon in the worst way imaginable.

Disappearance - liesorlife requested: How about disappearance with Gordon

Artist AU - onereyofstarlight requested: Artist AU looks fun and Virgil is the obvious pick - maybe an AU where Kip Harris is an artist instead of a firefighter and Virgil's about to meet his No. 1 Art Hero?

Comforting Hug - Gordon and a therapy dog.

Loss of Sight - It seems like whoever led them into this trap wasn't done with them yet.

Over-the-Shoulder Carry - Gordon's an idiot, but what's new?

Trying to Wake Them Up - Virgil's hurt and won't wake up, so it's up to Gordon to get help.

Hair Matted with Blood - Virgil and Gordon want to spend some quality time together.

Animal Attack - Whilst out chasing rumours of a beast that lives out in the woods, Virgil and Gordon get more than they bargained for. Supernatural AU

Going into Shock - Quite often after a rescue, they were showered with gifts. However, not all gifts were wanted.

#fishtankweek2024 #fishtankweek #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderfam #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #fic #mine

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myers-meadow · 2 months

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Korrilla is Tav's ex and Raphael bargains with Korrilla into essentially acting as his wingman/coach?

This went a little in a different direction than you intended, but it was fun to think about Korilla and Tav being exes!! Thank you for the fun prompt! (as a meaningless sidenote, i am so in love with how Raphael's appearances are woven throughout the entire game. he helps you (your group) several times, and by act III when he actually offers the deal, you are far from strangers. Incredibly written. too bad i cant romance him aa)

Wordcount: 329

No warnings! Please let me know if you enjoyed, reblogs are very welcome and are v encouraging <3.

Divider by earthscent.

"Korilla, I hear you have a history with Tav," Raphael said, as they shared lunch on one of the outer balconies of the House of Hope. He sat cross legged at the small table, staring out over the landscape. Plates with fruits, bread and cheeses cluttered the small table in between them. The cambion only had a glass of wine, Esmaltar Red, as he stared at his warlock. A relaxed moment, yet he carried a tension in his jaw that gave him away.

"She's a spiffy little thing, isn't she? She really was shocked when I rescued her from that goblin priestess two weeks ago." Korilla picked at some grapes, letting them roll between her fingers before eating one.

"You know her better than I do in that regard. What's she like?"

"I hope you don't expect me to kiss and tell, Raphael," she countered his question with ease. As his right hand, she knew him well enough to know this was not just a casual topic. Anything that came to the potential contract with Tav was of great importance to him. The Orphic Hammer was already displayed and protected as the most valuable thing Raphael owned. But now it seemed that the brave adventurer wasn't so easily swayed by him, despite his charms and his (so far) genuine intentions.

"No, no, of course not." Raphael waved his hand. "But I am curious... What tempts her?"

"Well, a breakfast in bed with buttered toast and jam in bed always made her more pliable, if that's the sort of thing you're looking to hear," she said, smiling inwardly at how this is just the perfect opportunity to mess with the cambion a little. "You mean to give you the crown? Not a chance, she's too loyal. That wizard wants it and she will support him, because she trusts him."

Raphael leaned back, rubbing a finger over his lips, deep in thought. "Perhaps I should try that breakfast in bed, then."

#ask #anon #bg3 drabble #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #raphael x tav #bg3 raphael #drabble #stay cat anon #raphael the cambion #raphael bg3

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thesistersarcheron · 1 year

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I am currently writing for A Court of Thorns and Roses!

Because I post updates and keep up with my fics most regularly on my AO3 account, miss_belivet, this list links out to each fic there. (This masterlist is outdated as of 4/19/24. Check my AO3 for current projects.)

Ongoing multi-chapter fics are marked with an asterisk (*). For more information about ratings, content warnings, and additional minor pairings, please check the tags on AO3. Also, please note that I am a multishipper!

Nessriel

viciousness & intelligence* — It is well known across Prythian that High Fae mating bonds are a rare and sacred union between two souls. Lesser fae mating bonds, more common yet less studied than their High Fae counterparts, are bound by an entirely different set of rules. After the ball in the Hewn City, Nesta and Cassian swore to each other that there would be no one else. Ever. They didn't account for Azriel.

promises & punishments — Nesta and Cassian face the consequences of breaking their promises to Azriel. Set in the universe of viciousness & intelligence, but can be read as a standalone. PWP.

clandestine meetings — Prompt fill for “In my dreams, we’re still together,” with Nessriel. Oneshot.

Feysand

As the World Falls Down* — Based on a prompt from deepwaterwritingprompts: Sometimes in the dead of night on the way to the kitchen for a glass of water, I see an extra door in the hallway, black and imposing. Five times the High Lord of the Night Court tries to lure his human mate across the wall and the one time she hunts him instead.

Bejeweled — Every court has their own Great Rite with unique, ancient traditions. The Night Court’s priestesses have played coy with Rhysand since he inherited the throne last year about what imbuing the Night Court with his magic means; all they tell him is that he is meant to spend the night in the mines while everyone else attends an orgy without him. He doesn’t expect to meet Feyre, a faerie made of crystal who leads him on a chase deeper and deeper into the mines as the Rite’s magic overcomes him. PWP.

Poltergeist Darling* — Rhysand's grip on her tightened as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Tamlin and I didn’t shuffle your corpse around for a week every month, if that’s what you’re thinking. I had to do some good old-fashioned graverobbing to get you, Feyre.” (What would have happened if Feyre wasn’t resurrected Under the Mountain?) PWP.

Hear It in the Silence (See It with the Lights Out) — Feyre's shields are weakened after a long, exhausting night with her mate, and she reveals an embarrassing secret she's been hiding from him. Rhys learns something new and exciting about his darling and gives her everything she wants. PWP.

High Infidelity — Prompt fill for “Why does this feel like goodbye?” with Feysand. In a world where Rhys was a split-second too late to interrupt Feyre’s wedding, he and his mate have to make the most of their bargain. Unfortunately, the goodbyes never get easier. Angst. Oneshot.

What a Mind — After years of avoiding reading lessons as a human, Feyre finally learned during those long, endless hours copying letters during her first visits to the Night Court. She even enjoyed it, developing a voracious appetite for books in the Spring Court. However, faced with an official document in outdated penmanship as High Lady, she realizes that no matter how much effort she put into those lessons, she still has more to learn. Oneshot.

Delicate* — Driven by instinct in the split-second after the mating bond snaps, Rhys abducts Feyre from the balcony overlooking the Middle during their goodbyes. Now that Feyre has seen Velaris—and witnessed Rhysand break down sobbing in another female’s arms, spouting some nonsense about mating bonds—she is forbidden to leave the city and return home to Tamlin and the Spring Court until the Inner Circle unanimously agrees that she is not a threat to the security and secrecy of their beloved City of Starlight. Slow updates.

Of the Archer and the Dark* — Feyre Archeron is the youngest member of the Fae nobility trapped in Under the Mountain. When she is dragged before the High Queen of Prythian in her father’s attempt to settle his gambling debts by selling her hand in marriage, Feyre faces scrutiny from all sides: the wicked queen herself, who takes a particular interest in securing a match for her; the leaders of the rebellion, who already paid the price of failure once; and the cruel High Lord of the Night Court, who seems to enjoy nothing more than dismantling the defenses Feyre has spent years building against monsters like him. Hiatus.

Elriel

Visions of You* — After learning of her younger sister's fate Under the Mountain, Elain Archeron struggled to envision her future as the lady of the Nolan estate. Sometimes, when she woke in the night and the iron band of her engagement ring was cold as ice on her finger, she knew only dread. She had no such trouble with the fearsome faerie male who made a habit of checking on her nearly every day. It might have been some trick, a faerie enchantment or thrall, but falling in love with him was the easiest thing she ever did. Canon Divergence in ACOMAF, human Elain x Azriel.

all’s well that ends well (to end up with you) — Elain serves Azriel at Solstice dinner, a bond between them snaps, and they are sent into the mating frenzy as chaos ensues around them when the Inner Circle's holiday celebration is turned into an impromptu mating ceremony. Canon divergence.

Crimson Clover — When a stranger tries to kidnap Nyx during an outing to the park, Elain reacts the same way she did that day on the battlefield: by going for the throat. Azriel distracts her in the aftermath.

Hindsight — Elain Archeron used to be the world's darling, a sweet, wholesome pop superstar with millions of best friends. Her star never seemed to stop rising… Until a slighted ex leaked a video of Elain slut-shaming another singer. Now, she's launching a comeback album to tell her side of the story, and she knows her bodyguard, Azriel Shadowsinger, will do everything in his power to ensure she's never hurt like that again. Modern AU. On indefinite hiatus.

Glitch* — After a messy breakup with her college sweetheart, Elain retreated from her life as a social butterfly, moved home to Velaris, and started a work-from-home career as a shibari artist and a playful, kinky influencer on social media. Her little sister, Feyre, is eager to get Elain out of hiding—and to set her up with a man to whom she might cling for some peace and quiet. However, there’s more than meets the eye when it comes to Feyre’s long-time friend and the local kindergarten teacher, Azriel. PWP.

The Altar, Part 2 — Prompt fill for Elain tying Azriel up and blindfolding him. PWP.

Breathless — Azriel and Elain do the dishes after a family dinner. PWP.

Nessian

The Altar, Part 1 — Prompt fill for Kinktober with Nessian. PWP.

Everybody Agrees, Everybody Agrees — “Good. He hates you, too,” Cassian shot back. “Everyone fucking hates you. Is that what you want? Because congratulations, it’s happened.” And for once, Nesta’s sharp tongue failed her. Angst, fix-it.

Elucien

Elain Archeron’s Guide to Etiquette, 1st Edition — Feyre said Lucien Vanserra was the finest emissary she knew. That he was raised a prince. But all Elain could see was the awkward small talk and the graceless manners. PWP.

A Million Little Shining Stars — After following the sad, lonely tugging on their mating bond to Velaris on Elain's birthday, Lucien finds that cheering her up is easier than anticipated. Oneshot.

Gwynlain

tiger lilies in the sun — With most of the Inner Circle on a diplomatic visit to the Summer Court, Elain decides that babysitting duties are easier split between several people and a sentient house. Nyx plays matchmaker. Fluff.

Casslain

To Everything a Season — A series of seasonal, post-ACOWAR AU prompt fill ficlets that tell the story of how Elain and Cassian came together. Fluff.

Gwynriel

Move Fast, Keep Quiet — When Azriel finds himself in a Summer Court hospital, the Night Court sends their only available agent to extract him before his diplomatic visit can turn into an international incident: the wife he didn't know he had. Oneshot.

Three Brothers, Three Sisters

His Mothers’ Child — During an afternoon in the garden with her sisters and her nephew, Nesta learns more about the consequences of her sacrifice at the end of Silver Flames. Somehow, the thought of co-parenting with her brother-in-law is not entirely unwelcome.

A Court of Divinity and Ashes — When Elain Archeron was twelve years old, she disappeared on her way to the market. Ten years later, both of Nesta Archeron’s little sisters are gone. Dead, she presumes... Until Feyre shows up on her doorstep with pointed ears and three faerie males dressed for war. Until Nesta is bound and gagged before a faerie king with a pale, hollow-eyed woman she doesn’t recognize standing beside her. On hiatus; reworked this fic into Visions of You.

#my fics #feysand #elriel #nessian #elucien #gwynlain #casslain #nessriel #masterlist #acotar #fic #fics

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sakuradeservedbetter91 · 11 months

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Hi, Anon!!! What a lovely surprise to see this 🥹

After much deliberation—here are five of my favorite fics plus honorable mentions because anyone who knows me knows I hate deciding 😂

1. Red Ribbon of Fate—T, Shisaku, complete, “Shisui and Sakura's love story begins with a red ribbon.”

This one I had so much fun writing because it was just based off the silly idea that Shisui’s hair gets too long, and he holds his hair back from his eyes with a red ribbon. This idea was formed in the Sakura Haruno server, and it just was so sweet and I loved every second of it 🥰

2. Stealing His Shirt Has Never Felt So Good—E, KankuSaku, complete, “Sakura keeps her boyfriend's shirt before he leaves to train. Boyfriend comes back, she's a bit of a brat, and he punishes her with a ton of orgasms.”

I have no explanation for this fic except for the fact that I saw some amazing horny art of Kankuro, proceeded to obsess over said art and write this fic for 9 months, and well, yeah. Here we are 😂

3. Not Yet—E, KakaSaku complete, “Sakura appreciates Kakashi wanting to properly woo her, but they’re together. She’s tired of waiting. And now, she’s going to go get her man to fuck her.”

This was actually my first smut I wrote for KakaSaku, and I remember writing this and screaming as I wrote because it was so filthy. But it was a good time, and damn, I need to write more of them agains soon 👀

4. fantasies can come true—E, AsuIno, complete, “Ino successfully seduces her former teacher, and she may be in for more than she bargained for, not that she'd ever complain.”

I’d been telling myself forever that I’d write a fic for these two, and then I finally did it, and it was so fun! Definitely am going to write more for them, and also the other ships for Ino I recently realized were super fun 🥰

5. oh captain—E, ShiSaku, complete, “Sakura and Shisui avoid their duties aboard ship to have a little rendezvous below deck.”

This is one of my more recent ShiSaku fics i did for ShiSaku week in June this year, and I had so much fun with the prompt, because it was pirates and of course I had to make it sexy. I also just really loved every other prompt I did for the week (I did one for every day bc I am crazy), and I just love writing this pair so much 🥹🥰

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

hey cowboy with that look in your eyes—E, ShiSaku, WIP, sexy, smutty pirates which I’ve been brain rotting over for weeks

the bird and the worm—E, KakaSaku, complete, CRACK, literally was challenged by Tipsy to use some bad smut words in smut and so I did 🤣

#fic recs #kakasaku #shisaku #kankusaku #asuino #binkerbell writes #answered anons

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unhealthyfanobsession · 9 months

Note

Would u consider a prompt where Nesta has given in and agrees to training and helping them with shit blah blah and Cassian although concerned about Nestas sudden submission one night finds her crying and try’s to comfort her and she’s like absolutely not and is almost like afraid of him

I heard it’s Nessian week? Why not take some prompts!

She could feel him standing outside her door. Every night, she could feel him. Standing outside her door, not making a single movement. Prison guard or nervous teenage boy, who could tell the difference. It was the not knowing that terrified her. Was he out there sharpening a sword or ringing sweaty palms together.

Preparing to hurl insults or confessions?

Which did she dread more?

At least the insults were honest.

Nesta’s entire body froze when thick knuckles rapped so gently she would not have heard any noise with human ears. Quickly, she wiped her nose and dried her eyes on the sheets beneath her. Tucking fabric awkwardly under her hip to hide the water mark.

“The House already sent in dinner.”

“I figured. Can I come in?”

“You have made it very clear that you can do whatever you like when it comes to removing my freedoms. I don’t see why privacy would be any different.

Nesta swore the wood on the door separating them thickened about two feet inside of Cassian’s pause.

“I won’t open the door without your permission.”

How gallant. “Will you continue standing there until I let you in?”

“I-” Cassian paused. So unlike him, to be at a loss for words. “Let me come in this once and I will not return to your door unless invited.”

“Is that a bargain?”

Silence again.

“Just a promise. Unless-”

“Come in.” Nesta did not need any more of Cassian inked into her skin than she already had.

Nesta always felt so small in his presence. In every meaning of the word. Now, watching Cassian fuel his wings to step through her door, she felt positively minuscule in the middle of this massive bed that was the size of the entire cottage she lived in for years.

“Why do you cry?” The question was so ernest that Nesta almost softened.

“Why do you not?” She asked with genuine curiosity. “After all you have seen, the wars and pain. How do you not weep every day?”

Cassian stepped closer, hand twitching at his side. Nesta shifted farther back in the bed and he stopped. “Are you afraid of me?”

“I am afraid of never being free again.” The more time she spent with him the greater chance she said something to infuriate him and was made to start back at square one. This was a game of endurance.

“Because there is still so much to live for.” Cassian said quietly. “Because there is more good in this world than bad.” Nesta’s face made it clear that she did not agree. “Because the good is worth fighting for,” Cassian amended. “I do not cry over the bad because there is still good. Because … crying doesn’t change anything.” Ah. There it was.

“Perhaps it isn’t about changing.” What was so wrong with simply … feeling. Mourning.

“You feel as though we trapped you? That we are trying to force happiness on you.”

“Not happiness,” Nesta looked out over the Sidra, finding more solace in its nearly black depths than in his golden eyes. “Utility, I suppose would be a better word.”

“Purpose,” Cassian half growled.

“And what is your purpose, general? Lead Rhys’ armies? Fight Rhys’ wars?”

“At least I fight for something.”

He would never understand. He could never understand that a person may want to live their life without fighting. Even love was a fight to him.

“You are addicted to fighting battles you cannot win.”

“And yet here I stand. Alive and breathing after so many impossible battles.”

Nesta snapped her gaze back to his at that. “Your swords and siphons will win no battles here.”

“You are not a battle, Nesta.” Satisfied by her reaction, Cassian smirked, “it has never been my intention to fight you.

“What is your intention, Cassian?” Nesta’s shoulders curled in with exhaustion. How long could they keep having this same fight. Keep running in circles around whatever this was.

“I have no idea.” Cassian’s honesty took all of the air out of the room. “This isn’t about my intentions. It isn’t about what I want.”

“How big of you.”

“Everything about me is big, sweetheart.” And just like that, crystal vulnerability cracked into a sparkling mist as equilibrium returned. Dirty jokes and rolled eyes and no answers.

There were worse games to play, Nestasupposed.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #acosf #cassian #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses

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capsekai · 25 days

Text

RP Prompts:

Inspired by Random Lyrics Edition to get people started! Disclaimer: We probably aren't that good at this, we just figured we'd chime in for funsies.

What is it about them - I must be missing something...

Can you check your uber rating?

And i'm lying now, like a child in your arms, what is this feeling?

Wake up, earn a little money, but is the hustle free?

You should see me in a crown, i'll rule you until my dying day

If I could change the way that you see yourself

But when I wake up, I see, the world beyond you

Just say that I'm not your preferred sexual orientation

If teardrops could be bottled, there'd be swimming pools filled by models

Every time I feel the need, I envision you caressing me..

You always smile but in your eyes your sorrow shows

You came to my window on a dark and stormy day

Emptiness is filling me... to the point of agony

Shadows of you keep washing over me

Look, you know it's harder to find my mind in these times

Was hopin' I could catch you throwin' smiles in my face

You live in the dark, I cannot pretend

Said you wanted to see me thrive, but is it a lie?

I need to sit down, don't mean to make demands, but can you clarify?

If I gave you everything and everything is what I bought

I don't have no clue, ain't no me without you

Get your soldiers, tell 'em I ain't layin' low

Is there a word for bad miracle?

What would you trade the pain for?

This city always hangs a little bit lonely on me

I found the cure to growing older

Am I more than you bargained for yet?

Find a safe place, brace yourself, bite your lips

Why can you read me like no one else?

Where you've been lost, between the lines of eternity

The next time the phone can wring my neck

It's only therapy.

Long ago, you used to want me

This room won't be open, until the event you're searching for happens

if it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad?

If we are nothing more than dreamers

If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago, i might not be alone

You know how us Catholic girls can be

If I jump in this fountain, will I be forgiven?

And THATS IT, that is your random extreme sides of my not paying attention to RPC prompts even tho I run @midnyte-muses. XD

Have fun playing connect the dots to my piss poor music catalog.

If you LIKE The crazy, feel free to ask for more <3

#rpc #writing prompt #writing ideas #writing inspiration #rp prompts #lyric prompts #rp writing #rp resources #carrd resources #rentry resources #capsekai #connect the dots

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i-have-insane-that-i-am-paper · 1 year

Text

The life - Brienne x Faerys

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Visual of Faerys

Master list

Prompts: 40. “I have never hurt anyone. Yes, I’ve killed and I’ve damaged but those are things that you can overcome. Mentally, however, I’ve harmed no one but myself.”

Warnings: Angst, description of violence.

Words: 2.596

"You know I would move heavens and earth for you my little flame. Tell me what troubles you so."

"It's Viserys." She spoke quietly. Eldest sibling got confused. "What about him little one?" There was no mistaking bite in her voice, Faerys knew her brother has changed since their exile. But for Daenerys to look so scared of him. He messed up. Big time. "He wants me to marry one of Dothraki Khals." That was it, eldest one saw red at those words. "He. What." Anger, blinding, boiling, unmistakable in her voice. But at the sight of her little sister flinching Faerys forced herself to calm down. "I'm sorry my little flame. I didn't mean to frighten you. But I need to know. Did you accept?" Voice much gentler than before. She nodded. "I didn't have any other choice. He is to be king, and for that he needs army. The one I can provide by marrying a powerful man." She spoke. If Faerys was angry before she is absolutely livid now. But forcing herself to a calm state of mind yet again for the sake of not scaring her little sister. "You are already promised to him? How come I knew nothing of it?" Daenerys shook in her place, thinking she was about to be struck. "He told me not to mention it to you."

That was it. Red line has been crossed.

Gritting her teeth Faerys just nodded. "I see. I'm going to rest now my little flame, have nice day, and please do take some rest yourself." Faerys spoke as she hugged and kissed crown of her sisters head.

Daenerys appreciated softness her sister gave, always being gentler one of the siblings. Faerys was always the one to care and comfort Daenerys, no matter what, no matter how late in the night she came her arms were always widely spread and ready to engulf her in her comfort.

As soon as she was out of eyesight Faerys bolted for her brother's chambers. Bursting in without knocking se spoke. "You were going to give our sister away to some brute?!" Faerys was livid. "She told you? That little..." He spoke as he went for the door but was stopped with hand around his neck that pushed him back. "Yes. She told me, and you will not do anything. Unless you wish for broken bone that is." "How dare you speak to me in such manner. I am the King."

"Any man who must say, I am the king, is no true king. Do I need to remind you insolent child who is the elder one here. Just because I don't want the throne does not mean I won't take it from you if you continue being oppressor." He went deep red. "You dare-" "Yes. I fucking dare, because I am the one who wiped your ass, and took care of you. So you will shut your trap before I shut it, and speak when spoken to. Meaning I ask questions you answer. Understood." He knew better than to challenge his sister. She had quite a temper, so he nodded. "Now. You promised our sister. The light of my eyes and happiness of my heart to a dothraki savage. Do you care to explain why."

"He will give us his army. We can take our throne back with it."

"Oh. So it's our throne now, as far as I remember it was your throne until few moments ago. But my question still stands. Why. The. FUCK. Didn't. I. Know?" Faerys seemed more threatening than ever, her eyes nearly in slits, voice taking growling quality. Resembling a dragon more than a human in that moment. "Because you wouldn't allow it and we would loose perfectly good bargain." As soon as those words came out of his mouth Viserys hunched over, swift punch to the gut delivered by his sister sent him in to coughing fit grabbing his neck and pinning him to the wall. "OUR sister is not a bargaining chip you little shit, and what happened to others being inferior to OUR blood? Did you traumatize my sister with the thought of marrying you just to sell her like common WHORE?!" Faerys physical state is a mirror of her emotional one, veins on her forehead and neck protruding and pulsating, her jaw clenching and unclenching. Breathing erratic as she growled at her brother.

"You will call it off." She finished letting him drop onto his knees. "I can't." He wheezed. "What." Tone eerily calm. "I can't. She's promised to him, if we don't give her to him. He will find us and take her by force treating her worse than if she just accepted it." Seeing sense in his words and indeed it being hard situation. She nodded. "BUT. If she is hurt in anyway by him. You better find good spot to hide." With that Faerys went to her room.

Soon the day of ceremony came. The man that Faerys came to know as Drogo didn't seem to heavy on the eyes, but still...

"You seem concerned, my lady." Ser Jorah spoke, and she smiled. She found comfort in mans kind face and gentle voice. "How can I not be? My sister is off to marry complete stranger, and I can't do anything about it. I am the eldest of my family I was supposed to protect her." Faerys spoke but Jorah shook his head. "This is no fault of yours. From what I heard you didn't even know about it until few days ago. Stopping it then would cause great consequences for everyone included." Girl smiled and nodded.

The time of gifting the bride came, so Faerys stepped out. Her head held high as she presented her gift. A necklace, a dragon with greenish brown eyes. Pulling on her neckline Faerys showed off her own dragon with sky blue eyes. Daenerys knew meaning of her gift and nodded in gratitude. When she stepped back and stood beside Jorah he spoke. "That is a fine gift my lady, I hope you don't mind my asking but where did you acquire it?" She smiled and spoke "I made it. Took a long time about two weeks. But it payed off, I thought what better occasion that this to give it to her." The astounded look on knight's face was priceless and something she would remember for a long time.

Months passed, Daenerys fell more and more in love with her husband and soon...

"I'm gonna be an aunt? I'M GONNA BE AN AUNT?!" Tears of happiness prickled her eyes as younger girl smiled giddily and nodded. In matter of seconds she was lifted off the ground and twirled in the air. "Yes. You are gonna be an aunt." She knew how much Faerys loved children but this child was her own flesh and blood so it's even more special to her. From that day on eldest Targaryen would spend hours beside her sister. Hugging her, comforting her, petting her stomach and kissing it. Whispering to the baby and talking to it, promising the world and more to it. Truly and well in love with it even before it was born. Relationship between her and her brother in law improved significantly. They were friends, often joking with one another and teaming up against Daenerys in their teasing. Viserys was growing distant, insulting Danny much more and earning himself sharp glares sometimes even smacks from Faerys. But nothing could prepare the girl on the sight of her brother writhing in pain as molten gold burned his face and entered his inside. She was in shock but also pain. No matter what, how he acted and spoke, how he was towards her or anyone else. That was her baby brother, the very one she gently rocked in her arms and sang songs to. The one whom she played with and whose smile brightened her day before this world corrupted him. So she turned and left her soul burning with pain and anguish. Old memories rushing back, old wounds springing open. After she calmed she came back and spoke to her sister. Neither of them even thinking what future might bring.

Days turned into nights, and soon... It was day like any other that is until one of the Dothraki challenged Drogo wounding him, one of the witches offered her help but it was a trap. The man's wound got infected and as a result of blood magic preformed by the witch he got in to a state that was worse than death.

As Faerys walked in to the tent she saw Daenerys closing in on Drogo with a pillow in her hands understanding her sisters wish, she gently caught her wrists and took the pillow. "Why don't you take a walk my little flame." She spoke in gentlest of voices. As she walked out Faerys walked to the man. "Hello Drogo." He just stared at her but his eyes filled with sadness. "I will take care of her. I promise." As she finished that sentence she hit his throat as hard as she could, giving him swift and painless death.

The flames were wilding and burning everything, without a thought in her head Faerys rushed to protect her sister running into the flames. But they didn't burn her as she expected, no. They felt comforting as they licked her skin. Soon finding her sister also unharmed she rushed to her and enveloped her in a hug. Soon small cries were heard and two girls felt something brushing their skin as they looked down they saw four little dragons. Babies. Soon fire died down and people cheered when they saw that we were unharmed.

Three dragons were constantly following Danny but one of them... One of them was practically bound to Faerys with maternal cord. Never straying too far from her. It was night black she dragon with starlike spots on her and blood red eyes. Truly a beauty in her own right. So she deserved name worthy of her, she was named Layan.

Time passed, dragons grew exponentially so. All of them developing certain characters. While Drogon is less reliant on the other three and more headstrong and independent. He’s not aggressive, but he definitely goes his own way. Rhaegal is the most outwardly aggressive and ill-tempered. He fights with the others over food, Viserion is generally the mellowest of the three. Faerys and Danny would often call him lazy as a joke. Then there was Layan gentle and kind, always on Faerys shoulder when she was small, and when she grew she allowed Faerys to tuck herself in to dragons soft, warm belly as gentle giant wrapped her tail around her like protective blanket.

Many slaves were freed during years that have passed, Faerys even though older than her sister, surrendered throne willingly and instead was at her sister's side as her advisor. So when Jon Snow came speaking of walkers coming for the wall she was first to encourage Danny to hear him out, when conclusion came and they agreed on Daenerys coming to Winterfell, she marched along her sister.

Winterfell gates opened and soldiers walked in, Faerys saw unwelcoming faces of Northerners, but didn't take it to heart. Jon did warn them of the wairiness his people possessed towards outsiders. So she didn't give it much thought, when he said his hello to his family, he introduced us. His sister was a little bit cold towards Danny as she spoke. But again elder Targaryen understood what these people went trough and couldn't really blame them for their wariness. "It is honour to meet flesh and blood of the honorable." Faerys spoke as she bowed her head, at this Sansa smiled slightly and other lords seemed to lower their guard.

A man told them of the faith that befell Viserion, while both sisters felt their hearts shake and freeze in pain, Faerys decided to have some alone time as soon as her greetings were over. While Daenerys decided to keep those emotions for later in confines of her own chambers.

Soon the meeting of the lords started and all pledged their allegiance. The shock of Jamie Lannister coming to honour his promise of helping was surprise to everyone. He was accepted in to ranks and given instructions on what to do.

Brienne was taking a walk when she heard loud growl. It came from clearing nearby.

"We can't Layan, you know that. People might get scared and we don't need that girl." Faerys was trying to argue with dragon that obviously wanted to take off to the sky. But instead of hearing another complain from she dragon, Faerys was circled by her tail and loud growl emitted from deep within dragons chest as she glared into the forest in front of her.

A woman walked out with her hands in the air, she was exceptionally tall, with sandy yellow hair and./. Eyes bluer than the sea that surrounds Tarth. Soon it was like kick in to the face. Woman standing in front of Faerys was the very one who occupied her mind since she left Tarth.

"Faerys?" Came soft voice, barely loud enough to be heard. But no verbal answer came from silver haired woman, no. Only reply Brienne got was hard pull in to another's arms, and arms circling her but that was enough. Soon lady of Tarth returned the hug just as hard. Not believing that her friend was indeed alive and well.

Minutes turned in to hours as Faerys and Brienne spoke of their life up until that point. Layan became considerably calmer with Brienne when she saw that the woman posed no threat, even asking for pets. Which Faerys found very adorable, the fact that Brienne of Tarth petting a dragon like she would common hound and even more so when said dragon was constantly leaning in to her hand and slightly kicking his left leg. "She likes you. Very much so." Faerys spoke with slight smile and Brienne nodded smiling back giddily. Targaryen was glad that former somber mood that was brought by past and her words was extinguished.

“I have never hurt anyone. Yes, I’ve killed and I’ve damaged but those are things that you can overcome. Mentally, however, I’ve harmed no one but myself.” Those were words that Faerys spoke and that brought onslaught of unpleasant memories of her family dying and what was left of it being nearly killed multiple times. That was the moment when Layan decided to come in and ask for pets from Faerys and Brienne which brought them into their current situation. After seeing wide smile on the face of Brienne she decided to make it even wider. Bowing she then spoke "Would you care for a flight my lady." Face that Brienne made was priceless her mouth hung open as her eyes winded. She nodded nonetheless and soon they found themselves, high in the sky, Brienne's arms around Faerys waist holding on to her so she doesn't fall off. Laugh that emitted from blondes lips made Faerys wish it never stops.

"This is beautiful." Brienne spoke. "It indeed is my friend. Indeed is."

They landed after some time and when Faerys helped Brienne down from the dragon the latter spoke. "You just completely demolished horse riding for me." Laughing Faerys shook her head.

"You are welcome to come and ride with me any day."

"You do realize I am going to take you up on that offer as often as I can right?" Eldest Targaryen nodded with a smile.

#brienne x reader #brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne the beauty #game of thrones #got #angst #oc #original female character #platonic love #romantic love #daenerys targeryan

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masterwords · 11 months

Text

the shape you take

Summary: Hotch is sad. Jack is just about to turn 18, Hank is spending the summer with his mom and he's dwelling on the empty nest. Morgan has just the ticket: sea, sand, food and naps. Fun in the sun and the sack. While exploring a nude beach one night they find a little more than they bargained for. (Part of The Chicago Times series)

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 8.8k

Warnings: sex (not explicit details, just "hey they're having sex" type thing), food & alcohol, mentions of Foyet’s knife, scars (both of them), murder/corpse/blood, an inappropriate boner situation...

Read on AO3: the shape you take

Notes: This is my first entry for @imagining-in-the-margins CM Summer Sunshine Fic Challenge. I used one of the NSFW prompts but this is basically PG-13 because I don’t really write smut, just some sexy vibes. The prompts I chose were: Character A finally convinces B to go to the beach with them. Turns out it's a nude beach mixed with The sun makes Characters sleepy, so they take a nap. (They take a lot of naps. They're old.) There are a couple more from the list that I hope to write for before the challenge is finished, but we’ll see where the summer takes me! The end here is purposely left open for a special surprise...another collab with @domestikhighway58! Because writing with hwy58 is a dream and I want to do it all the time. To be unveiled soon-ish. (How's that for noncommittal?) (I'm posting the whole thing here, I haven't done that in a while...do you want me to go back to that or keep just linking AO3?)

Win by persuasion, not by force.

All spring Derek had been dropping hints. Little ones at first. He would add feta cheese to salad one night at dinner, or watch Hercules with Hank when he knew Aaron was going to be coming home from work or a run. Nothing big, but he knew Aaron would pick up on it eventually.

As they approached summer, the tactics became a little less subtle. There was a brochure stuck to the freezer, and a bottle of Greek red wine opened after dinner on Derek’s last day of work for the summer. Aaron had been done a week earlier. They waited to celebrate until everyone was finished and on summer break.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Aaron asks, pouring the wine and watching the boys set the table. Hank likes to fold the napkins while Jack sets out the silverware. Too many years separate them and yet Jack has been drawn closer to him in the last few months as he realizes how close he is to moving out, not seeing his little brother every day. He’d waited years to have one and it feels like it’s over way too soon. He wants to go to college in New York, but Hank makes him want to stay in Chicago instead. The thought of not being here, of missing big milestones, is crushing. Some small part of him thinks he knows how his dad must have felt missing his milestones for work – first words, first steps, first day of school, first everything. He’s going to move to New York and he’s going to miss all sorts of big moments.

“I’m not trying to tell you anything,” Derek replies, scooting between the counter and Aaron, pressing in so close they barely have room to breathe. “I am telling you something.”

“When?” Aaron asks, because he knows better than to ask stupid questions. If Derek has the brochure and he’s laying it on this thick, he’s already booked the trip. And that’s okay, because Aaron spent too many years in complete control of everything and watching it all fall spectacularly to pieces...he’s shockingly willing to go with the flow these days.

At least to some degree.

“Jack leaves for New York on the 19th, Savannah’s picking Hank up on the 22nd, and my mom and sisters leave on the 25th. So, we’re leaving on the 25th. We’ll drive them to the airport and then hop on a plane ourselves.”

“When do we come back?”

“I booked the hotel for two weeks but...let’s just play it by ear huh?”

Play it by ear. That phrase would have struck fear into Aaron’s heart a few years ago. Sometimes he still feels like he’s going to make plans and then get a phone call that pulls him back to the BAU. It’s a hard habit to break even after all of these years.

“Two weeks in Greece. Where?”

“We’ll fly to Athens, spend a few days there, and then take the ferry over to Milos. I booked us an ATV rental so we can go wherever we want. We can do some day trips to other islands, go hang out on Crete and do all your nerdy shit...plus beaches, food, hiking, nightlife. Our room on Milos has its own private saltwater pool.”

“Private?” Aaron likes the sound of private. He’s not very interested in all that nightlife type stuff but a private pool? That he can get behind. Of course, if Derek asked him to dance he could hardly turn him down.

“I’ll show you pictures after dinner.”

Jack’s going to be 18 in a few months. This is his last summer of high school. He’s decided to skip sports and summer camps in lieu of spending two months living with Sean who has done good things with his life in his time since being released from jail. Sean who has earned, in Aaron’s eyes, his shot at redemption. What Aaron learned as a young teenager being packed off to boarding school, Sean had to learn through just over three years in a small cell, stripped of his liberties. Better late than never. Jack is old enough now to handle himself anyway, he’s more than proven his own responsibility in their years living in Chicago. He drives all over the city, he doesn’t break curfew, he’s really a little too good. It scares Aaron sometimes that he’s not out there causing trouble. Giving them hell. Just another way he thinks he’s broken his son.

He knows that isn’t the case though. Since Jack turned twelve, he’s had Derek and Fran and Sarah and Desiree and Savannah. He’s always had Jessica and Roy, he never doubted his mother’s love for an instant. His support system is full of incredible strength. Aaron knows that even if he’s failed, none of them have. But this trip to Greece, he can tell it’s Derek’s way of trying to pull him out of this spiral he’s sauntering into. This deep well of sadness at his son growing up and moving out, this empty feeling that he’s losing the last part of Haley that was never his to keep in the first place.

“What are you hiding?” Jack asks over dinner. He can tell they’re sitting on something. They’re terrible at keeping secrets.

“Not hiding anything,” Derek says, handing Hank his plate full of cut up steak and salad. “I just told your dad where I’m taking him for summer vacation.”

Jack rolls his eyes and huffs, visibly relieved. “Finally. I thought you’d have to take him all the way to the airport for him to get it.”

“I had a lot going on,” Aaron says a little defensively. It isn’t like he didn’t see Derek’s hints, but his mind was simply not present enough to try and guess why Derek was going crazy for Greece. “Final exams, your trip to New York…”

“Dad.”

Aaron throws his hands up in exasperation and smiles. “Take it easy on your old man. This is a hard time.”

Jack stops at that, he knows the idea of him moving out is killing his dad slowly. They’ve been on their own together for so long now he’s a little scared himself. “Well, you guys have to send tons of pictures.”

“Of course.”

Aaron cries when he hugs Jack goodbye at the airport. He manages to wait until Jack is far enough away that he doesn’t see it, but Jack knows it’s happening, he knows his dad cries easily so he doesn’t turn around. He saves him the trouble of trying to hide it. And he calls the minute his plane lands at JFK to let his dad know he’s safe and just as planned (and on time), Sean is waiting for him.

Savannah shows up a day early unannounced, her flight was changed due to weather. She sleeps in Jack’s room and spends a little more time in the city with family than expected. It’s a nice surprise for them all, and keeps Aaron from feeling too gutted at Jack’s absence. Having a full house means he’s making coffee and planning meals and making sure everyone is taken care of, it hardly leaves him any time at all to worry about whether Jack is getting into trouble in New York. (He’s not. Nothing too bad anyway. Sean might have encouraged him to live a little...but they’ll keep that to themselves. Sean is reformed, he’s no angel.)

When Savannah takes Hank, and it’s just the two of them for a few days, they spend their time preparing their house to sit empty for weeks. They have people lined up to come check on things, get the mail, mind the yards but for the most part it’ll just sit. They pack their bags and eat off of paper plates in the days leading up to their trip. They empty their cupboards and refrigerator. It feels like working in the BAU, never being able to keep anything perishable on hand just in case. Aaron always joked that it was incredible that none of them ended up with scurvy.

At the airport, they walk Derek’s mom and sisters to their gate. Off to Hawaii, a vacation paid for by he and Aaron. A sort of thank you for taking care of them, for helping with Hank, for everything. “All inclusive means all inclusive, mom,” Derek says as he wraps her in a hug. “You put on the little bracelet and you don’t pay for a damn thing. You want a piña colada? You get one. You want a meal? You get one. Don’t skimp okay?”

“Oh, believe me...I won’t be…” Desiree says with a smirk and Sarah agrees.

“Gonna make sure I drink every drop you paid for.”

“Girls!”

Fran still can’t believe she’s going to Hawaii. She’s never been on a plane that’s gone farther than Virginia. She’s never been west. She’s anxious to fly over the ocean, but more than that, she just can’t believe her son is in a place now that he’s married and buying tropical vacations for her and his sisters like it’s nothing. If you asked her where she saw her life going when her husband died and she was thrust into being a single mother struggling to survive on the south side of Chicago, this wouldn’t have ever occurred to her.

“Be safe on your trip,” she says as she hugs Aaron around the neck. “Don’t let him do anything dangerous. I don’t want any pictures of him jumping off of cliffs or swimming in the open ocean.”

“I don’t want any of that either,” Aaron says, knowing with absolute certainty that if Derek wants to do either of those things he won’t be able to stop him. He’d like to say that he wouldn’t be doing those things, but if Derek grabbed him by the hand and asked him to jump off of a cliff into the crystal blue water, or climb down off of a boat and swim in the open sea...he isn’t sure he could say no, even if he wanted to.

“Don’t let him eat too much cheese, it makes him sick,” Fran adds, still holding Aaron’s neck. He nods.

“I know.”

“And you! Don’t you worry about Jack or the house or...anything. Don’t get sunburned. Eat good food. Smile. Have fun. Make memories.”

“You too.”

(x)

He’s drunk on sunshine and the sound of waves. On blood red wine and salty, briny cheeses and oil soaked olives. Decadence never appealed to him, but being here on their private patio, his feet dangling in a small private pool and staring out at the Aegean Sea that’s about as lazy and warm as he feels right now he wonders why. Derek is sleeping on the bed just inside the sliding doors, bathing in glorious sunlight. A cat nap, he said over an hour ago. At their age a cat nap tends to turn into an afternoon lost to dreams.

They started the nap together, lazy and lounging, twisted tangled limbs and feather soft kisses as they drifted off. But he was hungry so he got up before he managed to fall completely asleep. Untangled himself from Derek’s sweaty grip and padded barefoot toward the fridge for some food. Cheese and olives left over from their breakfast, an apple sliced with some honey. He’s practically starving by the time he’s sitting on the balcony with a plate on his lap watching the seagulls and the cats battle for scraps that the tide left behind.

He’s never loved the beach. Sand gets everywhere, it smells bad, and people are rude. They rarely stay in their own areas, you have to fight for a space. Too crowded. He wonders how people find it at all relaxing. But this? Overlooking the beach from his own balcony, this is good. No sand, all ocean as far as he can see. Islands in the distance. He counts them off mentally, notes which ones they’ve already traveled to, visualizes his way through them. Storing those memories tight in there. He doesn’t want to forget a moment and he’s afraid he already has.

Beside him is a journal, just a little notebook filled with shorthand and chicken scratch, things he wants to do and things he wants to remember to tell Jack about. It calms the storm in his mind to have it all written down.

Jack is pulling away, naturally, but Aaron got a text the day before with a photo of him eating with Beth and Sean. She insisted on seeing him when she came on a work trip, and Aaron thinks she’s more beautiful than ever. He still loves her a little, he never really falls out of love with anyone. People imprint on him and he can’t let them go. It doesn’t make any difference, he knows Derek still feels the same about Savannah. It just works for them.

“How long did I sleep?” Derek’s voice floats through the room, out onto the patio on the breeze. His words are jumbled and muffled by the pillow his face is still smashed into. Aaron smiles.

“A while,” is his reply. He’s trying to let go of itineraries and timelines. He’s trying not to look at clocks at all, really. Clocks remind him of time passing and he’s better off without that on his mind. “Not too long.”

“Mmmfff…” Derek mumbles and Aaron can hear the sleep smile, the way his eyes are still closed and he’s considering whether to let himself go back to sleep or get up and rummage through the cupboards himself. His shoulders are a mountain of bronze and Aaron glances back into the room, thinks about the way they would taste, the skin salty and warm against his lips. He’s tempted to get out of the pool, and then he decides he might lay a trap instead to get Derek to come to him.

“I have a snack,” He offers. It’s almost too easy. “I might share it with you.”

“What’s the catch?” Derek asks, sitting upright and scrubbing his hands down his face. He’s sweaty, the humidity drenches his skin and he needs a shave again already. Aaron can’t take his eyes off of Derek out here, it’s like the light is in love with him, it paints him in a way that Aaron can’t resist. He’s carved from the cliffs and chiseled by the hands of the gods. Meanwhile, Aaron is pretty sure he just looks like a drowned rat. His hair, a little too long for his taste, hangs limp where it would normally be mussed up and messy against his will. An unruly mop, now tamed by humidity.

“No catch.”

“Alright, then what’s it gonna cost me?”

Aaron smiles and tilts his face to the sky expectantly. He’s waiting for Derek to appear above him. “A kiss.”

A kiss is a dangerous thing and as they slip easily into the still pool water unclothed, Aaron thinks they’re bound to end up back in the bed sooner rather than later. The water is a cool break from the oppressive heat of the afternoon sun. Aaron dunks himself first, goes under like a torpedo and slicks his hair back from his eyes when he surfaces. Derek put a headband on him the other day and on principal he hated it, but he didn’t take it off either, at least not for a while. It kept the hair out of his eyes. Derek said he looked cute. The water works just as well now. Derek stares at him in awe and smiles, thumbs smoothing over the droplets that cling to Aaron’s eyelashes.

“You are gorgeous,” he muses, hands cupping Aaron’s jaw, leaning in for a kiss. They wrap around one another, limbs tangling, turning and bouncing weightless in the aquamarine. “Do you even have any idea?”

Aaron hums. It’s a delighted sound that Derek craves, it means he’s in the mood for a little more than kissing. Moving together in unison, their bodies making ripples across the otherwise calm surface, they can’t seem to keep their hands off of each other. Aaron envisioned historical site visits and hikes, ferry trips between islands, all sorts of excursions and so far the thing he’d explored the most was the expanse of Derek’s body. With two kids at home, they don’t get as much alone time as they’d like and it’s just about all they can think to do now. They’re going to have to stay an extra week just to actually experience more than just the inside of a hotel room.

“Wanna go inside?” Derek asks, nose pressed against Aaron’s shoulder, littering kisses amid saltwater droplets. Aaron moans deep and sonorous.

“Absolutely,” he smiles, head lolling back, adam’s apple bobbing dangerously. Derek licks and bites, lifts Aaron into his arms and turns until he’s floating on his back, Aaron on top of him. He kicks and pushes them toward the steps, dipping below the surface once or twice, turning until he’s on top, acrobatics they’re old pros at a week into this hotel. Dancing in the water has become a sort of specialty. Naughty synchronized swimming. Neither of them wants to get out, the foreplay is just as fun, chilly fingers working at delicate skin, hips rocking and muscles twitching.

Inside, they dry off quickly and leap into the bed before their skin adjusts to the temperature of the room again. The sex is languorous and slow, they have nowhere to be, no one expecting them. Afterward they shower, still touching, still kissing, they almost head back to bed except they’re both starving. They come to an agreement that they need to make their way into town for dinner after discussing the possibility of one more quick fuck. It isn’t in the cards, though. Derek is about to gnaw his own arm off he says, so they dress and start their slow evening walk. The ATV sits in its spot waiting for them to take some interest in something other than sex and a walk to town.

They’ve eaten at the same restaurant the last three nights in a row, it’s never as busy as the others and the owners don’t mind the way that they want to just sit quietly and eat their way through small plates of everything with bottles of wine. They’ve tried a lot of the menu, and now the cooks are just sending the plates on the fly. Testing things out.

The owners, an elderly couple with gnarled hands and twinkling eyes the color of the Aegean, like to listen to their stories (the less terrible ones anyway, they spare them that). They look at these two men, Aaron with his salt and pepper hair that’s definitely got a lot more salt these days lighting up his temples and Derek with his goatee that’s shimmering with silver sparkles and they can’t believe they carried guns and caught serial killers. “It sounds like a movie,” one of them says in a thick accent that makes Aaron melt. “It can’t be real.”

But they have pictures. The two of them in the office, candid shots that remind them of days gone by. Days they miss with every fiber of their beings but wouldn’t repeat for anything. Days when taking a nap seemed as absurd as the sky suddenly turning bright yellow. Now, missing a nap is ludicrous. They get off work in the early afternoon and siesta before they even decide what to make for dinner. Vacation just means more naps, and it does seem crazy that there was a time in Aaron’s life that he needed to carry two weapons or that he was put in the hospital by a serial killer. It’s like a different life, a different person. He can understand why they don’t exactly believe him.

“Baba ganoush,” Derek says as soon as they sit down. It’s become his favorite food in the world since they landed in Athens. Since they made their way from Athens to Milos. He’d eat it with a spoon if that were socially acceptable, he likes it that much. And here, they drench it in olive oil and pine nuts and thick green parsley. Aaron chooses small plates of seafood that make Derek squirm in his seat, prawns with their eyes still staring at him and octopus tentacles purple and swirling and spiraling over the edge of the plate dramatically. Aaron is an adventurous eater now. He always had it in him but his job made him paranoid and sick, ulcers eating away at him from the inside. There are still plenty of days when he walks around with an ache deep in his stomach, but it’s less to do with food and more to do with how his body functions after Foyet played mad surgeon with him.

Aaron’s favorite is the fried anchovies. It’s the only thing Derek has tried that he won’t touch again. “It’s like cat food with extra salt. The bones are like little razors,” he’d said, swallowing it only because he didn’t want to be rude. He really wanted to spit it into his napkin.

Their table is full of tiny plates, dips and seafood and breads. Olive oil and bread is a constant. Derek can’t remember the last time he ate so many carbs so happily. They’ll get full and lean back, sipping their wine contentedly until there’s room and then eat a little more. Whatever doesn’t get eaten is taken back to their little hotel fridge and they’ll snack on it the rest of the night and maybe even for breakfast, though they do like wandering into town to find food for breakfast just after the sun has crested the horizon.

“So, I was thinking,” Derek says as they walk back to the hotel hand in hand. They each have a to-go box in the other hand. “You wanna go check out that ancient theater they got up on that hill? Go drop this off, grab the ATV and explore?”

“You mean leave the hotel room for more than food?” Aaron asks with mock surprise.

Aaron smiles and nods before Derek can respond. He can’t imagine anything better than absorbing more history. They’d made plenty of stops while in Athens but nothing so far here. He’s nowhere near his limit. “Leave the notebook,” Derek tells him when they drop off their food and grab a blanket. “You can write it down later.” It might be hot during the day but it gets chilly at night, the briny wind coming in off of the sea is bound to make Aaron shiver. He used to poke fun at him for how his blood seemed to run like rivers of ice, a blessing in the heat when he wants to wear his suits on a case in Florida but when they’re in Alaska and his lips are nearly blue even in his big puffy coat it’s a little problematic. He’d always run cold, but after Foyet, after his heart stopped and too much of his blood was spilled...he can’t seem to shake a chill when it settles in his bones. Here it’s only a minor inconvenience, nothing a blanket draped around his shoulders won’t fix in a snap.

The ATV ride is nice. Aaron clings to Derek’s back, relaxes against him with his hands on his hips and watches the scenery creep by. They don’t go fast, this is the most new that they’ve seen in days. He’s taking it all in.

They’re the only ones in the carved marble and stone theater for a long time. It’s just before sunset, close enough that all of the tourists have ambled away from the other sights and headed for the higher ground, the places they can get their pictures so everyone they’ve ever (or never) met can see what they see. Selfies are king and everyone wants the shot. They aren’t interested in that, they don’t even have social media. For a variety of reasons, perhaps, not the least of which is simply that they covet their privacy.

That doesn’t stop them from taking hundreds of photos, though. They just keep those photos close.

Derek takes pictures of Aaron, his aquiline profile against the glow of dawn, his feet in the sand, his thick fingers against the delicate stem of a wine glass...all of the little pieces of him that he adores so much. A former bomb tech, Derek obsesses over small details. The way the early morning sun plays with the silver at Aaron’s temples or the band-aids he’s always got over skinned knuckles and broken nails. Aaron favors a wider angle, candid shots from far away, admiring the way Derek seems to fit into the strange lunar landscape, terrain created by ancient gods. He looks crafted from their sunbeams and Aaron can’t get enough of the way the sun plays with his skin. He aims his camera as Derek splashes through waves, as he jumps from the highest rock he can find with slicing precision, as he leaps into the ocean from a small boat. He captures Derek napping on a hammock on a boat in the middle of the sea before he lays his camera down to do the same. He clicks the shutter when Derek is laughing at a story he’s being told or learning how to do something new with that intense look of determination and curiosity.

In their old age, they’re kind of obsessed with each other. And neither of them feels bad about it.

“Let’s take our clothes off and have some fun tonight,” Derek says with a slow grin. He’s not even worried Aaron is going to say no, they’re too far in now. Aaron has scaled rock cliffs for him, climbed down (and then back up) ladders and ropes and through steep canons of red rock to get to a secluded little beach. They’re sitting alone in the center of an ancient Greek theater and Aaron is so wrapped up in the idea of watching a performance or a speech here that he doesn’t even give Derek’s question any thought, he simply agrees. Fun sounds good. Fun with Derek always sounds good.

“What kind of fun?” Aaron asks curiously, already knowing that he’s going to do it regardless of the answer. He’s loosened up but he’s still Aaron Hotchner. He doesn’t like to be kept in the dark. Surprises make him uneasy. And more to the point, the idea of sex on the beach is less than appealing no matter what. It doesn’t matter that his husband is a bronze sun god, he doesn’t want sand in his mouth or his ass and that’s pretty final.

“We’re pretty close to a beach that lets you drop your trousers...go all natural...”

“Nothing too crazy. I don’t want sand inside of me but...maybe just…” he starts, ready to suggest that they start fooling around at the beach and head back to their hotel for the rest. He stops mid-sentence when an elderly couple amble past them, two rows down, hardly seeming to mind the conversation they’d been privy to moments before. They lower their voices anyway.

“Please. I did all those boring castle tours.”

“They weren’t boring,” Aaron mutters a little indignantly. Derek kisses his knuckles and smiles.

“No, they weren’t. They were awesome. I just think you’d have a great time...it’s really freeing taking your clothes off. You could use a little freeing.”

Aaron thinks about Jack going off to spend most of his summer in New York. His last summer at home as a child and he wants to be away for most of it...Aaron can hardly begrudge him that, he saved up money all year in order to do this on his own. He’ll be home next summer and they’ll spend the whole thing together as a family, doing everything and doing nothing, Jack promised him that. It’s a give and take with a grown child. But then he thinks about Jack going to college in a year and it makes his chest ache. Around that kind of tightness he thinks he can’t handle any more freedom. They still have Hank. Sweet little Hank who went from only child to youngest and is about to go back to only in many ways. His grasp of the situation is tentative at best, it’s going to be a big adjustment. Derek sees the darkening in Aaron’s eyes and pulls him close, kisses him on the temple. “I know. You don’t need more freedom. I get it. But I want you so bad I can hardly stand it…I’m your ball and chain, baby...you can’t get free of me.”

“I don’t mean to eavesdrop,” the woman says, startling both of them. The couple is now closer, standing over them from behind. Aaron freezes against Derek’s chest, mortified that these people heard them talking about their rabid libido, but he can’t be bothered for long. Her husband looks mortified. She looks pleased. She’s wearing bright blue pants and a white shirt, she’s clearly gone out of her way to match her surroundings. He can’t quite place her accent. “But I overheard you mentioning finding a...natural...beach? We go every night. You’re right, it is freeing. I’ll show you the beach we like, Harold get the map. It’s busy in the daytime but it empties in the evening. Most families head up to the church to see the sunset, leaving the beach to us.”

Aaron is mortified but Derek is beaming. “What’s your name?”

“Catherine,” she says and Aaron watches the flush in her cheeks when Derek takes her hand and kisses it. “This is my husband Harold.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Aaron says, shaking Harold’s hand.

She hands them her map and Aaron looks at it intently, though he doesn’t bother to tell her he’s already practically memorized the thing. It’s folded in his journal back at their hotel. She points to the beach and to the cove with a smile, her massive collection of gold bracelets crusted with jewels dragging and making the sound of wind chimes. She smells like peonies and roses with a faint underscore of denture cream. He likes her instantly.

“Will you be there tonight?” Derek asks. She smiles bright with her crimson painted lips and nods. Harold, a little more reserved but no less flashy in his brown suit and gold chain, gives a little shrug.

“More than likely. We just can’t stay away. You take a bottle of wine and a blanket, you find yourself a little nook and you enjoy yourself. What more could you want in life?”

Derek nudges Aaron with his elbow. “What more could you want?”

Aaron can think of a few things, perhaps, but he smiles and offers agreement.

The sunset is glorious, and Derek really wants to head down to the beach right away but Aaron looks tired. He didn’t take a nap earlier and it’s catching up to him now. There’s a special little flicker of premonition that comes with knowing a person as well as Derek knows Aaron, and he can see the future: they’ll get to the beach, and Aaron will fall fast asleep if they lay down on the sand. The conditions will be too perfect. He’ll have to practically carry him back to the hotel, and there will be no sex.

That won’t do, so he compromises. “Let’s go take a little nap,” he says, pressing his nose to Aaron’s cheek. “We’ll head down to the beach when it’s almost dark.”

“Set an alarm.” That means he’ll sleep all night if they don’t. Derek heeds the warning and sets his alarm for one hour.

There isn’t anyone on the beach when they show up and make their way around to the little cove their new acquaintances told them about. During the daytime they imagine the place is flooded with people, flesh and kissing and as Harold put it with his wry little smile: “debauchery”. He’d told them about their first time, showing up just after lunch and feeling as though they’d joined an orgy. They enjoyed themselves fine but prefer the solitude of dusk. Derek thinks the daytime hours would be a kick and a half and plans to get around to a trip on his own down that way, but with Aaron he’ll stick to the dark.

“How about right here?” Derek asks, spreading the blanket up next to the cliff wall. They have a perfect view of the sea, the last bursts of sunlight barely cresting the horizon and fighting with the silvery shreds of moonlight filtering through blinking stars. They each have a bag full of provisions, snacks and drinks, flashlights and other beach necessities that they set down on each side of the blanket to pin it in place against the breeze skating in off the sea. Derek wastes no time at all stripping, his shorts are around his ankles immediately and he’s tearing at his shirt before he even steps out of them. Aaron is a little more timid, but he gets there. He’s looking around, over his shoulder, out at the sea for fishing boats, anyone whose eyes might be on him.

He hadn’t been cold before, but now his skin is flush with goosebumps and his nipples could cut diamonds. He folds his arms over his chest and bounces on the balls of his feet a little. Derek wraps his sun-soaked arms around Aaron and shares the warmth from his internal furnace.

“You’re a big baby.”

“I know.”

“Huge.”

“I’m aware, thank you.”

Aaron has always been self-conscious, his scars are huge and eye-catching. They look exactly like what they are: knife wounds. They don’t look like they could be anything else. He imagines how he’ll explain them without frightening people, and it inevitably ends up with him leaving his shirt on to save everyone the trouble. It makes people visibly uncomfortable. And his back? Well it’s a little easier to explain away through lies – bicycle wrecks, falling out of tree houses, the kind of stories that indicate an idyllic country childhood spent in the open air getting into all sorts of trouble. He doesn’t feel bad lying about those to strangers. They’re messy. But the scars on his front, there’s no good excuse for those. They’re severe and precise and there’s no palatable explanation for them.

But Derek’s chest is scarred too, a huge track of melted skin all the way down his sternum. Hotch looks at that and sees incredible strength and resilience, he sees triumph over his captors, he sees survival. What Derek accomplished in that cabin on his own makes Aaron swell with pride for him. Derek oozes confidence – the scar is a story that belongs to him, and when people ask he just says it was an on-the-job injury the same as the bullet scars, the same as anything else. And he says it so casually that no one really bothers to ask for more information, they just stare in awe at this miraculous man in front of them. But Aaron can’t seem to gather that same kind of confidence without his suit and tie. An on the job injury that involved nine stab wounds? What kind of thing is that? And all he really had to do to get out of it was stay awake. It’s hardly as impressive.

He doesn’t have much time to consider it because he feels a soft tickle at his ankle and looks down to find a cat. Scruffy and orange, the cat purrs loudly and slides against his shin one direction and then back. Glancing around, he realizes it isn’t the only one. They’re surrounded by curious cats. “I read about this,” Hotch says in awe. “They live in these caves.”

“Just a bunch of cave pussy, huh?”

Aaron gives Derek a disapproving look but cracks a smile anyway, he’s funny, he can’t help it. His crass humor has only gotten worse as he’s gotten older. In mixed company it makes Aaron blush.

“Let’s see where they live,” Aaron says. Derek jumps at a chance to explore a little of the area and honestly the idea of wandering through a cave completely naked is a little thrilling. Aaron digs around in his shoulder bag, past the bottle of wine and plastic cups and to-go container of bread and oil and cheese from dinner earlier until he finds his flashlight. They had headlamps too, but he didn’t think they needed to go that far into the cave. Not at night anyway. He’d heard that some of these caves connected directly to the sea on the other side, more like a tunnel, but he isn’t keen on going that deep tonight.

The follow the trail of cats back into a large cave not far from where they set up their little evening rendezvous. Aaron’s flashlight sends a flood of hazy yellow ahead of them and throws the walls and rock formations into striking shadow figures. “You smell that?” Derek asks. He was prepared for the smell of cats, this cave was probably a natural litter box but this smell...isn’t cat-made. He would know this smell anywhere.

It’s death. More to the point, it’s blood, the sickly metallic tang of fresh blood. It doesn’t immediately call their attention to danger, it could be anything. An animal the cats killed, they have to eat too and these cats are scavengers.

“I might not hear well but I can smell just fine,” Hotch replies, noting that the further in they go the worse the smell gets. He’s picturing another cat, maybe, or a mess of seagull and feathers. He’s anticipating a gory mess...but what they find is worse.

There is no mess. It’s a body, sure, and there is blood...but it’s not cat food. It’s a young man, younger than they are anyway. Probably in his thirties though it’s hard to tell in this light. He’s lying on his back with a stab wound in his chest, a crimson bloodflower spreading slowly over the white linen of his button down shirt. Aaron can’t even help it, he lets out a long, miserable sigh and looks at Derek in the sickly yellow glow of the flashlight. “Damn.”

Aaron instinctively crouches beside the body and reaches out to check for a pulse, knowing with certainty that he won’t find one. Still, if there is any possibility at all of life, he can’t stand and watch it fade without doing anything. There is no pulse, no breath, the skin is cooler than it should be. He hasn’t been dead long but he’s absolutely dead.

“So much for sex on the beach,” Derek mutters, and Aaron shakes his head. All thoughts of wine and picnics and making out in the ocean breeze are dashed from his mind. He hasn’t been with the BAU in years, and yet the change is almost instant. He goes from Aaron enjoying his vacation to Hotch working the case. Derek’s change is immediate as well. Just like putting on a new pair of clothes.

“Did you bring your phone?”

“It’s in my pants. Stay here with him.”

“I’m naked, Derek. Bring me my clothes or the blanket or something to cover up with. Please.”

“We’re both naked. It’s a nude beach, Aaron. If we’re down here in clothes don’t you think they’re going to immediately suspect us? Check out more of the area, see if you can find anything useful.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. I’m going to wander naked and barefoot alone in this cave. That sounds smart.” He’s biting back with sarcasm and he doesn’t like it. Derek doesn’t deserve that. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Where is SSA Hotchner?” Derek asks, returning the sarcasm in spades. Aaron groans.

“He’s old and retired, trying to avoid dead bodies and killers. He’s tired.”

Derek hums, content in the knowledge that he’s bullied Aaron into at least scoping out the site to see if he can find anything else. That’s a stab wound, he could tell, and the weapon wasn’t in the victim. He hurries back to the blanket, suddenly worried that he left Aaron in the cave unarmed and barefoot – what if he steps on the knife? What if the killer is still in there? He moves faster, rifles through the bag for another flashlight and finds his phone hanging halfway out of the back pocket in his shorts. He thinks about putting them on but remembers what he’d said and doesn’t. He does grab a towel from the bottom of the bag and decides he’ll offer it to Aaron. He’s not worried about being naked in front of the police but he knows Aaron battles with his insecurity and he’s not eager to make it worse. Not right now.

He calls the police and directs them to their location before going back into the cave and offering Aaron the towel to cover himself up. Aaron looks at him with so much love in his eyes, sparking embers in the shadowy cave and once again he mourns the ruined plans for their evening.

It doesn’t take long for police to show up with huge flood lights they set up at the mouth and string along the craggy roof of the cave. The whole place is lit up like daylight and Derek scoots until he’s shielded a little by Aaron and his towel. Maybe he should have grabbed one himself. He’s never been self-conscious but this harsh light makes him feel like he’s been put under a magnifying glass.

While they waited for the police to show up, Aaron managed to find few footprints that don’t belong to he or Derek, some blood on the wall, and a knife half buried in the sand about ten feet from the body. He had nearly stepped on it. Still, potential danger aside, he can’t believe it’s this easy.

The police, three of them, rush toward the body and push Aaron and Derek back while they examine it for themselves. One of them, the man in charge, speaks English.

“You found him? How long ago?”

“About ten minutes. We called right away.”

“What were you doing in the cave?”

“We followed some cats in. We were curious about where they lived and how many there were.” It sounds flimsy even as Derek says it, but it’s the truth. He doesn’t make his pussy joke.

“The body is still warm. The killer can’t be far away.”

“There’s a knife in the sand over there, and footprints leading further into the cave. I don’t know how far in they go.” Aaron stops himself before he goes into everything he’s already figured out about the body. He can’t help it, this is second nature. Derek asked him where SSA Hotchner was, and it turns out, he may be incredibly tired and rusty but he’s right here.

“I don’t think the killer meant to do this.”

Derek shoots him a funny look, eyebrows raised. He recognizes the tone of Aaron’s voice. He’s already got a profile. That fast. He’s naked, wrapped in a terrycloth towel, ready to deliver the damn profile to police officers who barely speak English in a cat filled cave. Aaron has taken control of the entire situation, and even though he’s a naked tourist they’re all listening to him. They’re all looking to him. Derek has to think about baseball statistics being rattled off by his grandmother in order to keep the resulting erection at bay. He uses the flashlight, turned off now because there’s plenty of light in the cave, to hide it. He’s barely successful.

The best part is that as he watches, he realizes that Aaron is standing taller. He’s not trying to hide his scars, his stories. He seems to realize that standing there the way he is, those scars tell a story that is riveting and the officers can’t look away. Maybe there is some power in them and what he’s survived, maybe they’re to his advantage after all. Maybe the way they make these officers uncomfortable is useful.

“What makes you say that?” the lead detective asks, tearing his eyes away from this scarred man in a towel to glance at the body again. Aaron feels bad for him, it’s pretty obvious they don’t deal with things like this here very often and they’re all visibly shaken. Probably petty theft and some vandalism, tourists behaving badly, that sort of thing. Not murder.

Aaron would rather be just about anywhere else in the whole world right now but he’s here, and he’s going to help them out the best he can. At least they seem, so far, to believe that he didn’t have anything to do with it. Either that or they think he’s about the stupidest man they’ve ever come across and eventually he’ll just give himself away. The thought almost makes him smile but he maintains his composure.

“This crime scene is messy. It looks like there was someone here, maybe two people, and my guess is that the victim surprised them while they were otherwise occupied. The victim doesn’t have any defensive wounds but he does have some hair caught between two of his fingers on his right hand and a smudge of what looks like lipstick on his arm.”

Bright red lipstick. Aaron’s stomach fills with a kind of dread that he used to thrive on. The kind that leads him right to the person who held the knife.

The police are all staring at him with their mouths open, incredulous. The detective who speaks English is translating to the other two quietly, at least he hopes he’s translating and not condemning him.

“I think his killer was older, probably a man. Most likely self-defense. The state of the scene makes me think that the person who killed this man was afraid and as soon as the knife went in, they ran away. They most likely didn’t stop to see if the man was dead before they ran. I would look for an older couple who seem rattled, or who check out of their hotel room abruptly and leave the island. They’re afraid of what they’ve done, but I think you’ll find this wasn’t premeditated. This man most likely threatened them in some way. I would expect that the knife probably belonged to him.”

“How do you know all of this if you are not the killer?” the officer asks. Aaron and Derek both expected that question a lot sooner. Aaron had been thinking about telling the police to check the man’s pockets where they would likely find jewelry or something from the woman, perhaps the man. A gold bangle bracelet or a chain. But they’re starting to suspect Aaron knows too much so he keeps that to himself. They’ll find that on their own.

“I’m a retired FBI Agent.”

“We both are,” Derek chimes in, ready to stop being just a naked bump on a log. He’d been enjoying Aaron somehow running the show but he wants in on the action now. He’s kind of an adrenaline junkie. “We worked with the Behavioral Analysis Unit hunting serial killers all over America.”

The police stare at them for a moment and start laughing. “You retired and came here on vacation to relax only you cannot get away, the killers follow you,” the officer says. “It’s amusing, no?”

“Is it?” Derek asks with a laugh. He gives the officers all of their information, including the number to Emily’s desk at the FBI to check their references. Their alibi for the estimated time of death was flimsy, they’d been napping in their room until they came to the beach. No one could vouch for their whereabouts, but they were complying and it didn’t seem like the police suspected them.

Back at their hotel, they ready themselves for bed. Washing up, brushing their teeth, going through the motions. Aaron takes his mess of evening pills and Derek checks that their doors are all secure. When they meet up in the bed, they both lay silent side by side, exhausted yet wide awake. They’re both buzzing with the excitement of a case they don’t get to work and the only way to alleviate that kind of charge is by getting physical. That part is easy. The bed sheets are peeled back and in they slide, ready to settle the score. “Back there,” Derek says between hot breathy kisses. “You were so damn hot I could barely handle it.”

“Yeah?” Aaron asks, a little coy, smiling into the next kiss. “How close did you come?”

“My grandma had to tell me all about Hank Aaron’s stats…” Derek whispers desperately, rocking his hips against Aaron’s thigh. He’s thinking about the cave again, about the way Aaron became Hotch, about the power in the way he stood. About the way he squared his shoulders and didn’t shield his scars from sight but claimed them, claimed his survival, claimed a showdown with a prolific serial killer. Aaron smiles and knows exactly what to do.

“Hank Aaron had 3771 hits in his career,” Aaron whispers hot and slow against the pulse in Derek’s throat. He moves lower, dusting kisses along his collarbone, along the ridges of his scar. “755 home runs…”

Derek moans as Aaron glides down his abs and finds his destination, and with one hand Derek pushes Aaron’s head so he’ll stop ruining the stat trick, so he has something else to do with his mouth. Even that’s turning him on now.

The phone rings as they lay panting in bed, spent and happy, ready for another shower and a dip in the pool. Muscles twitching, chests heaving, neither of them any closer to being ready for sleep. Derek answers, hums a few times, nods and thanks whoever is on the line. Aaron has a guess.

“That was the police, they caught the killers.”

“Harold and Catherine?” Aaron asks and Derek nods, feeling that same pool of warmth spread again in his groin.

“They were in the cave to feed the cats and probably to get busy. You remember all their bling. Catherine and all that gold, I’m not surprised. He grabbed her by the hair and Harold knocked the knife out of his hand and stabbed him. They ran through the cave to the main beach, the police caught them by Catherine’s engraved necklace under the guy half buried in the sand. He ripped it off her neck. Doesn’t sound like the police are gonna do much to them, this guy had a record and is wanted in Athens for the rape and murder of a tourist a few years back. Sounds like a piece of shit that got what was coming to him.”

Aaron smiles and nods before yawning. “Shower?” And just like that he’s turned it off. Case closed. Hotch is back in retirement and Aaron just wants to shower and take a dip in the pool with his husband. He wants to resume vacation mode. They get into the shower and wash the case off of them with ease, soap suds and slick skin and smiles. It doesn’t take them long before they’re dancing slowly in the shower, just small sways and circles, Derek’s hand settled at the curved small of Aaron’s back, Aaron draped over Derek’s shoulder.

“Let’s have a snack” Derek says, always thinking about food. Aaron nods. “I have something I want to run by you...”

“I have a guess,” Aaron replies with a smile, turning his face toward Derek’s and kissing him. He’s been waiting for Derek to bring it up. “You want to extend the vacation. You’re not ready to go home to the empty house either.”

“We’re already all the way over here...what if we just pop over to Italy and spend some time there?”

“Just pop over to Italy huh?” Aaron smiles dreamily and rests his cheek against the mound of Derek’s shoulder, swaying again beneath the shower. The water is lukewarm and feels heavenly against their sandy sticky skin. He’s content to stay here for a bit longer dreaming of more travel. They don’t have kids who will be home for another month, they’ve got plenty of time and resources. There’s no good reason not to. “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s go to Italy. Why not?”

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #hotchgan #criminal minds #hotch x morgan #aaron hotchner x derek morgan

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 6 months

Note

Hi M *waves* hope you're doing well! I'm sending you a request for Balerion (from the Valyrian pantheon, not the dragon) x reader please for the 🎁 Gift giving (Normal timeline - which I guess means Medieval?) prompt from the Christmas fic list, with lemon for smut level please and thank you!

Thank goodness it’s not the dragon! 😂

Pairing: Balerion (the god from the Valyrian pantheon I came up with) x Fem. reader (second person POV)

Themes: Soft / Smut

Warnings: Kissing | Penetrative sex | Dream sex | Cream pie

Wordcount: 2.2k words

Summary: After having placed an offering at his alter, you find the collector of souls calling in you in your dreams.

Rating: 🔥🔥| Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

Divider by @estrelinha-s

The cave was dark and ominous. It was the height of summer, and yet, it was strangely cold even at the mouth of the cave. Eraenys peered in and shivered.

“Why caves?” She asked. “And why this cave?”

“Because caves lead to the realm of souls, where he reigns.” You lift your torch higher. Your friend did the same. The path ahead was a little clearer because of it. “And we cannot tarry. The others wish to go to the lake after this.”

The ceiling of the cave was high, more than half again as tall as the tallest man you had seen. Strange, elongated formations—some great and some small—descended from the ceiling like the teeth of a great dragon. It grew bitterly cold halfway through. Sharp, icy gusts of wind blew in from nowhere. The hair at the back of your neck rose. Someone, or, to be more precise, something, was watching the two of you, its eyes cleverly concealed in the darkness. Eraenys halted, frightened.

“I think we should turn back,” she told you.

“We cannot,” you said, turning to face her. “We made a vow, remember? If our fathers returned safe and sound, we would offer our most priceless keepsakes to him. Now they are home, and we must honor our part of the bargain. Come Eraenys. It will not take long.”

Eraenys shook her head and took a step back. “I cannot do it. I cannot stay here. There is something strange in this cave, and I do not like it. Here,” she reached into her purse and produced a small, wooden box. “Offer this in my stead. I will wait for you until you return.”

She turned sharply on her heel and fled the cave before you could say another word. May the gods forgive her for this offense, you thought to yourself, and you placed her offering into a velvet bag holding your own.

You wandered for a long time before you found his shrine. Carved out of a single block of dragonglass and full of black candles, the altar was a sight to behold. There were other offerings to be seen: bottles of honeyed wine and jewels and even bits of bone. Many of the candles had been lit, as if other devotees had come and gone before you. Another gust of wind blew through the cave, making the flames on all those candles dance and throw strange shapes onto the cave walls.

I am here now, and I will not turn back, you told yourself. I am a Valyrian, and a dragon rider, besides. I will not cower in fear.

First came the lighting of a new candle. Many had been left behind by the priests. But you lit a candle of your own making and placed it on the altar. Then came the kneeling. It was painful; the ground was rough and sharp, and jagged stones dug into your knees. Nevertheless, you did it all the same, and you lowered your head to pray.

The cave was silent, and not unpleasantly so. You were still being watched, and by more eyes now. You were certain of it. Still, you continued to pray, first with the incantations taught by those from the holy orders, then you gave voice to your own.

“Eraenys’ offering, my lord.” You drew the wooden box from your bag and placed it beside your candle. “And mine. A ring that belonged to my late lady grandmother. It was all that I had left of her; her other kin claimed the rest. I offer my gratitude as well, for the safe return of my father. That is all.”

The box you placed next to Eraenys’ was wrought in Valyrian steel and heavy. Satisfied with your prayers, you rose and dusted your skirts. Then the feeling of being watched disappeared. It was as if no one besides you were there. After another moment or two, you turned to leave.

Despite her own fears, Eraenys kept true to her word. You found her standing by the entrance of the cave, waiting for you to reappear.

That very night, after you returned to the safety of your father’s manse, you dreamed of that cave, with its strange winds and dark altar and dark candles. A figure stood before it, clad in a long hooded cloak as dark as the candles and the altar they were on. His face was concealed in shadows.

“Pray come closer,” he—for the figure was indeed a he—beckoned, his voice deep and potent like a rich wine. “Do not be frightened, y/n of the House of the Black Heart. I mean you no harm.”

You startled. This being, whoever he was, knew you and your House. “Who are you, my lord?”

“I have many names and just as many titles.” With each word he uttered, the air around him rippled softly, like water rippling after a pebble had been thrown in. “But the one favored by many is Balerion, God of death and the great judge of souls.”

The mention of his name was enough to make you dip to your knees. “Forgive my Lord for my ignorance. But may I ask as to why you are here in my dream?”

“You willingly offered a gift that was both priceless and irreplaceable,” he began. “Many of my followers offer me tokens that hold little value to them or because they wish to make a display of their wealth. You are one of the rare few who have been sincere in their willingness to sacrifice. It pleased me greatly. Besides, I need to honor my end of the vow you made.”

“I do not understand, my lord. My father returned to our family alive and well.” Your confusion grew palpable. Balerion offered another boon in addition to the wish he had already granted. It frightened you. “How is it that my vow remains unfulfilled?”

“Many days before you and your friend made your vows, your father made a pact of his own on a distant battlefield. A great many sacrifices in return for not having to answer my call until he turned old and gray. Therefore, your own remains unfulfilled from my end. Now tell me, what is it that you desire from me?”

Your father had indeed remarked on such a thing upon his return, but you thought nothing of it at the time. And you did not know what to ask. Your family was exceedingly wealthy. Every member of age had claimed a dragon, and you yourself never wanted for anything. “I… I do not know,” you said in the end.

Balerion dropped to his knees before you. “Come now, little one. Surely there must be something your heart desires—something no mortal could grant you. Tell me. If it is within my power, I will gladly provide it.”

There was one such wish, one that even Eraenys did not know of. But to ask such a thing from him—the sheer brazenness of it alone—was enough to dissuade you from speaking. Balerion laughed.

“You do not need to tell me, little one. I can see into your heart,” he confessed, and he extended his hand. “You have heard the tales of those who have been bedded by the gods, and wish to experience the same for yourself. Very well. I will tend to this desire of yours. All you need to do is take my hand.”

A flash of heat rose in your throat. Balerion knew, and of course, he would know. He was a god, after all. Peering into the hearts of men was but a small part of what he was truly capable of. And you felt dizzy. Having one of the most feared of the gods claim you for his own, even for one night, was something you only envisioned in your dreams.

“Where, my lord?” You asked hesitantly.

“Anywhere you wish,” promised Balerion. He seemed pleased when you took his hand. “Your own bedchamber, perhaps. Or, if you desire it, that is, I can weave a chamber for us in this world of dreams.”

You pondered for a while. Your bedchamber may have been more comfortable, but the risk of someone hearing and walking in on you was too great. Here, in the world of dreams, no one would know. You made a decision and said, “In this world, my lord?”

He smiled and rose, lifting you with him when he did so. The cave disappeared, its walls swirling and changing like they had been made out of mist. The altar vanished as well, as did the candles upon it. You watched, spellbound, while sturdy crimson walls and an inviting featherbed took form. The hearth was the last to take shape—a large and imposing one that stretched from wall to wall. A fire sprang to life within it in the blink of an eye. Balerion surprised you even more when he removed the cloak he was garbed in, and a being fairer than anything you had ever beheld stood before you, clad in silk robes.

“Come here, little one,” he entreated softly. “And let me grant you what you desire.”

His kiss was tender, and his embrace even more so. Balerion’s touch was said to be as cold as ice, but you found it uncommonly warm. His hands glided over your back, unfastening the clasps of your dress one by one. When your dress loosened and those same sinful hands pressed against your flesh, you shivered.

“You are beautiful, little one.” Balerion tugged your sleeves down your arms and past your waist. When it slipped down to pool around your feet, he took a step back, his black-to-the-center eyes aglow with a light all of their own. “Has anyone told you this?”

You could not remember, and say so. Balerion smiled and sought your lips again. He undressed himself, eager to feel skin against skin, and sighed softly when you slipped your arms around his neck and kissed him in return. Then he slipped his own around you, lifted you up, and then carried you to bed.

Everything about him felt different, and it was not because he was a god coupling with you in a dream. Every aspect of Balerion felt different when compared to those of a mortal man. His flesh burned with the gentle heat of a brazier, and his touch set yours ablaze whenever his hands glided over your arms or your belly or your thighs. His skin was rough around his hips and his back and even his arms, as if they had been made from the scales of a dragon. Nevertheless, he was exceedingly tender, half-whispering words of endearment in a tongue you had never heard before. Then, when you were ready, when you rested your legs over his hips, he slid a hand beneath your back and raised it, sliding his cock inside of you before you had a chance to take another breath.

The silk sheets beneath you were as cool as he was warm, and the air was strangely thick and heated. Balerion kept pulling his hips back and then pushing them back in, bruising your thighs and driving that rigid part of him deeper and deeper with each thrust. His growls vibrated softly against your throat whenever you arched your back, and your nails gauged little indents into his skin. Flashes of pain and then waves of rapture, the likes of which you had never before experienced in your life, rose and fell like great waves, dragging you to the depths and then drowning you. You trembled beneath his body and yielded to the demands of your own. And then you felt it—the coiling deep within your belly, the ecstasy coursing through your veins. On and on it went until something gave way and a brilliant white light flashed behind your eyes. So consumed were you in your own pleasure and the release that came after, that you barely felt him slip out of you and finish himself over your belly with a deep, satisfying grunt. The air cooled once again, and everything around you went still.

Am I still in this dream? Or am I alone in my own bed? You opened your eyes, uncertain of what you were going to find. The crimson walls were gone, as was the hearth that stretched from one end of the wall to the other. Yours had taken its place, small and pretty, and nothing like the one you had seen in your vision. You recognized your windows and the fired glass figurines on the mantle.

It was a dream, you tell yourself. It was all just a wondrous dream.

Perhaps Balerion did indeed call on you while you slumbered. Perhaps he did not. And yet, you could not deny the throbbing you felt between your thighs—the sweet sense of ease that flowed through you with every breath you took. A wondrous dream indeed, you think, until an arm came to rest over your waist. You looked over your shoulder, terrified of what you were going to find.

“I can only linger till an hour or so before dawn, little one.” Balerion was here with you in your bed. The collector of souls himself was in your bed. Your dream was more than just a glorious dream, after all. “And then I must leave before the first rays of the sun drive away the darkness. Is this acceptable to you?”

It was more than acceptable, and you made it known. Balerion drew you closer to him while you slept.

#whimsy's christmas fics #balerion the deity #balerion the deity smut #balerion the deity x reader #reader insert #reader insert request #a world of ice and fire #twelve days of ficsmas

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