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numbugwritingblog · 9 months

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The Miracle Mind of Serene: the Tale of a Girl and a Ghost (Chapter 3)

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Index

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26/01/2018

The Delicious Den.

A restaurant that had been founded by a small family 50 years ago, and which had been going strong ever since. It has seen its glory days come and go, but the restaurant is still going strong, with even some high class elites choosing it as their restaurant of choice.

But Terra didn’t care about any of that. He just worked here because his mother, the restaurant owner, demanded him to. Not like he had much of a choice, given he didn’t have the money to move out, nor will he on this income.

So here he was today, handing in the last lunch receipt before his scheduled break, the swan lady at the table looking at it with fury. “Forty five dollars?! For this?!”

“Yeah we’re not a charity,” Terra, the small little bunny with eyes devoid of any life in them, answered back without missing a beat. “Forty five bucks.”

“This meal isn’t worth anywhere near that, I’m paying thirty and not a cent more!”

“Miss, that’s theft.”

“You dare accuse me of stealing?! How could you-”

“Duh,” Terra flat out interrupted her while rolling his eyes. This tight waiter’s outfit was a bigger issue than she was, at this rate. “You already ate, so you pay up.”

“I’d like to speak to your manager.”

A small smile creeped onto Terra’s face. Not only could he end this silly argument early, but he also knew this woman was not ready for the hell on Earth she was about to conjure. “Sure.”

---

Terra was seated at the table upstairs, though by now the screaming had ceased to be cathartic, and was just annoying background noise. Why did he think it was a good idea? He couldn’t even focus on the news he was reading - albeit hearing that another rich person - this Cirillo lady - wasn’t charged with the crimes she clearly committed wasn’t particularly compelling to him.

Finally the screaming had subsided, and he watched the lady practically bolt out of the manager’s office, a bitter looking older bunny glaring at the lady in the process. “AND DON’T COME BACK, YOU THIEF!”

The bunny, Amanda, then let out a sigh as she pulled out a hand mirror and checked her reflection, bits of hair adjusted so as to not look like she was just screaming for 20 minutes.

She then turned to Terra, scowling. “What did you do?”

What? Terra let out a huff as he hopped to his feet. “What do you mean? She was the one who didn’t want to pay.”

“Don’t you get like that with me, son,” she snapped back, glaring Terra in the eyes. “Every time it’s something you do.”

Well maybe he didn’t want to get stuck in this crappy, dead-end job. But there’s no point wasting breath on what has already been said. “I didn’t do anything. This time.”

She continued glaring, her expression unchanging. “You’re on in 10.”

“What?!” Terra grumbled, glaring at her in the eyes. “Breaks last for an hour-”

“Your break lasts half an hour, we’re understaffed as-is! Understood?”

Terra continued glaring at her in the eyes. She could probably end the understaffing issue whenever she wanted, for all he knew. But they both knew how this would go. “Loud and clear, mother.”

Amanda knew that tone, and so she continued to stare at him. Little ungrateful shit having an attitude with her. But she didn’t want another argument if she could help it, not while her throat was sore. “No excuses for being late.” She then walked back to her office and slammed the door shut.

Terra let out a heavy sigh, guzzling down the rest of his coffee. Back to work…

---

Serene was standing in front of a mirror, looking at her reflection - no, more like staring at it.

This sparkling, dark blue dress was an absolutely gorgeous dress, and it certainly paired well with the black high heels and matching socks she had on - and that’s not to mention the silver domino mask with a moon motif that adorned her face. She certainly looked pretty.

But did it really suit her?

“Mortis, what do you think?”

“Just choose.” He was no help even at the beginning, but especially not now - Serene only needed to hear his voice through the phone’s audio to know that he was absolutely bored out of his mind. “Something. Anything. Just pick, we need to go.”

She’d glare at her phone, before looking back to her reflection. “You don’t understand how tough it is to hide my identity while still looking good.”

“No, I just don’t care for any of this formality. You won’t even need to do anything besides show up and keep an eye out.”

“Exactly! I’ve never gone to a fancy restaurant on my own.”

“You don’t need anything but a mask!”

“I know, but-...” Serene paused, failing to find the next words. But what? This was clearly important to her. But the moment she’d stop to explain why, it failed to reach her mind. She looked back to the reflection, letting out a sigh. She was just going out to a restaurant, disguised as some rich stranger.

What was she missing…?

“Come ooooon!”

“Alright, alright!” Serene snapped out, psychically bringing her phone, purse, and hairbrush to herself. She brushed her hair to get the nerves out before setting it back down, psychic powers taking it back to where it rests. “I’m done.”

“Thank fuck, finally.”

Serene let out a sigh, making her way to the front door. “Remind me to never invite you to dinner.”

“I can’t even eat without a body, and I doubt you want me borrowing yours.”

Serene’s phone then hovered up next to her ear, so that she could pretend she was talking to someone.

Already, Mortis reminded her. “Remember, normal girls don’t have psychic powers.”

“I know, I know,” Serene huffed, putting her hand on her phone. She then reached out to grab and open the front door. It wasn’t difficult by any means, but it felt so… strange, doing it manually. And it was going to feel stranger, with one hand occupied to keep chatting with Mortis, leaving just one to handle everything else.

It was more distracting than she ever imagined it would be, having to hold off on using this gift she’s had all her life. By the time she had gotten onto the bus it really made her feel like she WAS another person, not just pretending to be one.

It felt like she was missing something.

“Remember, you just go in and keep a lookout for Richard. I’ll check where the customers aren’t allowed to go.”

“I know,” Serene said with a nod. “If he shows up, I’ll be sure to greet him for you.”

“No? I’ll be right there? Just keep him from leaving.”

Serene let out a sigh. “No, you won’t be at the restaurant in time, that’s why I’ll let you know. Via the phone.”

“Serene, I-” There was a brief silence. “Ah.”

Serene let out a small giggle in response, despite Mortis’s protests. “I’ll let you know, okay?”

Mortis let out a digitised huff. “I’ll find something to do while we wait.”

“Alright, just… Don’t look at anything I don’t want to see later. Okay, bye, have a good time!” Serene sighed, tucking the phone away into her purse. It felt a bit clumsy, and definitely slower than just using her gift. Is this really what everyone else had to do? No wonder people sometimes get annoyed.

Or maybe it just felt wrong to her…

---

Furiously scrubbing away at the dishes, Terra’s still absolutely fuming at his break being cut off short.

“Okay, what did you do this time?”

Terra glared at one of the only other people in the room, a bunny that was slightly taller than he was, gloves, apron, and hairnet designating her as the cook. “Nothing. She’s a psycho.”

“You both are,” the other bunny answered, dumping soup ingredients into the pot with water before flicking the stove right on. “Whatever she did, you did something too.”

“Shut up, Aura.” Terra rolled his eyes and turned away, scrubbing harder.

“What? A sister should never lie to her big brother.” Aura would stick out her tongue at him right after, even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “So what did you do?”

“I told you, nothing!” Terra’s voice got heated at that, shoving the now thoroughly scrubbed dish onto the rack, making the rest of the kitchen quiet down. He noticed the sudden silence, but he didn’t care.

Aura, however, did, so she rolled her eyes and continued cooking. “Fine, I’ll believe you… for now.”

Terra huffed, scrubbing the dishes once more. That just meant she didn’t believe him.

It was then that a large, bulky armadillo busted into the kitchen, dumping a large sack of food on the table for the other employees to get to. “Terra, Aura, there you two are!”

“Hey dad.”

Neither sibling was particularly enthusiastic about his presence, instead continuing with their jobs.

Their father, Damion, let out a sigh, shaking his head. “What was it about?”

“What?” Terra immediately piqued up.

“You fought with Amanda, I can tell. What was it about?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Terra called out, shoving another dish onto the rack. “I just sent some idiot that refused to pay to her and then she’s acting like that’s somehow my fault! Then she cut my break in half on top of that.”

Damion would nod, letting out a hum as he put a hand to his chin. “Just like that, huh? I’ll go talk with her. Do you want to go back to waiter duties?”

“Oh, yeah suuure,” Terra called out as he rolled his eyes. “I just love to talk with stupid idiots that think the world revolves around them.”

“Great!” Damion called out, seemingly oblivious to his sarcasm. “Go get out there, and I’ll finish these dishes.”

“No, I-”

“I insist.”

… Terra could do nothing but roll his eyes again, drying his hands off before marching off. The only reason he didn’t argue further is because his dad won’t budge when he thinks he’s helping, no matter how well you explain it to him.

Should’ve kept his mouth shut.

---

Finally, they were here. The Delicious Den. Serene was going to help this ghost find peace, and then… they’ll find out what happens to him after. He was certainly lucky to find her for this, wasn’t he?

Serene made sure her mask was on properly before making her way in. Awkwardly opening the door (with her hand…) and taking a deep breath. Nobody recognised her, nobody recognised her, nobody recognised her, nobody recognised her…

…

Terra immediately recognised her. Great, another celebrity who thinks they can waltz in with a mask and expect everyone to be none the wiser. He couldn’t think much more than that as he suddenly felt something tiny grabbing his back. “Hey!” He flicked his arm against whatever it was, getting the grip off of himself.

He then turned to the offender, seeing a child fascinated with his fluff. “Bunny!”

“Back off!” he’d snap, a small instinctual hop to get away from the grabby hands.

“Bunny!” The child cried out again, arms outstretched as tears started to form in their eyes.

The child’s father turned to Terra upon his child starting to cry, glaring. “Hey, apologise to my son right now!”

“Well teach him to keep his little grubby hands off!” Terra turned away.

The father then stood up, clearly ticked off. It was clear just how much taller this man was compared to Terra, and yet the bunny looked more annoyed than anything resembling fear. “Don’t you dare talk about my son that way.”

Terra maintained direct eye contact, glaring at him. “I’m not a petting zoo for every toddler that walks in!”

“Well he absolutely loves bunnies!”

“Excuse me.”

Both Terra and the man looked over to the girl Terra had recognised. Though the man seems to have not put it together.

Serene took a small breath in now that eyes were on her, why did she just jump in? “I’m sorry, but this is a public restaurant, if your kid really can’t control himself then you should make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

“But-”

“I know, the bunny was rude.”

“Just saying it like it is,” Terra huffed, glaring at Serene.

Serene took another breath in, nodding. “But you wouldn’t like being grabbed out of the blue either, would you?”

The man let out a sigh, slowly shaking his head. “... Right, I’ll keep my son in line.”

“Bunny!”

“Listen, if you really want a bunny, we’ll visit a pet store tomorrow…”

As the situation seemingly resolved itself, Serene made her way over to the front counter, pulling out her phone and tapping on it, before putting it on her ear. “Okay, we’re good to go…” She then saw Mortis leave the phone and immediately fly off to the employee section.

Terra, meanwhile, let out a sigh of relief, silently yet quickly backing away from the kid. “I don’t like other people butting in,” Terra began.

“Oh!” Serene put a hand to her face. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking…!”

Terra let out a sigh. “Buuut you probably saved my job, so uh…” He paused for a bit. “... Thank you… Serene.”

Serene stammered, awkwardly pointing to the mask. “What- no, I’m not Serene, just-”

Terra looked at her with the most deadpan expression. “You’re a celebrity. You really think people will forget who you are just ‘cause you got a mask on?”

Serene went silent in response, awkwardly fiddling with said mask.

“... I’ll keep quiet, just make an order and I’ll put it on.”

Serene nodded. “Yes! I would like… boeuf bourguignon, and some water, please.”

“Is that all, ma’am?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Terra nodded, backing up slightly. “If you could wait at table #3.”

Serene nodded, taking a seat at the table as she waited, pulling out her phone in the meanwhile.

---

Mortis had slipped into the backrooms, unseen and unnoticed by the employees, and he intended to keep it that way. Phasing through walls, appliances, and even people, possessing none of them as he surveyed the area.

From the looks of things the first floor was mainly about the restaurant itself, with the front area for customers to eat at, a kitchen for the food to be cooked and dishes cleaned, a storage for all of the food, and the bathrooms - if absolutely necessary, he noted that location as a possible spot to possess someone. The real area of interest, past the break room, was the office - complete with a computer and all sorts of documents organised into neat piles.

So of course Mortis started his search here.

The computer was a bust unless he could get someone to search through it for him, and the stack of papers would take far too long to sort through, not to mention that his presence was absolutely going to be noticed early if he tried that. But he could at least look at the piles, see if any of them potentially involved customers.

…

Nothing besides a moderately sized list of banned customers on the wall, which obviously didn’t feature Richard in any of them. So he needed to possess someone. Pretty simple, he just needed the prime opportunity.

---

Terra approached table #3 with Serene’s boeuf bourguignon, placing the bowl down in front of her, before swiftly yet carefully placing the glass full of fresh, clear water. “Dinner is served.”

Serene smiled, tucking out some cash. “Thank you so much, mister…?”

“Terra,” he would answer back, accepting the tip without hesitation, counting it out quickly.

… $200?!

What the hell, that’s the most generous tip he’s ever got! She hasn’t even started eating it yet. He would immediately pocket that tip away, grinning wide at the nice score.

Serene smiled. “Terra’s a cute name.”

“Yeah I didn’t choose it,” he answered back, his grin slowly fading away.

Serene let out a small giggle in response, holding a hand near her mouth.

Terra’s grin returned at her giggle.“Yeah, you can thank my ma for that, and not much else.”

“Hm? Why’s that?” Serene asked softly, tilting her head.

“Ehhhh,” Terra backed up slightly, brushing off the question without a single word. “I should be going back to work.”

“Oh, okay,” Serene said. “If you get a moment, you’re always free to chat with me!” She paused slightly, before quickly adding “I mean- if you want to, of course.”

Terra looked back to the front desk. Nobody was in line yet. Everybody was busy eating, so he didn’t need to bring out any checks yet. Then he looked back to Serene. “... I guess I do have a moment right now.”

Serene smiled in response, offering up a chair for him to sit on. “So what do you like to do for fun?”

Terra let out a hum, smirking. He didn’t take the chair, instead continuing to stand. “I usually like swinging by the park, doing a bit of exercise and just taking in nature. Though I’d really love to go on vacation to somewhere I’ve never been before…”

“Oh? Like where?”

Terra’s eyes lit up, something resembling a genuine smile finally appearing on his lips. “Beautiful looking beaches and sweet volcanoes, that giant rock that looks different as the sun hits in different angles, hell even the snowy hilltops are cool I guess. That’s not even mentioning the new people to meet and cultures to soak in!”

Serene listened intently as Terra would explain all of the places he wanted to visit, nodding her head slowly. “That’s pretty interesting! Where have you been so far?”

“... Nowhere, but I’ve been saving up,” Terra admitted, ears flopping back. “Hoping I can get going by uh… Was it 9 years or 10…?” He would shake his head, puffing up. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll get out there someday!”

Serene let out a small giggle, smiling wide.

“Hey!”

“No no,” Serene quickly defended herself, smiling wide. “It’s cute is all, I hope you get to go out soon.”

Terra let out a small sigh, letting his annoyance flow away. “Well what about you?”

“Hm?” Serene blinked, tilting her head.

“Your hobbies, I mean.”

“Oh!’ Serene hesitated to answer, clearing her throat at first. “Well I… uh… I like dressing up pretty?” Her questioning tone made her even more unsure. “I guess I like puzzles too…”

Terra raised an eyebrow. “... You don’t know your own hobbies?” He would quickly shake it off. “Sorry, it’s not my place to judge.”

“Well, I never had any friends to discover hobbies with,” Serene admitted.

“You don’t need friends to- wait, you’ve never had friends?”

Serene shook her head.

“... How?” It probably wasn’t his place to ask either, but he just needed to know.

Serene let out a small sigh, clenching her glass. “Well… Everyone knew about my gift growing up. They were afraid of…”

“... You blowing up their minds in a fit of spite?” Terra finished the thought for her, to which Serene nodded. “... Have you?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Serene’s voice got loud as the catgirl was now defensive, her eyes gaining a very faint white shimmer.

“Then they were a bunch of assholes,” Terra snapped back, seeing the faint white shine fading away. “I mean how long was-”

“Hey is everything alri-” Aura would approach after the yelling, stopping to look at Serene. “... Is that the psychic?”

Serene gulped a little to think of how to answer. “Well-”

“This is my friend Selena,” Terra answered super casually. “She’s always getting mistaken for Serene, she’s absolutely sick of it.”

“Uh… Yes! That’s right,” Serene answered. What would “Selena” say…? “I’m thinking of getting my name changed, even.” … Maybe it wasn’t something that was missing that was making her feel so off…

Aura raised an eyebrow suspiciously, turning to Terra. “And how come I never met this suspiciously similar stranger?”

“You got no room to argue, you didn’t even know about Tim until I broke up with him!” Terra snapped back, to which Aura immediately went red in embarrassment.

“Y-you were barely with him!” Aura called out.

“Only if you think a whole fucking year is “barely”, is it?” Terra answered back with a smug grin.

Aura let out a frustrated huff, marching off.

Terra then turned back to Serene, with a smug smirk on his face. “That’s my sis, Aura.”

Serene was silent at first, looking back to Terra for a moment. “... Thank you, you didn’t have to do that…”

“Pssh,” Terra huffed dismissively, waving a hand away. “I love messing with her when I get the chance.”

Serene looked at him strangely, hesitating to speak. “I… see.”

Terra let out a small chuckle. “It’s fun, trust me. In fact…”

---

Amanda was busy with paperwork as Damion made his way in. Looking up to him, Amanda immediately let out a sigh, smiling softly as she let her exhaustion show. “My Darling Damion, it’s so good to see your face.”

“My Astonishing Amanda,” Damion would answer back, continuing the alliteration as he closed the office door behind himself. “It’s so good to be back with my family.” He moved the spare chair over to the back so that he could sit with his wife, kissing her on the cheek with a big hug.

She leaned back against his chest, smiling. “Oh they’re not grateful at all,” she sighed, resting her hand atop his. “Aura barely talks to me, and Terra keeps getting into trouble on purpose. It’s exhausting with those two.”

Damion let out a small hum, his breathing slow to let her relax. “They’re not kids anymore. Hell they’re not even teens. You didn’t think you were going to be in charge forever, did you?”

She let out a sigh, leaning back to look him in the face. “No, but they’re going to inherit the restaurant once we retire, they need to be prepared for that.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t give them a break, does it? Like earlier today, you got in some fight with Terra-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Amanda sighed as she turned away.

Damion nodded. “I know. All I wanted to ask is if you even know what Terra did.”

Amanda let out a huff, her exhaustion seemingly vanishing in an instant. “He got a customer mad enough that she refused to pay.”

“And how did he do that?”

“He-!” She paused, trying to think of what exactly happened. Then she slumped back down, a long sigh coming out. “I don’t know… But it must have been something.”

Damion let out a soft, reassuring sigh. “Maybe, but you remember your younger days when you had customers that you just wanted to grind into a soft dough, right?”

“... Yeah…”

Damion then leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Some customers are still like that today. Just now Terra has to deal with them instead of you.”

She sighed, nodding slowly. “Alright, alright! I’ll give him a day off tomorrow.”

“And that’s why you’re my Astonishing Amanda,” Damion said with a smile, kissing her once again.

Then there was knocking on the office door. Immediately Damion stood up, placing the chair back where it was. At the same time, Amanda’s exhaustion vanished instantly as she sat formal and proper once more. “Come in.”

It was Aura, but immediately they could both tell she was walking strange, something behind her back as she closed the door behind herself.

But Aura’s their daughter, being strange probably meant she was having an off day.

Amanda stood up with a warm smile. “Aura, what is it you-”

She didn’t get to finish as Aura suddenly grabbed her, keeping her in a grip around the throat. She then revealed the chef’s knife that was hidden behind her as she held it close to Amanda’s throat. “Make any sudden noises and she dies.”

Both Amanda and Damion were in utter shock at what their daughter was doing, but they kept quiet for Amanda’s life.

“What do you want?” Damion asked in a clearly hostile tone of voice. Even if it was his daughter, nobody dares threatens his wife!

“Tell me where Richard is.”

---

Next Chapter

#Buggyverse #Serene Cirillo #Mortis (character)#Terra Twigs #Amanda Twigs #Damion Twigs #Aura Twigs #The Miracle Mind of Serene #The Tale of a Girl and a Ghost

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galamalion · 5 months

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୨୧. 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄

summary. luffy's relationship with hancock begins to strike a deep nerve within you.

⤷ contents. monkey d. luffy x gn!reader, fluff + angst, boa hancock is rude, jealous!reader, light angst (resolved by the end), slight miscommunication // wc. 2.1k

⤷ notes. request by @amortentiaz for a jealous!reader over luffy's relationship with boa hancock. i think i got a little too invested in writing reader's anger, maybe i should write some more angst... i hope you enjoy! <3

Your boyfriend wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

Was he caring? Of course, he cuddled and hugged and kissed you near constantly. Was he attentive? Easily, he always wanted to snuggle with you, no matter your location—even if it led to some unfortunate circumstances.

But he may just be the most scatterbrained boyfriend anyone could ask for, and your current situation was perhaps the best example of his obliviousness.

"Ah, Luffy! I have more food if you want it!"

"Really?! Thank you, Hancock!"

You and Luffy had gotten pulled off your ship by a terrible storm, only a small makeshift raft of wood to keep you afloat. A miracle had led you to land on Amazon Lily, an island led by a woman with a fixation for Luffy.

And so here you were, stuck watching the most beautiful woman in the world drape herself over your boyfriend like they'd been married for the last thirty years. Sure, your boyfriend was the greatest catch in the East Blue, but he was your boyfriend. Not Hancock's 'sweetie pie honey bun super-special pirate king.'

You had just finished talking with Jimbei through the snail transponder, who informed you that the ship would be there tomorrow in the morning. Unfortunately, that meant you would have to stay here.

"Alright, Luffy," you sighed, "The Thousand Sunny will be here in the morning, which means that we're stuck here for tonight."

"There's a room prepared for you in the palace if you need it, Luffy! I can have whatever you need brought there," Hancock swooned, feeding Luffy a drumstick.

"Ooh! Hey, is there anything you need, ____?" Luffy turned to ask, voice muffled by all the meat stuffed inside his mouth.

You looked behind Luffy to meet eyes with Hancock, watching her expression sour at the mention of your name.

"I think I'm fine. Thanks, Luf," you muttered, crossing your arms.

"Ok, but Hancock can bring us anything, so if you change your mind you can ask her!" he grinned, taking another large bite of the drumstick.

You sighed, briefly meeting eyes with Hancock who silently scoffed at your presence. Angrily, you stomped out of the palace and out of the town, going far, far away from the oh-so benevolent queen of the island.

As you walked into the expansive forest of the island, you began kicking a rock with each step, muttering under your breath.

"Oh Luffy, here's some yummy food!" you kicked the rock. "Oh Luffy, what dress do you think I should wear?" you kicked the rock. "Oh Luffy, you should break up and we should get married and have a bunch of tiny beautiful babies!"

You kicked the rock off the path, watching it roll off into underbrush and onto the grass floor of the forest.

"Go on then," you grumbled, "go get married to the prettiest girl in the world! then you can really be King of the Pirates..."

As you walked further into the tropical forest of the island, you came upon a rocky cliff, a beautiful location covered in small plants and light foliage. Rocks jutting out harshly in every which way, moss growing upon it, unbothered and untouched.

This is just what you need.

You stepped up to the edge of the cliff and gazed at the forest below, wild and vibrant green hues filling up every space you looked at. The sky was similar, a brilliant cloudless blue, like a calm blue sea without a boat in sight. You could stare at this serene scene for all of eternity, if only time allowed.

Sighing wistfully, you closed your eyes and stretched your body, taking a deep breath.

And then, you screamed.

You screamed at nothing and everything, all at once. At Hancock and Luffy, together, singularly, at their actions, at their attitudes. You shrieked at Hancock's cruel expressions, her blatant disregard for your own feelings. You screeched at Luffy's oblivious disposition, his inability to realize how you felt about all of this. You screamed until your throat burned, until you could feel your eyes welling up with tears and your screams turned into sobs turned into silent crying.

Needless to say, it was a much needed catharsis.

You calmed yourself down and walked back to the bustling city, taking in the nature surrounding you. As you continued walking, a long, rubbery leg touched down onto the forest path. The leg was attached to your boyfriend, who jumped down from the trees with a bewildered and frightened expression on his face.

"Are you okay ____?!" I heard—"

"I'm fine," you snapped, brushing past him.

Luffy gave you a confused look as you walked towards the village, on your way to check out the room in the palace Hancock so graciously gave you.

It was placed right next door to Hancock's own chambers, no doubt because she wanted to keep Luffy close, but the interior was far more shocking. Instead of a giant king sized bed in the middle, two beds—one far bigger than the other—with a great deal of space separating them were inside. It was almost too obvious to tell which bed was Luffy's, given the amount of food and gift baskets surrounding it.

You were just shocked that she put you in Luffy in the same room.

Deciding it wasn't worth complaining about, you instead searched around the castle in search of a library, a place Luffy would never look for you.

It wasn't that you were mad at him. No, it would be more accurate to say that you were furious. But you knew deep inside your mind that it wasn't his fault. But you also knew that if you saw him again, you would blow up, explode, in his face.

You stayed in the library until midnight, reading fairy tales and historical texts, immersing yourself in the stories and history these books contained. You could feel the anger and jealousy in your veins dwindle with each page you read.

Once you had returned your amassed collection of books back to their shelves, you made your way back to your room. Expectations were low, you were fairly certain that Luffy wouldn't have a clue regarding your feelings, and a conversation would most certainly need to happen.

Walking quietly to your shared room, you carefully opened the door. the first thing you noticed was that Luffy was still awake, crouched in the middle of his bed. It wasn't strange for Luffy to be awake so late in the night, knowing that his sleep schedule was pretty irregular, but an unusually upset expression was etched into his face.

The second thing you noticed was that the delicious gifts surrounding his bed were uneaten, unopened, the wrapping on a few having not been touched.

Luffy noticed you immediately, the corners of his lips pulling down even further, his brow furrowed in a mixture of, seemingly, sadness and confusion, like a puppy watching their owner leave for the first time.

"Are you mad at me?" he blurted out quietly, clutching his knees.

All you could do was sigh in response, moving to sit on your own bed.

"I don't know," you confessed, looking away from him. "I'm...mad, yeah. But at you? I don't know."

Luffy remained quiet until you decided to break the silence.

"Hancock is pushy," you crossed your arms, "she's pushing my boundaries and she's pushing her way between us. I know she's a friend of yours and she's helped you a lot, but it hurts to watch her snuggle up to you and talk about the 'love' between you."

You looked up at Luffy, seeing the realization and hurt flood his eyes, his fingers twitching as his legs slid towards the edge of the bed.

He didn't say anything yet, instead squeezing the blankets and looking down at his feet, clearly composing his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, ____," Luffy whispered, standing up from the bed. "I know Hancock does nice things for me, but I don't see her like I see you,"

"Then why don't you tell her off? Tell her to leave you alone, tell her you're in a relationship?" you pushed, feeling the jealousy seething out of you.

Luffy frowned and walked closer to you, sitting down on your bed. "You're the greatest treasure I've ever found," he confessed, moving his hands to yours, "it's like you're so shiny and bright, and everybody else is all gray. I know Hancock talks a lot and gives me a lot of food, but if you don't want me to talk or take stuff from her, then I won't, promise!"

Despite your attempts to remain stoic, you were unable to disguise the twinge of a smile caused by Luffy's statement, choosing to nuzzle your face in his neck to hide.

"You don't have to ignore her, Luf. Just ask her to tone it down, maybe? She is the queen of this place. Even if I'm mad at her, I'd rather not piss off someone who can kill us with a snap of her fingers," you mumbled, playing with his vest.

Luffy gave you a big hug, wrapping his rubbery arms around once, and then twice. "If she tries to hurt you, then I'll stop her! You're way more awesome than her," Luffy declared with a pout, falling back into your tiny bed with you in his arms, "and I promise I'll be an extra awesome boyfriend for you."

"You're too sweet, Luf," you laughed softly, hugging him tighter. "But maybe we should move to the bigger bed?"

"I'm too tired, and I'm already comfy," he whined.

"Fine," you grumbled, too tired to argue with your much stronger boyfriend (and captain.)

"G'night, ____," Luffy hummed, pulling you closer to his chest.

You smiled, shutting your eyes, "Night, Luffy."

The morning seemed to come swiftly, light spilling into the room and striking your face. Your boyfriend was still wrapped around you like a vice, caging you tightly against his chest.

"Luffy," you groaned, trying to push him away, "you gotta let me go, it's time to get up,"

Luffy moaned and pressed his face to your chest, "Five more minutes, pretty please?"

"Jimbei said the ship would be here in the morning, the mor-ning, Luf. If we're late to meet them then Nami will beat our asses."

"Then I'll beat her up!"

"Then I'll have to dig your grave."

Luffy pouted and retracted his arms, crossing them, "Fine, we can go now."

Now free from you boyfriend's hold, you and Luffy changed your clothes for the new day, then exited the bedroom.

Immediately upon opening the door, you were greeted with the beautiful, illuminating face of Boa Hancock, who was clearly shocked and upset to see you exit with Luffy.

"Ah, Luffy! I just wanted to see if you wanted to have breakfast? I've had 60 eggs cooked and 30 plates of meat—"

"Sorry, Hancock!" Luffy interrupted, scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder, "we've gotta go!"

"But—"

Without letting her get another word out, Luffy sprinted through the halls of the palace and out of an expansive window, stretching his way across the viridian forest below.

The sights below were familiar, but it was strange seeing them down below. You could make out the path you travelled through the leaves, even catching a glimpse of the cliff you had stood on last night, a horrible moment during a horrible day that seemed so far away now.

As Luffy jumped from tree to tree, occasionally breaking through the canopy to give you that bird's-eye view, you eventually landed at the gate to Amazon Lily, where the thousand sunny was currently floating.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Nami yelled up, waving her arms, "you're just in time! Let's get out of here!"

"Please, let me go! I need to get onto that island!" Sanji cried out, held in place by Robin's devil fruit-generated limbs.

Luffy let out a boisterous laugh, "We're comin' down! Let's go, ____!" he howled, sprinting towards the ledge.

You looked over your shoulder, fear in your eyes, "Luffy, don't you dare!"

Luffy, ignoring your pleas for a safer entrance, leapt onto the ship with a battle cry, landing perfectly on the wooden deck with you in hand. He gently set you down, flashing a grin as he patted your shoulder.

"Wasn't that fun?!" Luffy exclaimed, dusting off his straw hat.

You collapsed in shock, sprawling your limbs out on the deck as you recovered from your near-death situation.

"We'll...we'll work on that," you panted, desperately attempting to catch your breath.

"Sweet! Let's go now!" Luffy cheered, pulling you back up

"Go? Where?" you asked, astonished, "we just got back to the ship?"

"I told ya, I'm gonna be and extra super awesome boyfriend!" he beamed, "now we have to go do some extra super awesome stuff!"

He once again wrapped you up in his arms, flashing a smile as he hugged you.

"I promise I'm gonna be a way better boyfriend from now on, I won't disappoint you!" he beamed.

You smiled back and ruffled his hair, kissing his forehead.

"You're already the best boyfriend I could ask for, Luffy."

"But I can be better!"

"Better than best?"

"Best of the best!"

You threw you head back and laughed, squeezing him back.

"Alright, Luf. Show me what you have in mind."

1K notes · View notes

bardic-inspo · 2 months

Text

Dhampir Dreams

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Tav (Generic/Unnamed)

Part 1 of 2

Rating: Explicit (Smut)

Key Tags: breeding kink, pregnancy kink, body worship, light dom/sub, light bondage, light praise kink, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it dacryphilia, cunnilingus, PIV, Astarion’s past trauma, smut with so many feelings but nearly no plot, character introspection

Summary:

Tav saw beauty in Astarion he couldn’t have seen himself, even if he had a reflection to gawk at. She made love with a man who never thought he could have anything near it. Made all his red dreams come true, and then said: go on, make new ones, in whatever color you like. Astarion never thought about being a father. Not before her. Or: an angsty-turned-horny character study about the pale elf and his thoughts on creating new (un)life.

A/N: This is my first stab at writing a more generic Tav. Tav in this piece is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns. Most other identifying features are left out.

Click here to read on AO3 instead

Astarion’s never thought much about making another vampire.

In the rare moments the notion occurred to him, he shoved it to the far back shelf of his mind so as not to waste himself on an exercise in futility. What did it matter, after all, while Cazador still lorded over him?

More than anything, Astarion yearned to see Cazador’s blood spill. In his mind’s eye, he’d watch it pool across the floor, not unlike the way he'd seen so much clothing puddled at so many heels. The lake he’d make of his master would be wide enough to swallow the garments of all who’d stripped bare before Astarion. Every sweat-soaked night he found himself bound to another moldering mattress beneath someone else’s weight, rocking through the motions that left his stomach sour, he’d fill his mind with such sweet dreams as Cazador’s death.

Whether Cazador would allow Astarion to drink his blood before being relieved of it varied with the fantasy. The dream changed as often as the hands on Astarion’s hips. It mattered little to him whether Cazador’s end came with true vampirism or not. As long as he ended.

As long as the vile river of shit that comprised Astarion’s life ended, one way or another. For better. Or for good.

Of course, he flirted with the fantasy of his own spawn, sent out like skittering spiders to dispense his will. Foul little monsters they would be. Fine tools to have in his arsenal; Astarion would only want such wretches of his own the way one might want a hammer to pound a nail. And what he wanted didn’t hold any weight while bound in Cazador’s chains.

So the idea recoiled into the dusty recesses of his mind, collecting cobwebs kitty-corner to such out of reach trophies as freedom from his servitude to Cazador and the sun itself. Both still gleamed, despite the tarnish of time and hope rusted over. Despite Astarion’s prayers, no heroes came to save him. No gods or slayers or saviors spared him from his servitude.

Until the illithids did.

Despite everything -- the centuries of torment, the hollow where his heart should be, its silence in his ribcage, the scars on his back, the thousands of other lashes that Cazador let fade from his porcelain skin -- Astarion did the one thing Cazador could never.

He stood in the sun. And on the sands of that same beach, another miracle washed ashore. A contradiction. His counterweight to everything else he’d ever known.

Tav.

Astarion’s hands roam the supple shape of her nestled against his bare chest. Her breath crests and falls soft and rhythmic, like the gentle slap of waves against the cliffs where they first found each other. His darling is always so serene in her sleep. Astarion dips his head down, nosing her splayed hair on the pillow, drinking in the lovely scent of lavender that always lingers with his lover.

Often, he wakes before her, as he does now in the dim blue light of dusk. Not yet dark enough for him to step outside, but for the moment, there’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be. Not even in the raw, rippling light of day.

The smell of her has his eyelids heavy again, the steady patter of her heartbeat hypnotic in his head. His hands curve over the flare of her hips before slipping beneath the hem of her tunic. He stifles the satisfied hum that bubbles in the back of his throat as his palm smooths down the lithe stretch of her stomach. He resettles with his nose in the crook of her neck, eyelashes grazing the twin puncture scars that mark her as his.

He’d thought, once, that he’d ascend and have her at his side for an eternity. He was scared. Frantic. Grasping. He thought he had to grasp at something, fashion some sort of tether, to have her. Thought he had to have power, and enough of it, to keep her. Now he holds her every morning in the bed they share, until day becomes night again. It’s as effortless as blinking.

Now, the thought of turning Tav into a vampire turns his stomach.

His lips brush, tender, to the flutter of her pulse in her neck. He loves those marks he gave her. He loves the way her fingertips tap against them when she’s lost in thought. He loves the way she arches into his arms as he feeds, the way her body gives and gives to him alone. That sleepy, slap-happy smile she has when he’s lapped his last for the evening. The way her eyes roll back, and she gasps, breathless, as he kisses a trail from her neck to a nipple and sucks fervently.

He loves that he’s marked her, but that it didn’t change her. He can still curl into the heat of her skin at night. Still watch her preen in a mirror. Still stare at those gorgeous eyes and know the shade of them is hers. Her cheeks still turn the shade of sunrise when he leans in with a lustful whisper, or grazes her waist with a feather-light touch.

Absently, his fingers follow the path of an old scar on her stomach. At its end, he finds the start of softness. Astarion loves that, too. She didn’t used to be soft there, when they were just surviving. They’re not just surviving anymore.

Perhaps he’s changed her after all. It’s not so scary anymore to admit she’s turned him, too. Not to the light, or anything so nauseatingly righteous. But rather, so Astarion could see himself in it. Even if his days of standing in the sun are done.

I’ll be your mirror, she vowed, what feels like another lifetime ago. She smiled in that fond way of hers that, at the time, hurt to look at too long. He scoffed at her poetic ruminations on his hair curling near his ears. The creases when he laughs.

Tav saw beauty in him he couldn’t have seen himself, even if he had a reflection to gawk at. She made love with a man who never thought he could have anything near it. Made all his red dreams come true, and then said: go on, make new ones, in whatever color you like.

Astarion never thought about being a father. Not before her.

He’s thought of Tav as a mother before. It flitted through his mind when Astarion watched her ease Arabella’s pounding heart with the gentleness of her own. That feeling lingered when Yenna joined their camp, and Astarion caught Tav teaching her cards. Combing the snarls from the girl’s hair. Coaching her in the basics of swordplay.

She’d be a wonderful mother. Astarion has no doubts in that regard. And he, well…

He doesn’t have an example to look back on, or one to look up to. But he has his compass. Tav’s heart beats, sure and steady, in his ear. That sound’s guided him through so much else. How could he lose his way for long, if there were two pitter-patters to listen to?

His palm paints cool over that blooming softness in her stomach. An ache burns in his own. The sort of hunger her blood won’t sate. Would she taste even sweeter, he wonders, with her body rounded and swollen?

Of course she would. So hard to improve something so perfect already. But she’d be radiant, if she were ripe with their child.

And after, when their babe is born, and her body is new all over again, he'd love every line, every fold, every mark that came from their coupling. He’d worship every part of her that was remade by the two of them to make the three of them. Marvel at the way the same body that first truly fed him would feed their child, too.

He’d help her find her way back to pleasure in her own way, in her own time. Just as she did for him. His Tav gives, and gives, and he’d give her anything, everything, for the rest of his days, if a wretch like him would be so stupidly blessed to be the father of her child.

Astarion pulls a breath between his teeth, his nose flooding with her floral scent again. That would change, too. She’d carry new notes in her sweat, in her slick, in her blood, while carrying their babe. Astarion wants to taste them all, to learn what songs she can sing while he does.

Instinctually, he presses to the plump of her ass to soothe the building stiffness in his cock. He plants a muted hum in the fabric of the pillow. His groin throbs to the thump-thump of his compass, beating oblivious beneath her ribs.

He pictures pouring into her, night after night, his spend spilling in little translucent rivers down her slicked thighs, overflowing from her cunt. Too much for her to hold in, but she’d take him as long as it takes until life sparks inside of her. Tav’s determined in all her undertakings. Resilient.

And in his dreams, she’s pliant. Pleading.

“Star, please.”

She’s trembling in that slinky, translucent nightgown she wears to bed sometimes. The one that hardly hides her skin, but cloaks it in a delectable, silvery sheen. He likes it too much to ruin it. Or at least, he has every other night.

Oh, he’d like to ruin it, now.

Tav’s pupils are blown black with want. Sweat shimmers on her skin, spurring his tongue to swipe his own lips. Her shoulder peeks bare from her nightgown, and Astarion can see her pebbled nipples, dark beneath the sheer silk that separates them. Hardened with hardly a touch. A feeling he’s intimately familiar with. His cock twitches as he strokes the back of his hand over the soft swell of her breast.

“Aren’t you sore, sweet thing?” He tries for tender, but it comes out coarse. Rough like the way he wants to grip her hips.

“So be gentle,” she says with a sultry smile, lips peeled apart and glistening just enough that Astarion can’t peel his eyes away. “I know you’ll take good care of me.”

Astarion slinks forward, crowding her against the edge of the bed. Careful, like cradling glass, his palm reaches out to cup the side of her cheek. She sighs into the touch, the curve of her smile reaching the heel of his hand.

“Always,” he says reverently, before his voice sinks to a growl. “You’re always so, so eager…for me.”

Her lashes flutter low over hungry eyes. All it takes is one little wordless bob of her head for Astarion’s own hunger to have the best of him. With a lazy roll of his wrists, he shoves her back with kind but firm force. The mattress bends with her impact, her breathless laughter nearly lost beneath the whine of the wooden frame. Astarion crawls after her, hands fisting in her nightgown, and pulling her free of it.

And then, she’s bare beneath him. Writhing from his tongue and teeth. Gasping out the best words he’s ever heard. Astarion downs them like a man starved, kissing her with the kind of fervor he thought reserved for bloodlust. But her lips, the promises they pour, are sustenance all on their own.

“I’m yours,” she whispers, “all yours. Always. All of me.”

Astarion can’t stifle the whine that drags from some hollow in his chest he never knew about before.

The bed creaks as he hitches one of Tav’s limber legs up over his shoulder and nips a path of sharp kisses from her ankle to the crux of her thigh. He pauses, sweeping a feverish gaze over the spread of her: legs parted in his grip, that perfect slit, already wet with want, the rest of her sprawled naked across the bed, at his mercy, at his desire, at her own.

He leans down, tongue dipping leisurely through her cunt. Always, she swore. So there’s no hurry in how he takes apart the woman he loves so dearly, in one of her favorite ways to be unmade. No matter how many times she claws the sheets and hisses, “Please, Star. F-fuck, I need you inside of me.”

It turns something in the depths of him to hear his own name said as a prayer. It makes him want with a force and harshness stronger than any thirst he’s felt for blood. He wants to turn her. Change her. Forever, for good. For the life they could make from their bodies, bound as close as souls could be. He wants to see her swell with the love they make, with all the love he’ll leave inside her.

She’s so close, her legs quaking violently when her hand tangles his hair and yanks his head upright. She’s beautiful, flushed ruby red, taking her air in shallow doses. Her eyes burn with equal measures adoration and reproach.

Astarion smirks, unrepentant, lips smeared with devotion. “My love, any work of art takes time. And that’s what we’re making, you know. When others look upon our progeny, they will weep in the sight of such beauty.”

“If all it takes is time, dearest,” she says, with a smile just as filthy, “then I don’t want to waste one second of it lying here empty.”

“Mmm,” Astarion sighs, nosing down against her throbbing clit, eyes flashing back to hers as he dares another lick. Her fist tightens in his hair. Astarion only chuckles.

“You’re right, of course,” he croons. “That won’t do, at all. I do recall promising to-- how did you put it the other night? ‘Fuck you full and senseless’? I’m more partial to what you begged me for a tenday ago, when I had you face-down and waiting for me as soon as the sun was set. Remind me again, my love, what you said when you weren't gasping my name?"

Astarion presses the tip of his tongue to her clit again and tastes her rapid, ravenous pulse in the heat of it. Tav’s hips jerk in response, but he holds her fast.

“I-I said I want-- that I want--”

“You want me to ‘breed you like a damn animal’," he finishes for her. "Oh, don’t be shy now, my sweet. We’re far past that. And we want the same things, after all. But," he sighs, letting his lips drag through her flushed folds, "I've another promise to keep, first.”

Astarion flicks his wrist, muttering magic beneath his breath. Tav’s sharp little yelp of surprise shoots heat straight to his groin. His cock throbs as she settles again, arms bound above her head by his mage hand, tits bouncing from the slightest struggle against her restraints. She smirks up at him, eyes aflame with fresh desire. Escape is the farthest thing from what she wants.

“You lie back now, dear,” Astarion drawls. “You’ll take me soon enough. You’ll be so good for me, like you always are, and take everything I give you. And I’ll take very, very good care of the woman I intend to make a mother.”

Astarion watches her keenly, tracing his forefinger down through her slick. He unfurls it, circling her cunt daintily, and watching her writhe for even the faintest promise of friction. He’s not sure if it’s his mercy or his selfishness that readily discards the thought of keeping her here, just like this, for the rest of the day. She’s mesmerizing, with the way her back arches from the blankets, and how her body strains towards any touch he’ll spare her.

All mine, he thinks, with a smile that makes him feel weightless. He grounds his hardened cock against the edge of the bed, groaning. All yours, darling. Just for you.

Pride rumbles low in his chest as he sets his mouth back to work again and knows she can’t cover her own. There’s no muffling his name pouring from her lips. No hiding how she cries for him. Her whole body winds taut, shuddering with every stroke of his tongue.

Finally, finally, he lets his finger slip inside her. Astarion sighs into a satisfied purr, letting the tremble of it soak into her sex. Her cunt’s a vice around his knuckle. Every pump of his finger feeds the building burn inside him, fanning the ache to be sheathed in that tightness. He only aches more, feeling her squeeze around his finger, and knowing she longs for him just the same.

He slips in a second finger to join the first, feeling her spread and then clench anew. Astarion ruts aimlessly into the mattress, in time with the thrust of his wrist. The head of his cock weeps anticipation with the rogue tear trailing down the side of her cheek. It’s only pleasure that makes her cry.

There’s only love in her heavy-lidded gaze as she pants, “Please.”

Mercy, then, Astarion resolves. For both of them.

Her thighs quiver against his ears like leaves in a breeze. Astarion swirls his tongue against the bud of her clit and sucks tightly. Tav stiffens abruptly. His arms hook firm around her legs as a shattered sound breaks from her throat,and a hard tremor courses through her hips.

He holds her through it, pinning her to the bed until just the faintest brush of his lips has her shuddering. The start of her plaintive whimper has him easing back. A murmured word sets her wrists free of her restraints. Her heart still hammers, sumptuous, in his head, as he peppers her legs in kisses soft as velvet.

“Beautiful,” he whispers with each one, slinking up her body while she comes back down. “So, so beautiful.”

He thinks of new life, as his knee bends between her thighs and drags her open all over again. He thinks of the graveyard, where he had her freely beneath the stars, in the dirt where he woke centuries ago. He thinks he’d be happy to die again, this way, as he slides forward and buries himself inside her waiting heat.

Astarion grates out a long, low moan as he basks in the wrap of her arms and her cunt. Dimly, he feels her fingertips threading gently through his curls. He thinks of sunlight on his skin again as he sinks in fully, bracing his arms on either side of her head, letting his forehead tilt against hers. He can feel her pulse thrumming through her body, through his cock, through his fogged-over thoughts. His hips roll to the sound, as if it beckoned him to motion. Tav’s head drops back into the pillows. She lets out a long, contented hum, while her body rocks in time with his.

“Is this what you needed, darling?” He huffs a laugh, catching her lips in chaste kiss. It’s enough for her to taste her own sweetness. And one squeeze from her cunt is enough to cut his breath away all over again.

“I think you needed me, too,” she purrs.

“Y-yes,” he stammers through bared teeth, his throat tied taut as she wrings him for all he’s worth. “Yes.”

She knows exactly what he needs, what he yearns for. He needs her, needs this, needs to see his seed seeping from her fucked-out hole, pink and puffy and leaking. He’ll know the rest of it was spent so deep inside her, her fertile womb is flooded. That’s his, too, with the rest of her.

Hips high for me, beautiful, he’ll say, when his last thrust is done. And he’ll hold her legs up against his shoulders, kiss her heels, and slip the pillow beneath her pelvis. Just to be sure it takes.

It’ll be another couple months before they’ll start to see the fruit of their efforts. Until Tav starts to bloom with it. And then, he’ll be hard pressed not to have his hands on her every hour. Cupping the fresh heft of her breasts as they grow with the passing days, heavy from him, for the babe growing in her belly. He’ll soothe her weepy eyes and tits alike, with a skilled tongue and sweet whisper. Rub her shoulders to ease the new weight her bones carry. Draw his nose down her neck and smell not just her, but himself, and the consequences of what they did, right here in this bed.

Feel her change beneath his hands and feel so fucking proud to be the reason.

Pleasure winds, binding, around his cock, and he feels that hunger snap its jaws around him all over again. His hips snap with it, jerking frantically. I need you, all of you, he thinks, and if he weren’t already fucking her, he’d be on his knees, begging for all he’s worth. Her cunt quivers, and he’s lost to the grip of her. Astarion shoves his own knuckles in his mouth to stifle a strangled cry.

“Star?”

Astarion rips awake in a sweat. He sees familiar wooden beams above his head, above his bed. Sunlight streaks the floorboards, leaking from behind the curtains. Turning his cheek, he finds his lover peering at him from over her shoulder, concern wrinkling her face. Tav still lays on her side, and Astarion still presses against her back. But his hand clamps tight to her thigh, bare where he hiked up her tunic. And his cock twitches fitfully against her ass, unspent and painfully hard.

Just a dream, then. For now, at least.

He lets out a long, weary sigh, slumping back into the sheets. Tav tilts her head, the worry in her gaze gradually dissolving into a mischievous gleam.

“I thought you might--” she starts, snickering, “but you were having sweet dreams, weren’t you?”

“The best I’ve ever had,” Astarion mutters mournfully as he buries his face in his pillow. “You were there, of course.”

Astarion rarely sleeps anymore. It’s not normal, not natural for an elf. But it was a trick he taught to dodge Cazador’s torment at least for a few hours a day. Reverie used to mean putting the horrors on repeat. He’d slowly eased from the habit, now that he has new memories worth seeing a second, third, or hundredth time.

Still, occasionally, he drifts to sleep without meaning to. Sometimes, he wanders off into novel nightmares. Or, if he’s lucky, he dreams of making love to his wife and making her pregnant. Of making their own little dhampir.

His hips shift, and he hisses. Pre-cum seeps from the head of his cock, slickening the shaft. It’s not enough. Not after such a succulent fantasy. But one touch from his darling might have him sated, if not entirely satisfied. Pleasure stabs, sharp, through his groin as she shifts and brushes him with her motion. He grimaces.

Just one touch alone could do it.

“I’m here now,” she smirks, twisting to face him. Her hand slips down between them. Mercy, he thinks, as her fingers wrap his length. He thrusts into her palm with a pleading whimper. “Tell me all about these dreams of yours.”

A/N: If you're yelling "Let him breed!!" at the screen just know I'm right there with you holding a megaphone about it 💜

If there's interest (from others & myself) perhaps there might be a part two where Tav takes matters into her own hands. Makes him say exactly what he wants, if he wants to have it so bad 👀

EDIT: This is now officially a part one of two 😉

If you'd like me to add you to a tag list for future one-shots, or all of my future BG3 fic (including multi-chapters), leave me a comment and let me know which you'd like!

& HUGE thank you to some lovely Discord and Tumblr friends/moots who cheered me on as I worked on this one! 💜

Tag List: @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

Banner credit to @cafekitsune

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #tavstarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion breeding #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #astarion x f!tav #f!tav x astarion #my writing #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate

687 notes · View notes

faith-forgxtten-land · 4 months

Note

Hi! Do you think you can write something for Donatello? Maybe the reader wakes up and he's in bed for once and its very soft

Serenity | Donatello

hi! of course i can! you didn't specify what version of donnie you wanted so i went with bayverse because i'm kind of on a roll with that iteration atm so... also there is a severe lack of bayverse donnie gifs

warnings: nothing really. suggestive? subtle morse code that isn't explicitly mentioned... which isn't a warning unless you consider morse code scandalous? everyone is 18+!!! also there's like no proofreading so reading is always at your own risk but if you ever notice any, please do point out any spelling/grammar etc. errors!

summary: you wake up before donnie who's actually in bed (it's a miracle)

word count: 859

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The first thing you hear is the distant whirring of technology. You don’t bother to open your eyes as you shift your hips ever so slightly to seek a more comfortable position now that you’re slowly gaining consciousness. Pausing your lethargic movements, you become keenly aware of the heavy and solid weight curled around you that most definitely hadn’t been there when you first fell asleep. You breathe in deep. A musty scent of oil and sweat and something you’re sure isn’t pleasant hits you. It’s so him that you don’t even wrinkle your nose. Instead, you reach out a hand and find his skin.

You can feel him breathing like this. It’s slow and steady and your heart feels like bursting. You press closer and your lips smile against the swell of his arm. A few soft kisses won’t wake him, you decide, pressing them gently over his scales. He doesn’t stir as you link your fingers with his. His arm is heavy with muscle, but you manage to lift the dead weight to your mouth, breathing the softest of kisses all over the flesh. It’s so different and so much bigger than your own but your hands fit together perfectly. You open your eyes, only a little blearily, and you imagine the silliest heart emojis that replace them as you stare in quiet reverence.

He’s so perfect it hurts. He’s snoring quietly, more of a whistle really, and his mouth is open with his glasses askew. He looks so cosy and dorky and unbelievably Donnie that you have to stifle a lovesick giggle. He looks both serene and tired at the same time and you can’t believe he actually came to bed of his own volition. Getting him to bed is a Herculean effort at the best of times, for him to sleep – in an actual bed – without your nagging insistence and underhand tricks is nothing short of a miracle. He’s still wearing his suspenders too and you think, a little wryly, that perhaps he was more tired than even he realised.

Your hand cups his face and you rub your thumb over his jaw, in awe at the man beneath your palm and feeling a little silly over how emotional you're being. His face twitches and you pause your ministrations, holding your breath. You don’t want to wake him; he must’ve been exhausted and you’re not sure how long he’s been asleep beside you. He continues to sleep, and you breathe again, this time pressing your lips to his neck.

I love you, you mouth against his skin. I love you so much. He must feel it, whether he feels you physically or as deep in his being as you feel him, because he churrs softly and it makes your eyes burn. God, you’re so in love. You’ve been in love with him for so long you can’t remember what it felt like before he came into your life. You’re not really sure what’s coming over you this morning (is it morning? It’s not like you can see the sunrise like this) but as your lips tremble you find that you don’t mind. Donnie deserves to be loved like this, wholly and reverently, and you vow, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, to love him like this forever.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that. The position isn’t the most comfortable and you can feel the pain in your neck that runs along your spine, but you can’t bring yourself to move. You want this moment to last as long as it possibly can and you’re thankful that the Lair is peaceful for once. There are no noises to indicate any of the others are up and you hope it stays that way, just for a while longer.

Your wish is almost immediately denied as you hear a crash and brazen laughter that can only belong to Mikey (followed, of course, by an annoyed bellow that can only belong to Raph) and you can’t help the quiet snort even as the turtle beside you is disturbed from his slumber.

Donnie shifts and his snout is buried in your neck as he inhales, and you’re only given a few seconds to mourn the loss of his sleeping state (he really needs to sleep more) before he kisses your fluttering pulse, and you sigh in pleasure. His hand – the one you’re not keeping hostage still – grips your bare thigh and you push yourself closer as his teeth graze the sensitive skin along the column of your throat. He doesn’t speak, choosing instead to tap a message along your skin as his hands caress upwards. I love you too.

You smile so wide it hurts your jaw. “You’re such a nerd,” you whisper, your voice thick and huskier than usual. He just brings his teeth together again, leaving little teasing bites, and taps your inner thigh once more. You shudder slightly and acquiesce his request, spreading your legs further for him and letting him rub higher and higher.

The two of you stay in bed until the afternoon.

#tmnt #tmnt donatello #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt donnie #bayverse tmnt #tmnt bayverse #tmnt donnie x reader #donatello x reader #tmnt imagine #bayverse donatello #bayverse donnie #tmnt x reader #idk how to feel about this one

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tremendum · 10 months

Text

Mr. Miller's Show

[not my gif] pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, some use of she/her, use of the words girl/woman) rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 7.3k (back to regularly scheduled programming) requested: yes thank you all for all the patience srsly <3 summary: “'like how sweet you've been t'me, sugar," he mutters gently, head tilting, "why y'gonna go and fuck all that up now?'" warnings: gendered words (girl, woman, etc) allusions to PTSD, porn with feelings, guys theyre like getting healthier, SMUT (PiV unprotected), oral (M receiving), deepthroating, rough sex, face-fucking, shower smut, counter smut, reader is a tease, masturbation (f), marijuana use as always lol, brief voyeurism, canon-typical violence, age gap (undefined but mentioned), ass play (spitting, fingering, only a bit sorryyyy), mirror sex again bc im a whore, reader has hair long enough to grab, hair pulling, lots of choking, spit kink, light slapping (f receiving, consensual), dirty talk, praise kink but also degradation, use of words like slut, brat tamer!joel, overstimulation, MEAN!JOEL YALL, but he has feelings so he’s also kinda soft!dom in this again, once again sooo unedited that it hurts. notes: finally finally after over a month im back!! hope you enjoy this chapter, ive been having rough writers block with this story so any suggestions and requests are very welcomed!!! thanks for all the love and as always, comments & reblogs w tags are motivation and help out so much!!! love u all <3 also for the taglist, it's too big now and i may consider stopping my taglist, just letting everyone know!!! ill lyk if i do ofc but im reblogging with the list this time.

[this is part six of the Mr Miller series. read previous part sympathy for the devil. main masterlist here. ]

★

"you're wearing earrings."

Joel's voice cuts through the serene chill in the air, shocking you enough to have your head turning away from where you stare ahead - you crane your neck too much, but you can just see the dusted gray and dark of his curls behind you as your brows raise.

it takes you a second to understand the sentence he's just uttered to you out of nowhere- but you blink to life, clearing your throat as the dead trees pass you by.

"oh. yeah, it's... they're new. didn't really wear stuff like that until..." you shrug, trailing off as you stare forward yet again. your heart thumps as his chest rumbles against your back - jesus, he's so close to you. it's been weeks since he's been this close, even if this is just work.

your body wants what it wants, you suppose.

your lips purse, lost in the press of his thick body behind you.

"-till?"

your lip twitches in a smile for a split moment; he's waiting for you to finish your sentence. as if he cares.

Joel...

he's been so normal recently. or as normal as you could ever imagine Joel Miller to be; full sentence-conversations full of questions, full sentences, and even an occasional joke or dry line littered in with his glares and eye-rolls. he's even taught you and ellie to woodwork, nodded in hello when you picked up Ellie on your way into town - hell, he'd actually gotten a drink with you after patrol a few days ago and held eye contact for a whole thirty minutes.

a fucking miracle.

and even, on rare occasions, you are rewarded with that mind-splitting, earth-shattering smile - a very rare but rewarding sight. the kind that shocks a room, silences you and Ellie both, lights the sun and makes the birds sing. makes your stomach flutter.

so perhaps things have changed.

it makes you almost laugh to yourself, recalling that day so many moons ago when you had walked into the Bison and first stared into those stony eyes; how big his calloused hands were, the way his lip lifted in distaste at your crass words.

the sway of the horse makes your hips move gently; your ass is starting to feel sore at the constant motion and as you rock forward with the decline of the hill, you feel Joel's body slide slightly as though he tries against everything to press fully against you. even though you wish he would.

heat paints your face as you feel his breath on your neck, waiting patiently for you to finish your sentence.

your sharp breath exhales as you realize you've hesitated at his questioning, a bit too long - you smile sheepishly, shrugging. "-sorry, didn't..." you clear your throat, "couldn't remember the last time I wore earrings. not that it matters, but I just..." you thumb the makeshift earring back, grinning to the mane of the horse as he trudges you and Joel both along.

"-it feels nice. makes me feel like myself." you finish, shrugging awkwardly.

for all of the steps Joel has taken in the last few weeks to change, there are some things you still have a hard time with.

talking about yourselves and opening up is a very large, unmovable hurdle that you and him are still clearly trying to pull yourselves over. it's quiet for a second as your words seep into the dead surroundings, less than an hour from town.

"look nice." he grunts quietly, his arms pressing slightly from where he straddles the saddle behind your frame.

your eyes widen at the seemingly random compliment, face flooding with flattery and embarrassment. your grin betrays you, but you don't dare stutter out a broken thank you for fear that you will sound like a croaking frog; instead, you purse your lips over the giddy grin that spreads over your cheeks and hope that as he stares at the profile of your face, he can see the flattery written across your features.

"Ellie has a matching pair." you say instead, sparing a quick glance back at Joel. his brows raise, jaw ticking as he takes in the information - your voices both echo at the same time as you speak over each other suddenly:

"she doesn't have her ears pierced." "in case she ever gets them pierced."

you let out a short huff of laughter, nodding sheepishly at having accidentally interrupted each other; Joel shakes his head with a ghost of a smile.

"got it." he nods, "s'real nice of you." he nods, "making a pair for her, too."

his chest is right on you - broad, warm through all the layers, and smelling of pine, whiskey, sage. amber. it's intoxicating as his drawl rumbles in the back of your ear - you silently thank Tommy or whoever the hell it was who ordered half the horses to rest after a bout of sickness spread through the stable; sharing a horse has never once before today seemed like a good idea.

but the good idea sours quickly when you kick speed slightly, the horse leaping over a small creek as your hips shift back into Joel's and your ass presses into him.

your mouth dries as you shakily exhale; he's so close to you - smells so good. your hands grip the reigns tighter and you nearly jump when a large, calloused hand falls onto your hips to steady you after the change in pace.

your mind travels back to that morning after you'd stayed with Joel in his own bed - how gentle his hands had been as he'd guided you towards your own house under the early morning sunrise; your eyes bleary with sleep but his smile still cracking bashfully when you'd kissed his cheek, muttering about how maybe Ellie'd missed your boots by the front door when she'd come home.

she and Joel certainly haven't said anything you if she did notice, anyways.

you clear your throat, ignoring the searing desire that spirals from where his hand touches your clothed hip; you shrug, "she said she liked mine, so I figured we could match."

he hums lowly at your word, his nose brushing slightly over the crown of your head. shivers roll over your shoulders as you swallow, retreating into the silence that you've lived in for the last few weeks since the two of you were put back on patrol.

but you stiffen when a hand runs down your side, over the jagged stitching of your jacket, and you suck in a sharp inhale. his other hand slides forward, hooking gently around your hip, fingers splaying over the very top of your thigh and your throat dries up; a faint desire awakened and soon screaming at you. you squirm under his touch.

Joel's hips adjust behind you gently in the next second, your eyes fluttering shut as you imagine him pulling you into him, his hard cock sliding between the round globes of your ass and through your dripping folds, his hands greedy and hungry; his words sharp, teasing. his touch, sweet. intoxicating-

your eyes open again and your heart skips a beat, his knees hitting the outside of your thighs.

christ. your whole body tingles as you shift slightly, rotating your hips as the buck of the horse's cant tilts you further away from the heat of his broad chest. no, you can't stand his teasing - intentional or not, Joel is making you nearly melt in desire.

jesus.

you're barely pulling the horse to the side of the path when, with barely a crane of his neck, Joel mutters, "the hell are y'doin?"

you suddenly pull the reins and mutter woah, slipping yourself off of the horse and onto the hard ground with a burning face, your lungs screaming for air as Joel protests.

"what-" he grunts as he pulls himself down from the stirrups, face etched with irritation and concern at your sudden evacuation, "is there an issue?"

you can hear the irritation in his voice and you sigh, shaking your head - your heart's thundering, face hot and surely laced with poorly-hid embarrassment. god, what the fuck is wrong with you? there's barely forty minutes back to Jackson, why couldn't you just suck it up for a few more torturous minutes until you could return home to your trusty drawer and hot shower?

"no." you snap, "no problem, Joel." your heart is thundering with surprise at his concern, eyes glaring daggers at him before shooting down towards the heat that nearly blisters on your forearm; his hand, warm and gentle, asking silently if you're okay. your eyes soften before you can school your expression - he reads you, as always, like his favorite novel.

his hand falls away gently, grazing your finger tips like the gentlest breeze on your face and it still surprises you.

"alright," he says softly, eyes searching your flustered appearance. "can we get back on the horse, then?" he asks - his voice is surprisingly patient, though his eyes are wary. irritated, but concerned.

you clear your throat, unable to contain yourself much longer. "we could- take a break."

his brows raise, tilting his head, "a break? we're nearly back. s'almost nightfall."

you shift your weight, avoiding the way his corded arms cross over each other, his frame towering over yours as you dully throb in arousal.

"you're-" you squeak, shaking your head, "you're fucking crowding me, and I need- fuck-" you groan, "just- just fuck off for a second, Joel." you snap, bursting in frustration, unsure how to just admit you are being driven fucking crazy with lust by his presence.

his head tilts, "fuck off?" his eyes are darker every second you stand, facing each other- "the hell's gotten into you?" he sounds offended, and your heart flips as you feel bad - you're trying, you're trying so hard to be normal around him, as he is with you - so one touch, one innocent adjustment of his hips and now you're freaking out on him again?

you need to get a grip, or at least be honest.

your face burns as his stern gaze rolls over each curve of your body; "Joel, you're driving me fucking crazy." you snap, glaring at him.

he looks shocked, hands flying out, "I barely said anythin' this whole goddamn day, how the hell am I still fucking this up?" he snaps back, irritated - his eyes incredulous as he stares down at you.

flames lick up your sides as you grind your teeth - his hair looks much more wavy with his curls today, and the green of his jacket it making the golden on his skin nearly glow; you nearly growl as you jump towards him. he's too much. too fucking much.

your hands lock on his shoulders, tugging yourself up towards his face as your lips fall against his.

the kiss is a shock to you both.

you're not sure what really compelled you to do it - the stubble over his sharp jaw, his hair, the way his thighs pressed against the outsides of yours just minutes ago, the way he pressed on about the earrings - whatever, it doesn't matter, because he's kissing you back and you're melting like butter over a campfire.

his lips press hard back against yours through his shocked inhale, surging against you in a dizzying haze of Joel.

but the kiss is seared away from your lips when Joel suddenly shoots his thick hand out, rising to grip hard at your throat, shoving you backwards.

it's more shocking than the sudden kiss - the speed in which he pulls back and pushes you hard backwards by his warm grip, causing flutters of arousal to course through your stomach.

you stumble in shock but he keeps his hold on you, passionate as he movers the two of you back. you're torn away from his warmth as he presses you with one hand on the small of your back and the other on the beating pulse of your throat - right against a tree, nudging you as he tilts his head down to your height once more.

he's back on you in no less than a split second; his heat swirling around the cold air, teeth nipping at your lip when you take a moment longer than he'd like to open your lips to his tongue. he groans against you, a warm and deep thing that you feel in your own chest as your hand slides up to his hair, tugging at the base of his neck.

the fingers around your throat flex and tighten in reaction to your own grip and the moan that rips from your throat sends his hips in a slow thrust against yours.

you've been desperate for his touch for fucking days - he's been walking on eggshells even after you'd spent the night with him a few weeks ago. he'd barely touched you, taking his time trying to make up for all the lost time you'd spent trying to rip each other's heads off instead of your clothes.

and sure, you don't know who you are with him still - nothing defined, and a lot of things still unspoken - but for the first time since this whole mess started, that doesn't bother you. there's not much anger, nor jealousy - just... Joel. and you.

it's not bad.

his lips leave yours as he breathes against your lips, "like how sweet you've been t'me, sugar," he mutters gently, head tilting, "why y'gonna go and fuck all that up now?"

his hand slips from your back lower, tugging you against his semi-hard cock as his fingers squeeze your ass. his hand lies just below your jugular, thumb soothing over your cold skin as his dark eyes glint with desire. you feel a rush of arousal pool between your legs as you raise your brows.

"-you need to stop fucking touching me like that when we're riding, Miller." you growl against his lips, staring back at him. you lean slightly to catch his lips with yours once again but he pulls back with a strong hand against your neck to stop you - teasing.

he tuts, "you need to learn how to use your words, sweetheart." he growls against you, teeth catching on your bottom lip.

you whimper at the sharp sting, chasing him as if you could steal a kiss. he tilts his head just out of reach, his hand pressing against you until your breath comes out slightly ragged; your pussy flutters as he squeezes, knee sliding against your clothed core.

"if you want it, ask for it, baby." he all but demands, hands rough against you, "can't just throw a fit every time you're aching for my cock, or else you'll be whinin' all goddamn day. how am I supposed to know-"

but there's a snap of a twig somewhere behind you and you both spring apart, straight as boards, hackles raised.

it's almost like deja-vu as you're both thrown from your stupor - ripping away, your voices cease as your hand flies to your hunting knife - in your peripheral, you see that Joel's slung around his rifle so quick you're almost impressed as you both stare to your left.

christ - just the fucking horse, tied to the tree. stepped on a twig.

you let out a shaky breath, hand falling onto Joel's chest as you almost wheeze out a relieved laugh. but your hand feels it, suddenly - you notice how stiff Joel is, even after you've both realized there's no threats.

his heart, thundering in his chest wildly. like a caged animal surrounded by a pack of wild, ravenous wolves; Joel's heart tries to scramble right out of his chest and onto the dead ground.

that feeling - the one that creeps around at night when you wake up with memories of that cabin, of those raiders - of your past, visions of Joel, surrounded by red. that feeling that creeps up, squeezing at your throat and banging on your chest.

he's feeling it, too.

it's not from arousal, though you can see enough of that in his eyes, in the way his lips part and ragged breaths puff into the air - no, not arousal.

fear.

your heart hammers similarly, you suddenly notice. your hand shakes as it hovers near your knife; his hands grip the rifle so tight the blood may burst forth from the roughened skin any second.

"hey," you whisper, suddenly worried to speak above any quiet noise. his eyes are sharp and his jaw clenched as he looks back at you, wild and alarmed.

as if he were ready to fight for his life and yours.

"let's go home," you whisper, thumb running over the shoulder of his jacket, muscles strained and still below the layers.

he snaps out of it, eyes falling to rake over you as if assuring that you're still in front of him in one piece. his hand finds yours on his chest, sliding it off - not unkindly; his hand squeezes yours before boosting you up onto the double saddle silently.

Joel insists on walking you back to your house; he's brooding, as normal, as you both trudge back from turning in your patrol log and tracking the mud from the stable through the quiet streets.

you don't speak about what happened in the woods - the kiss, nor the twig snapping, but you ache and as you walk, every brush of the backs of your hands send shooting sparks up your arm.

"damn it," he grunts under his breath as you lead him up your driveway. you lift a brow at him, silent prompt to explain his expletive.

he shakes his head, "s'nothin'. forgot Ellie said the water heater ain't workin', said she was stayin' with her friend Dina till I fix it. cold shower for me tonight."

you grimace; the air nips at your cheeks, you can't imagine a cold shower in this weather. you shrug, "use mine." you suggest, tilting your head. "no point in turning into an icicle, Miller, you're cold enough as is." you tease, sending him a small wink.

something in you wonders if the shower really is broken, or if he just can't bring himself to ask; not that you can blame him. you can't bring yourself to ask, either.

your heart flutters when Joel rolls his eyes but still trudges after you, through the entrance of your home. his eyes look just as tired as you feel but there's a spark to them, one that coaxes more warmth between your thighs.

you see his eyes catch on the partially-smoked joint put out on the ashtray on your kitchen table as you slide past it; you have a mind to grab it before you make your way up the stairs, pretending not to feel too hot when you feel Joel's eyes graze over the sway of your hips.

he showers first, you insist.

while he does so, you strip out of your clothes and into a more comfortable sleeping shirt and shorts. you sit, smoking lazily on the joint, savoring the sharp herbal taste as it flows into your blood and trying to ignore the throbbing desire when the sound of the shower shuts off.

Joel's respectful when he leaves your bathroom, pants on and shirt tugged over his chest, speckled with dots of moisture. his hair is much darker and more curled just after a shower; you're transfixed as you stand in front of him, joint smoldering between your lips, an exhale of smoke swirling lazily from your nostrils.

"may I?" he asks suddenly, causing you to nod, pulling the joint out from your lips and noting how his own dark eyes follow it like a horse to a carrot; you smirk, tutting. "and to think, all this time you've been judging me for it?" you shake your head. "shame on you."

his jaw ticks and you just smirk, shaking your head as you hold the joint up to his lips boldly. "you're a bad influence on me, aren't you, Mr. Miller?" you ask, voice sultry as you peer up at him through your lashes. his eyes flick to yours as he inhales, your fingers ghosting over his plush lips. the ones you kissed not an hour earlier.

the air is thick in your room, steam from the hot water creeping through as Joel inhales the weed, ember lighting up your eyes in his. you leave the joint between his parted lips, opting to strip down as you walk towards the shower, hoping Joel had the mind to watch as you go.

your heart thuds in arousal and excitement when you hear his sharp exhale, still refusing to turn around as you leave the door slightly open once again. you and your innocent habit of leaving the bathroom door open when you shower.

you're relieved there's some fog over the glass door of the shower, but you take your time cleansing your hair, running soap over your face and then slowly, slowly lathering up your skin.

you can feel him watch the entire time.

his eyes are like a hawk's; you can see his shadow through the light of the bathroom, the ember of your joint glowing occasionally as your hands run over the wet planes of your skin.

your shaky fingers cascade down, over the skin of your stomach, lower until they just barely graze where you ache. it's like he's been waiting for you to finally start to touch yourself; just as your fingers find your slit, the amber of the joint is tamped, ashed on the windowsill.

you hum lowly as your fingers swirl through your velvet folds, so wet you're dripping onto your upper thighs as your head thumps against the wall.

"Joel," you let yourself whimper, eyes fluttering shut before opening again languidly.

Joel's footsteps are gentle as he slowly strides up to you; he lasted, admittedly, longer than you through this torturous game. through the glass, you see his tall frame and your legs quiver with desire - your aching cunt throbs as you move your hand over yourself, rinsing off the rest of the suds from your clean body as your fingers tease your bundle of nerves. your hips jolt; a choked moan from you as you slide the glass open slightly, cocking your head - "it's a shame you already showered," you mutter, fingers not ceasing as Joel's eyes rake over your naked for ravenously.

he leans on the doorframe to the bathroom, eyes stern as he takes in your silhouette through the fogged glass, slowly rolling over the curves of your body to meet your eyes with flames alit in his own.

"-it'd be nice to have some help." you shrug, gesturing to the bar of soap in your spare hand, eyes swimming with desire as your other hand continues the slow, torturous movements on your aching clit.

your eyes catch on his crotch; through the jeans, his cock is hard and straining already as if being stirred by just the sight of you, naked and whimpering for him in your shower.

"I know you've always liked a show, though, haven't you?" you tease, lifting a brow as you recall the night Joel'd first seen you shower.

his jaw ticks at your words but it's like something in his snaps; he wastes little time ripping his shirt off, his patience clearly gone as you bite your lip, stepping back for him as his jeans finally slide off.

his glowing, naked form crowds into your own as he slides into the shower with you. his eyes are sharp as his hand takes the soap from you; yet instead of running it over your skin like you'd hoped he would, he's tossing it to the side until it hits the wall of the shower and splinters into two.

you gasp slightly as his hand grips your neck, tugging you close. his cock is hard, tip glistening with beads of precum already as he presses to your lower stomach, his body glued to yours; his nose slides along the plane of your collarbone gently, the shower water pelting rolling off your meshed bodies like some sort of sick baptism.

"you smell clean, darlin'," he mutters against your kin, one hand sliding up to your scalp, threading through your hair. his tongue peeks out to lick a stripe up your throat. "taste clean, too-"

his hand tightens suddenly, tugging your hair until your head snaps up to him - his eyes are dark, face full of desire. "so why're you pretending you need my help?"

the condescension in his voice is intoxicating - your legs weaken, hands sliding up onto his hot skin under the water that cascades over him.

your throat dries as you swallow, eyes wide as a rush of arousal threatens to drip down onto your bare thighs.

his head tilts, "s'because you want to put on a show, 's that it?" he asks, voice condescendingly sweet as he once again tightens his grip. you whimper at the sweet feeling, nodding slightly.

he smiles against your neck before pulling away, "fine. you can give me a show. get on your knees." he hums, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. your head feels dizzy at the words he says and the sweetness of his kiss; the most delicious juxtaposition.

"a show." he chuckles to himself, shaking his head darkly. "gonna make you a goddamn star."

christ. your cunt squeezes around nothing, aching for him as his hands slide down to your shoulders. you nearly moan as he smirks, water cascading down his broad chest as he pushes you down; you sink to your knees, your wide eyes on his own as you move until you're close to his aching cock.

he stands, towering above you as the shower head sprays directly onto his back; water runs off the broad expanse of his chest and you follow the droplets as they smooth over his stomach, down over the sprinkling of hair that trails to the base of his dick. you swallow, heart thundering impatiently as you sit on your haunches, waiting anxiously for him to tell you what to do.

his brows raise, though, flush high on his cheeks from heat - or arousal - as he hums, "well?"

you blink at him in surprise as he shakes his head down at you, his own hand falling to pump his long cock in languid strokes, the skin so close to you that you can almost feel the heat. if you were to lean out, just a bit, to taste-

"christ, darlin' do I gotta tell you how to do everything?" he grunts, other hand cupping the back of your head, carding through your wet strands of hair as he tuts, "you were practically beggin' f'me earlier, now you're suddenly shy?"

your face blooms in heat, "no, sir, I just-" at your words, his eyes fall back and a groan echoes through your bathroom, "-just suck my cock, darlin' c'mon."

his impatience, desperation sends shivers down your spine and your mouth opens eagerly, tongue flattening as he slaps your tongue gently once, twice-

you're always surprised by the size of Joel - each time, it catches you off guard; the head of his cock breaches your lips and his pre-cum smears over your tongue; the taste of him has you keening forward, eager to feel him in you, filling you up.

"there you go, 's much better." he grunts, muttering as one hand slides around to hold your jaw. your eyes flutter up through your lashes and the falling shower water to stare at him, how big he is towering above you. his cock pushes into your warm mouth and you try your best to breathe through your nose, tongue sliding up the vein which reaches up towards his tip. his groan spurs you on and you gently start to bob your head, spit gathering at the sides of your mouth slowly as your knees press against the wet porcelain.

"you feel better like this, baby?" he mutters, your stomach tingling at his words. you can't nod - can't even make a noise as his hips slowly buck into you; you gag slightly and moan around his cock as it pushes to the back of your throat.

"fuck-" he grunts, one hand leaning forward to place against the wet shower tiles; he's crowding you, now, pressing you into the back of the shower as his body takes the brunt of the water and takes and takes from you.

anything Joel wants, he can fucking have it.

"that's it, sweetheart-" he grunts, "fuckin'- take me."

his hands grip yours, pulling them onto his thighs, muttering gently that if it's too much, you can slap his thigh; you nod, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes as you keen towards him again, hungry to feel him in your throat again.

your nails dig crescents into the meat of his thighs as he pushes your head right against the wall, fucking into your throat as his head tilts back. "tha's- right, look at you." he grunts, his lips parted as groans fall from his lip. the steam rises like tendrils from hell as you take Joel's length in your mouth, barely able to breathe in the most delicious way as he uses you. your spit trails over your chin and onto your bare chest as you stare up at him. one hand soothes over your forehead, wiping wet strands of hair plastered to your forehead, "you're a fuckin' star, baby."

you heat at his words, stomach swirling as you shift uncomfortably, cunt puffy and aching for relief.

your fingers grip onto him as he takes you in the shower, fucking your throat until you're dripping and aching and a writhing mess, his moans echoing around the empty home.

"water's cold." he grunts, pulling his cock from your lips; you, weakly, chase the heat of him as he leaves your mouth, gasping for air and coughing slightly.

he shuts off the water, suddenly, and you swallow as he turns back to you, eyes significantly softer than they'd just been; "somethin' wrong?" he teases, a dark smirk on his face as his eyes flicker to where your thighs press together to soothe the ache.

you grit your teeth, shaking your head, "jus' want you to touch me, sir." you mutter, face burning at the way Joel never ceases to reduce you to a whimpering mess.

he smiles one of those brilliant, radiant smiles.

"that's all you had to say, darlin'." he shrugs, "told you, if you just learn to ask for it nicely, I'll give it to you."

you shiver as you nod, taking his hand as he pulls you up off your sore knees, wrapping a towel around your form gently. he's so- commanding, yet still somehow keeping his kindness that often hides deep beneath his layers.

you can't tear your eyes away, though - even as Joel starts to walk towards your open bedroom - your hand stops him on his naked shoulder. "will you please fuck me?" you ask, voice stronger than you'd expected it to be.

his eyes flicker with something as he tilts his head, "right here?" he lifts a brow as his hand snaked over your neck to pull you flush against him once again. "y'gonna beg me to fuck you against the sink because you're too desperate for my cock to walk to the bed?" he whispers it into the shell of your ear; a shiver as you whine, eyes blinking up at him, "been waiting all day, Joel, stop fucking teasing me."

you notice your mistake too late; his jaw tenses as he bites down at the junction of your neck - you let out a sharp, whining moan as his teeth mark a love bite bright and center on your skin. "fuck- fuck, s-sorry, sir." you groan, eyes clenching shut in pleasure as his hands push you into the counter.

"bet you're fuckin' sorry." he mutters lowly as he pulls away from you, flipping you quick to bend you over the vanity of the sink. you gasp as the cool wet porcelain hits your breasts, your nipples hard and sensitive as a sharp smack lands on your ass.

"christ," he groans as you bend over, puffy lips soaked and glistening for him, "look at this pretty pussy."

you move your hips slightly and his hands grip onto your waist - "quit that." he snaps, hands resuming their exploring. he grazes over the backs of your thighs, up the expanse of your spine.

over your ass, groping and slapping, relishing in your small moans and sharp gasps. "don't move." he orders.

you sigh, head falling onto the sink as you nearly whimper - you're aching, throbbing as Joel teases you - "Joel," you whimper quietly, voice whiny and small.

"what's wrong, y'tired of being teased?" he asks, voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. your cheeks are hot as you groan, "please, need to feel you inside of me-"

he hums, smacking the flesh of your ass, "'f I don't warm you up you'll be sore, baby-" he tuts, "y'know I gotta get you ready."

"I don't care, I can take it- I like it, just-" you stutter, face heated as you nearly scream in frustration, unable to voice how badly you just want him inside of you.

he likes that - a thumb sliding over your cunt to spread your lips, exposing your pussy and ass to him as he hums. "too fuckin' eager, have to have my cock right now, 's that right?" he shakes his head with a dark smirk, hand teasing over your swollen lips as he nods, "yeah, s'alright, I'll give it to you whenever you ask."

"thank you," you wheeze, letting out a shaky sigh when Joel leans down, spitting directly onto your asshole, thumb sliding over the tight ring as he hums, "so desperate for me, couldn't even wait 'till we get back to town, could you? had to try an' fuck me right there in the woods." he doesn't wait for you to respond as he spits down again, this time the slick spit sliding down onto your seeping cunt. his hand leaves, replacing with the thick, teasing head of his cock.

you gasp, rising on your toes as the blunt tip of his dick spreads your cunt, teasing your clit before notching at your entrance. "gonna fill up every hole tonight, baby, y'gonna let me?"

you let out a whine, "fuck, yes, please." you nod, cunt fluttering around the tip of his cock.

the stretch is painful; you expected it, craved it - you let out an animalistic moan when he slides in a few inches. "oh-" you whimper, legs tensing as Joel kneads the flesh of your ass, pressing his bare chest to your spine as he mouths along the base of your neck, "relax, baby, so fuckin' tight-" he groans as he slides in slowly, "let me in, sweetheart, c'mon-"

a rush of arousal and he's fully seated within you, the sting of his cock in you subsiding as a growing desire mounts until you can't take it. "move- m-move, now, please." you rush, hips pushing back against Joel's impatiently.

"shit," Joel hisses as he pulls out of you slightly - a long, thick drag against your velvety cunt and you groan at the sweet bliss of being filled up. you moan as he thrusts forward, tip hitting the perfect spot that already, as his pace builds, has a simmering coil deep within you.

"thought- thought about it all day," you admit, hands finding purchase on the counter as he starts to fuck into you, your tits sliding as they press against the sink. "on the horse, thought abo-" you moan sharply as his thumb grazes over your asshole, spreading the slick and his spit around the tight ring. "fuck, sir- that feels good." you moan. he groans in response and the words fly from your lips - "you drive me crazy, so big, t-touching me all the time. dream about you filling me up- s-stuffing me full, even out in the woods-"

your words are too much for Joel, apparently, because his hand slaps over your mouth and his voice whispers, "sh-shut the fuck up, darlin', y'needa be quiet or I'm gonna finish before this even starts." he grunts, hips snapping into yours as he picks up the pace.

you whimper at his words, arousal gushing from you and coating his cock in your slick; the wet slapping of your bodies echoing through the bathroom. "fuck-" he drags out the word, fingers sliding over your lips to prod at your mouth, "here- suck, darlin' - there you go, good girl, that's right."

your tongue slides over his fingers, eyes fluttering closed as you feel his thumb breach your tight hole; a sudden rush of pleasure runs through you as it hits you - Joel's everywhere. he's filling you completely - his thumb slowly fucks your tight ring of muscle as his cock spears your cunt; his fingers, pressing down on your tongue as you whimper and moan around him.

a groan leaves his full lips; "fuck- look at me." he grunts, hand sliding up your throat to pull your jaw towards your reflection. "look at me, baby-" his fingers slide back into your mouth as your eyes meet the fire in his through the mirror.

"always tell me when you feel like this, 'kay?" he asks, brows stern as he rams his hips into you; his thumb fills you and fucks into you at a slower speed than his cock, sending searing pleasure through your entire body.

your flesh moves at the impact of his hips and you cry out as his cock hits the delicious spot inside you that curls your toes. his thumb slips from your ass and you whimper dejectedly; the full feeling subsiding slightly as his hand grips your tits, pinching your nipple as he hums in your ear. "don't want my pretty little slut feeling so needy all the time, right?" he mutters, nosing at your hair as he fucks into you with no abandon. your fingers clench to the sides of the sink as you let out a strangled, "yes, sir-"

"so if you use your words, I'll give you anything you want." he groans, hand smacking your ass as the other squeezes your jaw. you nod, agreeing with his words though his cock has rendered you nearly speechless. he hums in approval before muttering, "now you're goign to play with your clit until you cum."

you let your eyes roll back at the commanding tone as your hand snakes down to rub tight, blisteringly pleasurable circles over your bundle of nerves.

but it's immediately too much so soon; you're already so close to your orgasm that a jagged gasp falls from your lips, jumping at the feeling.

"no, 's too much," you moan, head falling back as your finger teases your clit, flames of pleasure licking up isnide you.

but Joel smirks, "why're you still doin' it, then?" he teases, cock hitting so deep and bruising that you think you may see stars.

you moan out, "w-wanna cum, wanna make you happy, Joel." you whimper, completely forgetting to call him sir; but you feel his brows furrow as a moan ripples from his lips - "y'makin' me real happy right now, darlin', look at you. fucked out on this old man's cock, doin' whatever I say, desperate and willing. you're perfect, aren't you?"

you shiver in pleasure at his praise, fingers shaking as you rub your clit, trying so hard not to ruin your orgasm by cumming too soon. his cock spears into you at a pace that will certainly bruise your hips; your breath is punched out of you, your gasps and moans painting the air.

"say it, baby." he orders, hand stroking your breast a staunch contradiction to his brutal pace. "tell me how perfect you are for me."

you wail, head falling back onto his broad, thick shoulder as he runs his mouth over your shoulder, nipping as he goes. you're out of breath - "p-perfect, I'm perfect for you Joel, fuck, don't stop. so good, so good-" you mumble, fucked out after only a few minutes.

he hums, nodding into you. "taught you well, didn't I? you're my perfect little star."

you nod, "yes, sir, thank you-" you squeal in pleasure as he strokes long and slow, pushing you nearly to the brink as your legs shake. you can't take it, though - your fingers stop their ministrations, shaking and burning as you pull away from your clit, so close from just his cock and-

a slap to your cheek as Joel's lips bite into your jaw, "put your fuckin' hand back right now. you don't stop 'till I tell you to."

you swallow shakily, shaking your head, "I can't- it's too much, I can't-"

"fine." he snaps, slapping your cheek again before one hand slips to grip hard at your shoulder, lifting one of your legs up onto the sink; his other hand snakes down to pinch your tortured clit and you scream as he grunts in your ear, "I'll do it myself."

he's unforgiving on your quivering cunt, barely able to stay upright as he pushes you down, your cheeks pressing to the cool counter as he pounds down into you, shooting you into a hurtling race towards your orgasm.

he brutally fucks into you in a blinding pace. you nearly scream as white-hot pleasure rips through you, your hands falling to the counter as he coaxes a mind-bending orgasm from you. you see white as you cum, pulsing and writhing over his cock as it spears into you, splitting you open.

"that's it, baby-" he lets out a loud moan, biting into your neck as he continues the brutal pace, "jesus- s'fucking tight, baby, can barely move-" his hands fall to your hips, using you as a fuck toy to finish himself off; you're still writhing with the ecstasy of the orgasm, relishing in the way his hands hold you.

"where're you gonna take me, baby?" he grunts, voice strained: he's so close.

you scramble, holding his hips as you nearly pass out - pleasure too much. "cum on my ass, please sir." you mutter, heat licking up your throat as the words come out.

he moans and pulls out of you suddenly, hand flying from your skin to his cock, a slick noise as he quickly tugs himself until hot spurts of his cum paint the skin of your ass. "pretty girl," he grunts to himself, "an' you're all mine."

you hum, moaning quietly as his thumb soothes over your skin, spreading his cum over your ass and pressing it slightly against your ass. your cunt flutters in arousal at the action and he hums, "y'like that, don't you, pretty girl?"

you nod as you let out a shaky sigh and he presses a kiss to your spine, "good." it's a whisper on your skin, a promise.

he's barely grabbed a towel to wipe his cum off your skin before you're turned around on jelly legs - his strong arms pull you in so fast you barely have a second to straighten out - he's nuzzling into your wet hair in a way that has your heart thumping and your throat dry.

his heart beats against your cheek, body warm, chest heaving along with yours.

heat, affection - they swirl in your chest as his bare body cradles yours. intimately.

your sweet skin is sticky with sweat when Joel comes to, out of the bliss of his and your orgasms.

he's just as sweaty as you, though the clean skin and foggy mirror have started to clear up. Joel nearly huffs a short laugh at the thought of taking yet another shower - christ knows the two of you are once again filthy - but he kind of likes it, in a way. a secret.

he brushes it off when he feels your fingers curl around his arm; he had barely noticed that he'd tugged you upright and right into his chest, holding you as tight as he could. for some reason, his mind reaches back to earlier in the evening, when he'd heard that branch - the fear, the panic that'd risen in him. he's not sure why, or at least, he won't think about it. you hadn't mentioned it, but he'd seen your hands shake and your eyes cloud with fear.

something for another time, because he has you warm and pliant and naked in his arms. he barely noticed how his lips press at your hairline; it's just... well, feels natural.

like you both need it.

"stay here, please." you ask meekly, quietly. the first words spoken in a minute; you're swallowing around the nerves and anxiety that crawl in your chest, he can tell. he feels them, too.

he's taken aback as he stares at you - you both have patrol again in the morning, is it not... aren't you going to get tired of him?

won't you find him annoying, or gross in the morning when he inevitably pulls you closer in his sleep, when the dreams are too real and he shoots up in bed?

the panic subsides as he stares into your warm eyes, hopeful, bashful. he smiles gently, biting through the smile in embarrassment at how willing he is to stay. he'd stay forever if you asked.

Joel nods through his surprise, though, his body and heart and head aching to lie with you once again, to feel the calmest sleep he's had in years.

"course, darlin', I'll..." he pulls you in closer, so he doesn't have to look at those damn eyes when he finally admits it -

"I'll stay as long as you want."

feedback welcome as always :') <3

#let's chat abt mr miller #joel tlou smut #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel smut #joel x reader #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #the last of us (tv)#the last of us smut #pedro pascal smut

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pooksgetspooked · 5 months

Text

Hierophilia

Summary: A devout priest of unshakable faith stumbles upon what could only be called his own slice of heaven. With no creature holier than you roaming the mortal realm, it serves to be beyond troubling when Leon finds himself quickly falling into the clutches of corruption by the mere presence of you. Pairing: Leon s. Kennedy x Angel!Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.7k

Content warnings: MDNI! Religion, Corruption, no explicit NSFW, possibly blasphemy

Growing up, Leon has had his faith waver every so often. His darkest moments lulled by the temptation of all things sinful and unholy, whispering for him to indulge himself and to let go of his inhibitions. However the teachings of his mother was ingrained within him; as though woven into the very fibre of his being, and the vice it had on him never relented, keeping him always within the path of light. Despite his moments of weakness, he never caved. He never thought he would face such conflict again after devoting his life to the church, setting out to become one of the youngest priest the church has seen. Upholding his duties and following the word of God, he flourished to become the gracious man everyone knew him to be today. He was a figure of warmth and comfort, someone to confide in during trying times in exchange for genuine solace, free from any judgement. Upstanding and virtuous, Leon always made it a point to help those in need to whatever extent within his capabilities, his heart brimming full at the notion of being able to give aid to so many people and heal their plight. You were different. An exceptional case that he made a personal mission to assist and see to. It was by some stroke of luck; a miracle he liked to call it, that you came stumbling upon the church back gardens. Dilapidated and ramshackled, the overruned plot of green rarely ever saw the presence of anyone, save for the Leon himself who occasionally ventured out back for a breather and to bask in the serene nature. He had considered tidying up the place himself one too many times, but each time he came close to making up his mind, he would always find some little signs of life making home. Some snails treading on the cobble, bunnies that frolicked around before skittering into the ground once noticing Leon, or on the rare occasion, some deers would stumble upon the little makeshift forest and graze on the grass. It didn’t take long before he came to the consensus that the gardens would be a sharing space for him and nature, and that he would have to put up with the irksom tickle of the weeds against his skin. Out of all the sightings he would recount in his daydreams, you were his favourite by far. As he ventured out back on another one of his off days, he was surprised by the sight of fluttery white wings, soft and fuzzy, and far too large to belong to that of any known bird. Hunched over and wings cresting to shield the mystery that enclosed within those confines, he found himself in a daze, his mind going blank and his breath stolen from his lungs. It was only when he took a subconscious step forward, the soft crunch of the ground beneath him caused the wings to retract to reveal a softly glowing halo floating above a mop of hair that looked too soft to be real, before spinning around to reveal your face, wide eye and lips parted in surprise. Both of you were stunned, with Leon trying to grapple at the sight you were to behold, and you, a clutch of baby bunnies squirming in hand, and the mother rabbit perched beside you, somehow just as stunned as the both of you. Leon found his words failing him, his mind lagging behind while he tried to speak, “you… you’re… are you real?” his words came out lame and dumb, as though drug addled and sluggish. You couldn’t help but giggle, the surprise quickly wearing off as you gently returned the baby bunnies into their nest in the ground with the mother close behind, before returning your attention to the man, “yes, I am real. It is a pleasure to meet you” Your smile was a touch nervous, as though unsure of everything. Leon could see the way you fidgetted, gaze flitting askance as you took in the chapel behind him, “i’m sorry, should I not be here? I could find someplace else if I am unwelcomed here,” you swallowed thickly, growing a little more anxious under the intense stare of the man.

Seized by all sorts of questions, the priest could barely hold back his thinly veiled confusion, or his barrage of questions. What was a priest supposed to do, when stumbling upon a creature only documented in books, of dubious existence that was now concreted by his gaze upon the benevolent creature. Were you sent here on a mission of sorts? Maybe to right all the wrongs that plagued the world in steed of God himself? Because heavens know that that was long overdue now. “Ah! No, no no please, you’re welcome to stay,” his mind finally caught up to the present, reeling at her words as he frantically waved his hands to stop her, “i’m sorry,” he laughed dryly in disbelief, “I’m just… so overwhelmed. I don’t even know what to say,” he ran a hand through his hair, trying to come up with what to say, where to start with his ceaseless myriad of questions. “Overwhelmed?” Your wings shuddered, expression knitted as your lips pursed, “I’m supposed to bring comfort and tranquility, not heightened emotions,” even in the midst of your self questioning, you still looked heavenly. The soft glow around never flickering and the soothing cast of warmth caressing his being just by standing in front of you. You were like a piece of heaven itself, fallen out of the sky to bless the earth; to bless him. “No you do! Really, you do, I’m just- I never imagined I would ever meet an angel in my life. Please, pardon me, i’m not usually so uncomposed and unkempt,” his nerves were growing frazzled now, as though crushed by the familiar sense of inferiority that he hadn’t felt plague him since his days as a child. Through his nerves however, he wasn’t lying to comfort you; you did enemate some unexplainable sense of comfort that lulled his soul, as though alleviating it of some prior weight he had never noticed, the sensation was merely shrouded by the multitude of scrambled emotions that suddenly seized him.

With a yearning to alleviate and heal, you hesitantly reached out to the man, hands open to gently rest upon his forearm, “please do not apologize. Is there anything I can do to help? Do you need a moment to yourself? I may leave the premise if that can quell your being.”

Acting behind some unknown force, Leon found his hand holding onto your wrist, gentle enough to not hurt yet firm enough to keep you within his grip. “No, no,” he sucked the air back into his lungs, lips parting as his chest rose and fell before he found it within himself to settle and calm, “please don’t leave,” he swallowed thickly. Blue eyes burning into your gaze as his thumb rubbed against the underside of your wrist, “I just have so many questions. May I ask you some?” That was the start of a blossoming kinship. Leon learnt from that encounter that you weren’t meant to be here, and rightfully so considering you had little to no knowledge of the worldly happenings. Not of how the world operated, and not of the terrible news plundering the world, countries at a time. Not of all the suffering and anguish the people faced, no. You were blissfully ignorant of everything, and Leon found himself wanting to keep things that way.

This feat that Leon set out on turned out to be more difficult than he initially believed to be. The revelation of your presence stirred all sorts of outrage and desperation within the Chapel the day Leon introduced you to their community, seeing as you didn’t have any place to go. Devote believers awed and marvelled at you, singing praise and rejoicing in the salvation God would bring with him, with you being their first sign of the return of Christ. They tailed you at any possible turn, hands desperately trying to hold onto any part of you, occasionally getting too handsy with how they would tug at your wings and reach for your halo.

The smaller, but just as big in presence of the community was beyond desperate. They were those who had their own pleas and grievances that had gone unanswered countless times by God. Those people harassed you, hissing all sorts of demands for answers and for you to perform miracles outside of your capabilities, too blinded by their despair to see that you weren’t responsible, or had part in any of it, much less could you do anything about it. It was at that point that Leon made the decision to stick close to you for your safety and wellbeing. He could see you grow dreary from the increasing pressure of being around everyone, expectant for you to be their salvation. The soft glow around you seem to grow weaker, your complexion growing more dull and your wings more sunken. It was as though everyone was robbing you of your energy, which wasn’t all too far from the truth. Despite the treatment you had received from the masses, some negative and most a little too positive and wanting, you always made it a point to listen to the plight of the people despite being helpless to do anything to actually make an impact. You’d soothe what you could, comfort who you can, and heard whoever spoke as though you had not a single ill bone in your body, and Leon would later learn that it was something alike your purpose of creation.

You were a creation of God, just like any of them, but it seemed like you were an angel crafted for a more intimate role of being a companion for God himself. You often recalled what it was like back up in heaven, the breathtaking view from up above within your sanctioned tower, what it was like growing up in heaven and your tight knit relationship with God. From what Leon understood, most angels come to be as adults, but you were the exception in this case, where God spent his time nurturing you since your youth. Perhaps he wanted a taste of something akin to fatherhood, and the familial relations that came with it, and hence made you. The more time he spent with you, now making it his duty to watch over you whenever you were out and about, the more he learnt about you, heaven, and God himself. It was fascinating to hear about what he was like. A strict father figure yes, but he was kind and patient with you all the same. The both of you were close knit, and from the way you phrased it, it sounded like you were all both of you had. It made Leon somber as he found himself reminiscing some of his youth and the yearning for the type of familial love you shared with God himself, or at least, that’s what he initially thought until time slowly began to unravel. It started off small, with little questions about how you wound up on the mortal realm since you weren’t at all supposed to be here. The simplest way you could put it was that you accidentally fell. You got too curious and bold one day, defying God’s rule to not stray too far from the tower and never wander too near the edge of the clouds. Never going too far into detail, you would give a strained smile, curt flap of your wings, and just go on to talk about how God must be upset at you for disobeying him.

The seams began to crack from there. Leon could sense something more sinister beneath your tales and fond memories. How you never saw much of anyone outside of God and the occasional visitors or some significant figures in the castle. How God would always have some means of monitoring you at all times, just in case his child got a little too imaginative and curious. How God would confide in you about his deepest sorrows and regrets, the dents it made in your psyche and how you always tried your best to come up with something to cheer him up like the sweet daughter you are. It sounded overbearing and gripping, yet you didn’t seem to realize it yourself, all too happy to delve back in the recounts of shared laughter and joy.

It troubled him. Like a long forgotten sensation, he found himself questioning his faith. He had pondered in his youth, why God would allow all the cruelty and unjust go unpunished in this world. Was he not all loving as everyone preached him to be? An all powerful being, capable of everything at just a whim of want? Leon couldn’t understand it. He made his own conclusion early on. If God is all loving, then he isn’t all powerful; and if he is all powerful, then he isn’t all loving. He decided to leave it at that, and never tried pursuing for more answers. As his faith wavered, a crisis was nigh. His entire life built upon the faith in God, and now he had a living testament to the figure of worship, and it was ruining him. It forced him to face the pursuit he tried to cast away early in his life, to give consideration into the figure he kneeled before on a daily basis, and he hated it with every bit of his being. It was ruining him, just as you were ruining him. His emerging discord was tearing him apart, and through it all, he was facing another dilemma he was desperately trying to keep from surfacing. His growing fascination with you. He didn’t know how someone could be so kind and free of sin. You were unlike anyone he knew; never greedy, always compassionate, ever gentle, even when faced with the most hostile of people. You were ethereal, and embodied the very bit of the word. It was easy enough to wave it off as a deep interest in you because why wouldn’t he be? You were a living, breathing angel who was presented to him, a priest. You were supposed to be living proof of his faith, and you withheld so much information within you, it was only natural for Leon, and anyone really, to hold a deep fascination in you. That’s what he told himself, until his mind began to wander. It started with his gaze, and how they would dart too low, how they would stare at a little too long, too hard, at some place anyone would deem as inappropriate. It was troubling for Leon, how he’d find himself a little too warm and too aware of your friendly touch, how the air felt too thick and he struggled to breathe, much less think through a muddled, heavy haze within your vicinity. Like a man guided by barely restrained instinct, he returned your touch with a firm grip, sometimes a gentle hand clasped around your arm, other times a well placed hold on your waist to move you behind him when the flock of people got too excited.

It only got worse from there. He tried to keep his distance from you when walking with you, unwilling to feed into this festering desire, but unwilling to leave you vulnerable to te mob of people that always followed you everywhere, not even risking leaving you alone when seemingly no one was around. Sometimes you’d pray with him, kneeling at the alter beside him as you both whisper your prayers, and Leon’s thoughts would wander off just a second too soon for him to catch. A flash of you on your knees before him, cinture wrapped snugly around your neck with the other end firm around his hand so that he could tug the holy cord and tip your head up enough to peer into your eyes. That was only scratching the surface, and Leon could already sense his downfall. He thought his dick was but a decorative piece at that point, having not gotten any sort of attention or reaction for years on end, he knew something was dreadfully wrong when it was revived a few nights after his first inappropriate thought made it’s appearance. His room window faced the back gardens where the both of you first met, giving him a lovely view from up above of the place that now held a near and dear spot in his heart. He had been praying towards the window that night, hands clasped with his cross in hand in front of him as hushed prayers fell from his lips. Prayer for forgiveness and guidance, to purge him of his sins and shield him from sin. He so desperately wanted to stay within the light, but he had all but slipped away from it the moment his head lifted, and he saw you down below in the gardens. Seeing you there came as no surprise; ever since your arrival, you had took to the gardens as though it was your personal sanctuary and helped clean it up while still maintaining the natural flora and fauna. Within a couple weeks, the gardens was flourishing better than it ever had, the plants far more green and the woodland creatures flourished under your care. The shock that caused Leon’s mouth to grow wet was the sight of you donned in your night gown, the sheen white fabric clinging onto your frame while you frolicked in the pond, soft laughter chiming outside as you played with the fish that somehow seemed to reciprocate your friendly behaviour, swimming around and splashing you. Just the glimpse of you felt like a sin he couldn’t wash away, yet he couldn’t look away. It felt as though he had secured his one way ticket to hell now, but he was enamoured with the curves of your body, how the wet fabric was fainty see through. His eyes fixated around the hollow of your collarbones, the perk of your nipple, the curve of your waist and the outline of your legs. He couldn’t breathe. That night, you set a holy man on a path driven into madness.

Dead in the middle of the night, he was curled up in his bed, the white sheets moist with his sweat as he clutched onto the cross of his rosary with eyes screwed shut to try and block out the depravity of his mind and the throb of his dick. On the verge of tears, he heaved and panted, head swimming in the suffocating air of his room while he tried not to give into temptation. Never in his life has he ever been so swayed to stray from the holy path that was set out for him, not until now.

Through the growing pit of sickness, he continued praying, hoping to pray his thoughts away, only for more pervasive thoughts to cloud the rolling reels behind closed eyes. Pushing you against the cross and tying you there with the intention to bring you closer to God and make you even holier than you already are, hands that could easily engulf your breast trailing over the side of your chest, thumb grazing the fabric over your nipple while his lips dipped to your collarbone to take a bite.

He couldn’t help but imagine your cries, the arch of your back and how your nipples would perk with under the attention, back arching closer to his chest under the whim of your bodily wants. Hands slithering underneath the arch and wrapping around your waist as blood tinged his tongue.

The final straw in the midst of his mindless prayer was the vivid imagery of you staring up at him through fluttering lashes, down on your knees with his cock sprung free, tip flushed and shaft begging for your touch. The sensation of your lips on his dick, peppering the tip with kisses before shyly sticking your tongue out to give a kitten lick to the precum budding at the slit, watching the string stick on your tongue and connect on his dick even as you gently pull away. He hadn’t realized the sob for forgiveness falling from his lips as he pulled down his pants, dick springing free just like how he imagined in his dream. He couldn’t stop the mantra of chants, seeking guidance and salvation as he thumbed the slit, rubbing the copious amount of slippery precum on his shaft as he gripped around his dick like a vice, all while the vision continued to play behind his eyes. He could feel your tongue, soft and wet licking a stripe up from the underside of his dick before plush lips wrapped around his dick, causing him to groan. Tears leaked from his eyes from how you slowly bobbed around the head of his dick, never going any further than the dip of his head, your tongue flicking over the slit and circling the mushrom tip that has him whining and gasping for air. You were robbing him of his faith, draining it with every little timid lick. He was growing dizzy, lungs aching and the burn coiling in the pit of his guts as his hips stuttered. Mutters of “laying on of hands,” slipping off his tongue as his hands wrapped around the back of your head, slowly guiding your mouth to take him deeper, the ring of spit around his dick going further and getting wetter the further you went before he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Like a snap of restraint, his mouth fell open in broken moans as your head was pushed all the way down, throat closing tightly around the offending intrusion while you gagged with tears pricking the corner of your eyes. A sight to behold, teary and hollowed cheeks while staring up at him with those bright, wide eyes.

The burning twist in his guts was tipping too quickly. Lightheaded and back arched towards the high heavens, Leon cried into the night as the burning hot splatter of his cum marred his skin and the fabric of his shirt, the sticky white seeping into the fabric like how it clung onto his hand as he continued to pump himself dry. His dick throbbed within his grip, spasming while his core tightened like he was hit by a lightening as punishment for his sin. His chest heaved erratically while his eyes cracked open to peek at the ceiling through tear-muddled vision, his body quivering while his thighs jerked. Dear God, He was done for.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #i'm making it darker later #leon s kennedy x reader

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rookthorne · 1 month

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤

Isolation and fear were all you knew, and it was all you experienced in the iron holding of that dank cell — you never knew any different.

There were even fewer things you knew for certain, but one thing you ascertained, in that dark, dreary, murderous reality you were thrust into, was that there was one other soul who suffered the same as you did.

That same soul became your salvation and saving grace; a place to call safe.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ◈ Alpha!Winter Soldier x Omega!F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ◈ 2.9k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ◈ Angst, DARK THEMES, light whump, captivity, descriptions of blood, cleaning away said blood, implied torture, isolation, fluff, hurt/comfort, alpha/omega dynamics, nesting, scenting, Aggressively Protective!Winter Soldier ჻჻჻ TROPES: Touch her and you die

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ◈ This is the fic that brought me out of a few months long slump.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ◈ Last Glimmer by Lorne Balfe ◈ Northern Light by Penelope Trappes ◈ Still Numbers by Ekin Fil

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ◈ @anyfandomdarkbingo 𝗕𝟮 — Chained to a Wall — Masterlist ◈ @buckybarnesevents Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟮 — Omegaverse AU — Masterlist ◈ @buckybarnesevents Alpha Bucky April ჻჻჻ Nesting ჻჻჻ Purring / Affection ჻჻჻ Beta Character ჻჻჻ Overachiever (Double Minimum Requirements) — Masterlist

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The bitter cold of the cell stung all of what it could touch, as did the tears that fell down your cheeks, but they gave no reprieve against the burning over your feverish skin — the prickling heat that gnawed at the marrow of your bones the longer you lay there without your alpha.

Men clad in tactical gear — one of the types your alpha taught you to recognise the difference between: the men with guns, to those with needles and concoctions — burst into the cell to haul him away, all while he growled and snarled behind his mask.

They paid no mind to his protests. Even when the creak and grinding of metal plates grew louder and louder the more your alpha thrashed.

It was then another visitor appeared in the shrouded doorway of the shared cell, beady eyed and weasel-like in appearance with a white coat to match.

You watched your alpha turn eerily still at the sight of him, then he stood straight-backed and tall, bowing his head in submission — a response you could not understand no matter how you turned it over in your mind.

Never had you seen your alpha fall compliant to another so easily. He was the epitome of strength, of determined, cold steel that was immovable, and that man twisted him easily enough he could have been made of dough.

For all of the time you were trapped behind the same bars, from the same moment you were thrown into a cell with a rabid, feral alpha, you kept your head by some miracle. You remembered being taken off of the streets as an unmated, unbound omega, the details vivid and omnipotent over you — it made your stomach knot and turn viciously.

It was only when the cloud of sour terror dissipated from your now mate, that you realised he was just as much of a victim, as you, yourself, were.

You remembered the times you were alone with the alpha, too. The gentleness and care for which he handled you was unmatched by anyone before, whether it be by civilised alphas in the outside world, to those in tactical gear or white coats.

Soldiers treated you as a disposal pit for their desires; Soldat treated you as though you were made of the finest silks and were to be treasured, worshipped.

The thrill of tension in the air made you shiver while you whimpered quietly, clutching at the blanket that lined the cot you shared with Soldat — the threadbare, torn stretch of fabric held the only comforting scent that could pull you from fear and into a calm, serene stupor.

As the man in the white coat spoke, the hand not holding the blanket of which was manacled to the wall, twitched. The chains rattled, and Soldat could not even spare you a glance — not if he didn’t want to incur your captor’s wrath.

You watched, with the feeling of ice crawling through your veins, while the man in the white coat gestured for your alpha to walk onwards and out of the cell; away from you and into horrors unknown.

Soft boot falls echoed off of the walls, and he was gone, as well as the men that flanked his imposing, intimidating form.

The blanket you held offered no comfort as you lay there alone — not even a slither of peace to quieten the rushing, harassed thoughts that whirled in your mind, and fear gripped your chest and squeezed tighter than a vice the longer your alpha was gone.

“Move it!”

You sat bolt upright, scenting the air. There was no discerning scent that gave you pause until you heard footsteps nearing, followed by the acrid, putrid stench of pained terror.

Those same footsteps stumbled, then a heavy body hit the wall close to the cell door with a grunt.

“Fucking useless,” a deep voice swore. “They’ve only just done it and he’s– How the fuck is he meant to be the–”

Another clang, this time, metal on metal — it screeched and groaned, and through the slit in the door, you could see a dark silhouette with ragged hair.

“Just open the door. The faster we put him in, the faster we can get out of here.”

The creak of groaning metal rang in your ears louder than a gunshot, and the door swung open to reveal a party of three men. One of them held the haggard, stumbling figure up by the elbow, and the other man on the opposite side held the back of the struggling man’s neck in a tight grip.

“Oh, she’s awake,” one said, brows raised in surprise. “Your problem now, girl.”

You realised they were guards, higher up superior commanders if their uniforms and badges were of any telling, and they threw the struggling figure into the cell.

They tumbled onto the floor with a guttural growl of pain.

That same stench of agonised fear permeated the air, and you recognised upon closer inspection that this haggard, snarling figure was your alpha — mussed and bloodied around the face, while his tactical canvas pants were torn and streaked with ichor. He whirled to face the guards with narrowed eyes, and the mask on his face caught the light.

“Alpha,” you whispered, reaching for him hesitantly. “Alpha—alpha, come– Please.”

The guards snickered as their quarry raised himself from his knees, though they didn’t linger. The door slammed closed, followed by the sound of the lock securely fastening it shut.

A low groan of pain fell through gritted teeth, and you watched with wide eyes as your alpha rose to his feet, hunched in on himself while he scented the air.

“Please,” you whispered, reaching a trembling hand towards him.

The heavy chain around your other wrist clanked against the cement while you tried to shuffle forwards and capture his attention — the low thrum of restlessness in your blood compelling you to nest but the lack of anything in the dank cell to use sent a pang of sombre longing through your chest.

Leather creaked as your alpha turned, and clouded, grey eyes met yours.

Instantaneously, they cleared to a silver-blue shade and he hastened forwards. “Malen’kiy, mne zhal'–”

Your palm grabbed his taut bicep and gripped it for dear life. “No– No, don’t, I missed you.” Cold, chilled metal gathered you up so you came to rest on his thighs and curled into his chest. Both of his arms held you fast around your front and back, while his chin rested on top of your head.

“You came back, like you promised you would,” you whispered to his collar. Fistfuls of leather squeaked and rustled in your grip. “You came back to me.”

“I always have. I always will,” he rasped. The hand that cupped the back of your neck moved down grip the sides of your thighs, encouraging you to move closer and sit comfortably. “They said you were to not be unchained.”

“I hate it,” you mumbled back, pulling on the chain that clanged and rattled, again. “Alpha, I need–” The cuff of the chain clunked and fell to the floor with a rattle, where it lay still. You loosed a breath of relief.

“They do not know how to care for you as I do.”

It was silent for a moment, then, “You smell sweet, Malen’kiy.”

“Nest…” You squirmed until you were face to face with your alpha — his eyes searched yours curiously. “I need to nest, please, it–”

“Here.” The leather straps and buckles that spanned his chest came away with a conscious effort, and his chest was bare to you, scars and all. “I only wish I had more to give you,” he growled, the anger in his tone not directed towards you, though it made you frown.

“Wait,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. The hard, shining mask that covered the lower half of his identity came loose with a quiet click, and it tumbled to the floor, revealing his bowed lips and clean shaven cheeks and jaw. “There you are.”

“Omega,” he rasped quietly, looking down at his lap.

“No,” you replied, and you stretched towards the head of your shared cot to retrieve an old washcloth to wipe the blood from his face. He sat still as you tilted his chin upwards, patiently waiting for you to be done with grooming him. “My handsome alpha,” you cooed.

A small dusting of pink coloured his sharp cheekbones, and he smiled softly at you.

With the freedom he gave you from the chain, you rose onto your knees and shuffled further up his lap, and you reached over his arms to place his leather vest over the cot — the strong scent of him enveloped your senses, and you couldn’t help but purr quietly in contentment.

You placed the outside of the leather against the cot, exposing the seams and lining of the inside, where his scent was strongest. The gaze of his intrigue made goosebumps rise over your arms, but you paid him no mind as you worked — the space needed to be fit for a nest, and you needed it to be perfect to house you and your alpha.

A nudge from something soft against your arm broke you from your focus, and you looked up. The pillow that normally laid at the head of the cot was outstretched in quiet offering, your alpha smiling encouragingly.

It warmed your heart — for what little you had, he still was your world. “Thank you,” you whispered, taking the offered pillow. Soldat rumbled quietly in reply, and sat back on his haunches to watch you work. The leather of his vest tucked neatly into the corners of the cot.

“I think this is… enough.” You glanced around at him, and he nodded. With his encouragement, you crawled and shuffled to sit on top of the leather, feeling the warmth of his residual body heat through the material, though it didn’t feel right.

“What is it?” Soldat asked, his voice strained. The nest itself was the best of what you could make, but it was empty — the void of comfort and a certain touch made a sadness permeate your scent. “Malen’kiy, what is it?”

“I want you,” you whispered, fidgeting with the rough marks over your scarred knuckles from when you fought valiantly to escape your prison. “I just–”

“Nyet, stop.”

Your jaw clicked shut and you blinked, willing the sudden burn over your waterline to disappear.

“May I enter your nest, omega?”

The question was soft, and you knew that if you were to refuse, that he would not grudge you of it — you couldn’t imagine refusing him of that sanctuary. “Please.”

His torn, canvas pants rustled as he moved over the floor, and he shuffled on his knees over towards the nest. “Why don’t you sit on my lap—you can rest your head on my shoulder that way,” he offered quietly.

You nodded, and he sat down with his back against the wall, his thighs together while his boots pointed outwards. It wasn’t a typical position for him, though you could imagine he was trying to appear calm and nonplussed by the sound of footsteps outside the cell door. “Come here.”

“Okay,” you breathed, moving closer.

The brush from the rough fabric of his pants against the underside of your thighs made you shiver, but you sidled closer, curling up into his lap until the crook of his left elbow was wrapped around your back, and his right arm carefully moved over your body until the warmth of his palm settled on your jaw.

Slowly and ever so carefully, he guided your face into his neck, then he held you there while you breathed in the soothing scent of him.

It was quiet — bar the slow, soft sounds of your deep inhales, and the steady beat of his heart. The only noise outside of the sanctuary of his arms were the passerby soldiers and guards, scientists as well, no doubt. You paid no mind to the sounds, content to be held while you purred quietly, willing Soldat to be as calm as you felt in his embrace.

There was no use.

Moments later, a set of small, almost silent footsteps kept pacing back and forth in front of the cell door. The source was undoubtedly nervous, and you figured it was a new guard fidgeting on his watch while waiting for one of the men in black tactical gear.

Muscled, corded thighs stiffened under you, and the arm around your back whirred while the plates clicked and calibrated. “Tikho, ne dvigaysya,” Soldat whispered lowly.

You blinked in surprise and remained still.

The footsteps stopped right outside the door, and through the small gap between the cell door and the floor, you could see a shadow.

Soldat’s arms tightened painfully around you, and a low, deep growl built in his chest. The sound of it made you tremble with fear, and you made yourself small in his hold — the drag of fabric against your skin the only way you noticed that he was manipulating your body to sit beside him and out of harm's way.

The cell door clunked from the outside, and you heard the ground of metal on metal as the lock disengaged. A flash of silver in the right hand of your alpha drew your attention, and you realised he held a blade — the very same one he kept tucked into the lining of his boot.

His growl grew in volume until it was all you could hear, when the door slowly swung open to reveal a slight figure in white. You stared in shock at the silhouette while the distinct, mellow scent of a beta revealed their designation.

It was a woman, no taller than you were, dressed in the clinical whites of the medical team you were so inclined to recognise, but she did not come wheeling in a seat or table to typically restrain Soldat or you. Instead, she held in her arms a few blankets and an overly large pillow.

“I am sorry,” she said, her accented tone hesitant at the sight of Soldat crouching in preparation to attack, to defend you. “I knew your omega was nesting, I could not bear knowing she was without something soft–”

Soldat eased, his head tilted slightly while his narrowed gaze bore into the nurse. “You…”

“Yes,” she replied. “I am there when you are– Well, I care for you, and I care for your omega.”

Her soft eyes landed upon you, a small smile on her blood red lips. “Hello,” she greeted quietly, and she offered the blankets and pillow in her arms to you.

Your alpha snarled when the nurse took a step closer, entering the cell, and she froze. The knife flashed in the dimmed light, but he holstered it back into his boot while watching the nurse. “Spasibio, medsestra. Dlya neye.”

The nurse smiled sadly and gave the blankets and pillow to your alpha, while you watched on with wide eyes — entirely unused to seeing a medical personnel so close without a reason to harm you.

The click of her shoes sounded and echoed off of the cell floor and walls, but when she stood in the doorway once more, she turned around to look at you, then Soldat, and said, “YA tol'ko khotel by dat' vam oboikh bol'she.”

Darkness filled the dank interior when the locks clicked shut, leaving you dumbfounded and speechless as you looked to your alpha for reassurance. He was looking down at his hands and what lay in them — soft blues and greens in patches and squares on one blanket, while the other a light yellow and off white.

They were beautiful, unlike anything you had seen before behind the bars that held you, and your alpha looked to you with astonishment. “Malen’kiy, it is so soft.”

You reached out immediately, and he placed the blankets in your grip. His knees rushed over the floor of the cell to get back into the nest with you. “Oh, oh–” You choked back a sob once you felt the fluffy, plush blankets.

The first instinct you could not deny demanded you to rub your face against the material, to make sure they were real, and the material was even softer against the plains of your cheeks, jaw, and neck.

Next to you, Soldat rumbled quietly and waited for you to indulge yourself. The smile on his lips lit up his features unlike anything you had seen before. It made him seem younger, more human; less of a monster that they made of him.

Eventually, you curled up again in his lap, bringing the blankets and pillow with you. The pillow lay tucked against your middle, your elbow resting on the dip of it so your hand could rest over your alpha’s collarbone. Your ear rested against the plates of his left shoulder, the cool metal soothing against the warmth that bloomed over your skin from the desperate need to nest.

You both assumed the position you had before — Soldat’s left arm wrapped around your back, and his right around your front, his hand on your jaw to guide you close.

Only, this time, the soft, plush material of the two blankets covered you both, cocooning you in their warmth.

Never before had you felt so at ease, so safe in the cell that held you, even with your alpha present.

That nurse, whoever she may have been, was an angel, you were sure.

And as you stared at the taut, scarred skin of Soldat’s chest, you breathed a heavy sigh of relief at the feel of his own muscles finally relaxing with contentment.

Malen’kiy, mne zhal'– = Little One, I'm so sorry– Malen’kiy = Little One nyet = no tikho, ne dvigaysya = quiet, don't move spasibio, medsestra. dlya neye = thank you, nurse. for her ya tol'ko khotel by dat' vam oboikh bol'she = I only wish I could give you both more

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

107 notes · View notes

caramel-maveeato · 7 months

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ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇʟʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇᴢᴇꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ♡˚₊。。。

❧❤ SYNOPSIS: sacrifice is inevitable if victory was yearned for… ♡ Pairings/Love interest: So Mun x Fem!reader ♡ Genre: sight fluff, angst, hurt/slight to no comfort ♡ TW: blood, crying, wounds, gore, cursing, death, self-harm, spoilers for ss2 ep12. ♡ word count: 2.1k

Note: All characters originated from “The Uncanny Counter/Amazing Rumor” except for Y/n.

English is not my first language!!! Sorry in advance if I make any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

A gentle glimpse of sunset snuck through the window, bathing in his entrancing eyes like a pond of honey: “‘Til death do us part. I mean it.”

“Damnnn, you’re so cheesy today!” You snorted, nudging your shoulder against your boyfriend's, who was quick to retaliate with a playful flick on your forehead.

“Oh shush. But I’m serious. I won’t die, and you won’t die, and everyone on our team won’t die. That’s it, I’ll make sure we all survive no matter what.”

Despite his lighthearted tone, you could tell So Mun was beyond sincere about keeping his promise, and so were you. No matter how deadly it is waiting on the future path, everyone will make it out alive.

“Um-hm, am I that dear to you?”

He scoffed, but there was no sign of mockery or ridicule, only playfulness emerged: “Yes, you are. First time knowing?”

“Please, I’m almost sick of how many times you said you unequivocally adored me, like everyday morning alarms, y’know?” You giggled, wiggling your index finger out in front of his face and quickly withdrawing it when he faked biting you: “But I still want to hear you verify it one more time, is that too much of a request?”

“After you had the audacity to say you’re getting sick of it, I’m sorry to announce your request has been declined.”

“Noooo.”

“Yeeees.”

“I take back what I said, I could never get sick of how many times you express your cheesy little lovey-dovey words for me. Like everyday morning alarms, but that means I can’t wake up and function normally without them.”

“Switched up smoother than I expected.” His effort at holding back a laugh evaporated: “That’s it? You just gotta be all sweet again after the “damage” you’ve caused? Your attitude is getting out of hand.”

You snickered, swiftly stealing a peck on his cheek to demonstrate an “apology” you knew he’d happily accept: “Verify it one more time and I’ll shut my attitude up.”

“I’ll do what you asked, but don’t shut it up.” A honeyed kiss pressed down on the top of your head. His arms closed around your waist a little tighter, enfolding the intimacy of your afternoon cuddle session to its fullest: “When hell freezes over, that’s when I’ll let go of you, satisfied now?”

You grinned, not acknowledging a dusting of pink already saturated across your cheeks. No matter what your level of lactose tolerance was, his “cheese” was always perfect for you in terms of ingestion: “Satisfied.”

The group portrait tranquilly sat on your desk, smiling at you two through its frame with the same encouragement. You and So Mun were the only ones in the room, yet the sense of security it conveyed still made you feel complete.

“Everyone in this picture will make it until the end.”

“I already did my part, what about you? Still determined to be stubborn and not say it back?”

Confronted by a tilt of his head, which was one of his ridiculously adorable tactics to persuade you. You eventually let out a frisky sigh and laid your head on his shoulder, eyes closed under the serenity of being with your beloved other half:

“Alright, ‘til death do us part. I mean it too.”

‘Til death do us…

‘Til death…

‘Til…

Too many things happened in just a short span of time, but all enervation departed as the unrelenting battles now came to an end. Knowing he had brought such miracles summoning Hwang Pilgwang, the overwhelming pressure intruding on his heart finally rested.

For the first time in months, So Mun could finally escape the hushed corridors of his own mind.

Finally.

As much as his teammates adored him, they weren’t dramatic people. Yes, it was a near-death experience for all, but the entire team knew they had succeeded, so there was absolutely no reason for them to give him such pained looks. His random thought contorted into an affirmation that they weren’t crying because he remained passed out longer than supposed.

The revolting metallic smell in the room sickened him to the core, yet it stood no chance against how atrociously nauseous So Mun felt being greeted by teary faces as the first thing after he woke up.

For years he was never this afraid of his own voice, afraid of asking a question that might assemble answers he didn’t want to hear: “What’s wrong…?”

Only suppressed sniffles responded to him.

The ambiguity only added more confusion to his already fuzzy sight. As much as he tried to deny it, something within him had already enclasped the possible truth he’d choose death over knowing.

Why was everyone crying? And why were you lying there on Hana’s lap, eyes closed, unmoved?

“Noona, she, Y/n…” Fright clogged up inside his throat, making words stumble. The more he tried to stay calm, the more his composure shattered like a sand castle under ruthless waves: “What’s… what’s wrong with Y/n, why is she…?”

He could feel Jeokbong’s hand supporting his back as he lunged over to your side. The sudden outbreak of panic was dizzying, yet he paid no attention to it.

Reddened eyes of his teammates all ran away from him, obscuring themselves from a cry threatening to burst. So Mun inhaled shallowly, his own lungs betraying him with how torturously aching it was with each breath taken upon seeing your body now completely motionless.

The welcoming warmth of your fingers was replaced with a vague, yet disturbing coldness, benumbing his skin when he grabbed your hand. The shock he felt appeared no different from receiving a thousand strikes at once, inside his ear rang a quiet shriek of nothingness: “Ms. Chu, please tell me…”

At her name being mentioned, all the anguish she bit back for long unleashed in a choked snivel—a realization to So Mun that this wasn’t just some cruel, twisted nightmare he thought he was having.

Time seemed suspended, sealed within the shadow of horror.

This is not a dream.

“No, there must be…” He stammered, squeezing your hand as an expectation that you’d return the gesture like you’ve always done: “Ms. Chu, there must be a way to save her. You can heal her, right? Y/n is strong, with your help, she’ll wake up in no time.”

His voice died down when the woman closed her eyes, letting hopeless tears pour down her bruised face. He looked at Motak, then Jangmul, then Hana, then Jeokbong, one by one, desperately searching for a gleam of the dullest light he could at least clutch onto.

Nothing worked. What happened had already happened.

He took a closer look at your face, only to be pierced by a blade of emptiness. He had always loved to admire your sleeping face—so relaxing, so gentle, so peaceful. But not like this. No matter how loudly he called your name or how hard he shook your shoulders, you still lay there like a soulless doll, so close to him yet horrendously out of reach: “Y/n, wake up…. We won, we finally won…”

Calloused fingers stroked along your cheeks, looking for the slightest hint of miraculous movement. He was known to be good at performing miracles, but at the moment, even his miracles were impotent to save you.

So Mun had never felt so fucking useless.

“No, she will be okay…” The facade of incredulity crumbled and he found himself seizing you into his arms, clinging onto the thin thread of fictional faith despite already noticing your body lacked the familiar warmth he fell in love with: “Y/n will be okay. She—she promised me she’ll be fine, she’s just taking a nap.”

Hands patting on his back like a call to the truth and cries eventually broke out, yet So Mun was too senseless to care about any of them. His mind was too busy hunting for your heartbeat, but all he received was the echo of silence.

He pressed his hand on the side of your neck, eyes sore and fingers trembling lamentably at the absence of life. But the growling heartbeat of his own gave him hope—he could feel its rhythm through his digits. That could be your pulse, right, that must be your pulse, he can feel it.

“She will be okay, we’re okay. I promised all of us would—”

The mutters of your name sank in the weight of disbelief, of false reassurance. His own tears wracked his body, dropping and dampening a piece of your soiled tracksuit like rain that slowly blasted into thunderstorms.

He stared blankly into the lifelessness you were holding, dirt stains and blood-dried cuts of yours dyed his fingers with monstrous pain. Suddenly, his own existence felt alien, as if he were an outsider peeking into a world he didn’t belong in.

So much for “everyone will make it until the end,” now what?

He is a liar.

He is a fucking liar.

For one of the rarest times in his life, he regretted trying. So Mun knew exactly what it felt like to regret. Each time, there was an explosive outrage at the injustice that had befallen him. But this one was the most destructive.

Maybe Ma Juseok was right—what was the point in risking his life to save others? He tried so hard and worked so hard just for fate to repay all of these fucking efforts by destroying everything he had.

A lie. Maybe it really was a lie.

Maybe this goddamn self of his was a lie.

His distorted reflection spun and spun and spun like an annoying bug that kept buzzing despite numerous attempts to kill it. He had no idea where he was or how much time had passed, but it felt like an eternity knowing you hadn’t reached Yung. Just where are you? You didn’t vanish from the final battle’s impact, did you?

So Mun needed to see you again, or he’d go fucking crazy.

The palpable heaviness in the air suffocated him. So Mun never hated his own reflection before, not until right now.

Colors deformed into the entrance of an abyss he wished to just jump into—black of darkness, white of Yung, muted grey of guilt.

And red, too.

“So Mun! That’s enough!!”

Frightened yellings and sounds of falling glasses slashed on his ears. Yet So Mun couldn’t quite hear or feel anything, not even the hideous pain he just put himself through.

Footsteps congested the bathroom he was in, tears that once dried up erupted again. Hana grasped his wrist tightly, almost fearfully, and god, the warmth exuded nearly drove him mad with how much he missed yours.

“Stop hurting yourself, you know it doesn’t change anything! She’s gone!” The crack in Hana’s voice flooded his eyes. They couldn’t even pronounce your name around him, afraid of how much it might trigger him.

Jeokbong’s cries in the distance and Ms. Chu’s pleas were helpless to distract the profound grief, more like a bargain for fate to rewrite itself: “Let it out, but please, you know it also hurts me to see you like this!”

The woman emanated a green radiance to envelope his hand, trying to console the blood-soaked skin he created himself from a brutal contact made against the mirror, tiny fragments of sharpness punctured on each of his knuckles. Shards warped together with flesh in a grotesque mess, crimson swathed the once-tidied floor and the paleness of his skin. It hurt his eyes. It hurt everyone's eyes.

You used to say he looked good in red. Red tracksuits, red hoodies, red blazers. But you hated it when he was covered in the redness of blood. Does this mean he just failed you again?

“I’m sorry…”

Was he saying this to his teammates or to you? He had no fucking clue. But the only thing he could recognize was how much effort it took to breathe, he didn’t feel like himself inside his own skin anymore when everything around him seemed fulminated.

Strong arms whooshed him into an embrace, cramming So Mun’s hot tears and muffled sobs into a reliable shoulder. No words were spoken, but Motak’s bellowing heartbeat was already a silent bawl.

Losing a loved one was like having life’s chapters torn out, leaving an unfinished tale with ragged ends that never fully fit in tandem. It can recover, and he can heal. Just not at the moment.

Shattered pieces of blood-drenched mirror reflected a history that repeated itself. Again, again, and again.

Winter was just gone by, hell didn’t freeze over. But the reality So Mun cherished still collapsed on that day.

[Tag List]✿⌦ @slytherinshua (feel free to notify me if you want to be on the tag list)

Thanksgiving is near so here’s angst I guess 🫶🏻 FLUFF AFTER THIS I PROMISE

#the uncanny counter x reader #the uncanny counter #unncanny counter #so mun x reader #so mun #do hana #chu mae ok #ga mo tak #na jeok bong #choi jang mul #kdrama x reader #kdrama #pookie please come home 🏠

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witch-hazels-musings · 11 months

Text

Chivalry

warning: princess!reader, knight!character (slight AU* Prince and Princess) | sfw | age mention: 23 (Reader) | angst* (due to different social statuses, reader confinement/isolation, reader is kidnapped & rescued (bound, eyes covered, put in a small box), kaeya is beaten T.T), comfort* (happy ending yayayay) | forbidden love | pre-relationship | kissing!

Knight!Kaeya x fm reader | anthology (Albedo, Jean - coming soon)

You hung your head low, avoided the piercing eyes of the nosey, curious bystanders who happened to be around every time you were. Your life was placed on a pedestal, cast in a light so bright you wanted to shed your skin and melt away.

To the kingdom you were its ‘gift from the heavens’. A miracle, a good omen. A precious gem whose luster should never be tarnished. And for that you were locked away.

You were more like a prisoner than a princess. Albeit a gilded one.

You were already trapped but as you walked to the grand hall with an escort of polished maids, you were headed to suffocation.

“Sir Kaeya Alberich, do you vow to fulfil your duty of protecting the Princess no matter the stakes.” You watched as the King, your father, towered above the blue-haired knight who knelt before him. You hardly paid attention. Instead, you put on your practiced face while your mind ran through the fields of the kingdom you’d never see. Something moved to your right. Automatically you straightened your back and lifted your head at the feeling of your mothers sharp eyes.

“My vow is my seal, your majesty,” the knight spoke. His hand moving to his chest but he didn’t raise his head.

“You are not originally a ward of my kingdom, for this reason I see fit to mark any failure as punishable by death.”

His statement hung heavy in the hall. Murmurs from nobles passed around ivy decorated pillars, gasps rose in front of golden dishes holding food no-one touched. Your chest tightened; why would anyway agree to those terms. One person couldn’t possibly be that important. You frowned and hoped your mother didn’t notice.

“I understand,” the knight said and you fought back an expression of disgust.

“So be it,” the King snapped his fingers and the room stilled. You rose from the cushioned chair beside the Queen while a maid fussed with your long, elegant dress. “Rise, Sir Alberich.”

Kaeya Alberich lifted off his knees and you took him in for the first time. His complexion was tanned, he had waist-length hair that was tied off to the side, the ponytail falling over his left shoulder in waves of cobalt and azure. His armor of silver reflected the dangling crystals that hung about the gold-lined windows in the hall. Over his right eye was a black eyepatch that was shrouded by his bangs. Kaeya was, without a doubt, handsome, and you found the juxtaposition of his hue against the narrow, red rug beneath him striking.

The knight made eye contact with you so you looked at your hands.

The King called for you to stand at his side. As trained, you moved like fluid to reach him, made sure your expression was serene like the paintings of your likeness lining the castle walls. “From henceforth, you will be the sword, the shield, the protector of our kingdoms greatest asset. Should harm befall her, so too shall it you.”

“I will guard her with every breath,” he affirmed with a nod but when he lifted it just enough to look your way, you swore he winked at you.

The room erupted in polite applause. You felt the hand of your mother against your back as she glided down from her seat as if to display her love for her daughter. You, however, looked on and did your best not to cry.

After the ceremony ended, you were escorted back to your bedchambers with one extra in tow. Your new personal knight walked silently behind the entourage of attendants. His armor clinging and echoing in the hall was the only indication he was even there.

The labyrinth between the main castle and your hidden quarters made the already oppressive atmosphere thicker. Your gown was thin but you felt weighted down by it.

“Wait here,” the head maid instructed your new guardian before she closed the door in his face and assisted you with changing. Your mother had instructed them to never keep you in the same clothes for long. There were days you’d have on upwards to nine different outfits just to satisfy her. The Queen’s own personal doll.

When they were finished, you were wearing a flowing gown that spilled out behind you when you walked. It showed bits of your back, which you hated, and had strands of translucent fabric coming off your chest connecting to golden bracelets around your wrists. It was a hue of your least favorite color. You looked at your reflection and tried to be happy.

The head maid shooed the others to other duties while she took it upon herself to let the patient knight back in.

“You are not allowed to be close to the princess,” she barked as he stepped into the room; too far for her liking. Kaeya looked down at her which made her fluff up like a mother hen. If there was anymore more protective than Lila, you didn’t want to know.

“It’s alright, Lila, I’m sure he was vetted thoroughly. Were you not?” You appeared from behind a tall, viridian green divider that had carved scenes of landscapes you’d seen only in picture books. The shoes one of the maids tied to your feet clacked against the marble floors, drawing the knight and your maid’s attention. Sir Alberich took you in for so long you had to cross your arms and cough to get him to answer you.

“I can assure you I will bring no harm to the Princess,” he answered, more to Lila than to you but his focus never left you. Suddenly, he bowed for a proper introduction, “Kaeya Alberich, pleased to make your acquaintance. As professed prior, I will ensure your safety or my life take me.”

You rolled your eyes, “Please, I’m not worth that level of commitment.”

“Princess!” Lila screamed as she rushed over to you. She took your hand and smacked it, “do not say such things,” she hit your fingers again making the tips sting. “I will not hear it! What would your mothe-”

You watched as Sir Alberich snatched Lila’s wrist before it could fall one more time. The action stole your breath and made both you and your maid stumble.

“Ah-ah, this won’t do,” he tisked, a gentle smile on his lips even though the eye you could see said something different. “I can’t let you continue with such violent actions. If you wish to hit someone, I will take her place,” Sir Alberich offered his hand by placing it above your own. Lila, understandably frustrated and taken aback released you before taking several steps away.

“I-I will check on your mid-day meal ,my lady,” she huffed, adjusting her skirt as she stumbled toward the door.

“None for me?” He called to her but she was already gone. “How cruel,” he chuckled, turning his attention to your warm fingers. Using a gentle touch, he lifted them. One palm above and below and soon the heat started to fade into a cool, localized chill.

“How’s that?” He asked. You were painfully aware how close he was to you. A shiver ran up your arms.

“F-fine.” You’d never met someone who could manipulate the elements like this. Of course you’d heard of vision users, but no one you’d come into contact with held one. If they did, it was kept a secret.

“Delightful,” he hummed as he looked at you. “Mm, that’s better,” he said as he removed one of his hands so he could see your fingers. He had gloves on but you could still feel the warmth of his palm.

“T-Thank you, Sir Alberich.” Pulling your hand to your chest, you tried to hide the way it trembled. When was the last time a man touched you?

“Kaeya,” he corrected, catching you off guard.

“I’m sorry?”

“Call me Kaeya, Princess,” he explained, emphasizing a little too sweetly on the title you had. The corner of his mouth lifted higher the more uncomfortable you became.

“I ... That would be improper. B-Besides,” you shook your head, taking another step back not noticing you were nearing the shallow steps that led further into your bedroom. “I barely know you.”

“Hmm, that may be true,” he said taking a step toward you. Rubbing his chin, he thought for a moment. “A compromise then.”

“... compromise?”

“In public you can address me however you’d like. Sir Alberich, Sir Knight, my loyal protector,” he teased, playfulness written all over his face. He chuckled and your cheeks grew warm, “but in private, call me, Kaeya.”

“I couldn’t --” you stammered, moving backward as he approached. It was strange, you didn’t feel threatened but you somehow knew it was dangerous to let him get closer.

“It seems we are in private right now, Princess,” he noted, scanning the room. “Come on, give it a try.”

“Sir - Sir Alb-” you put out your hand as you fell backward, tripping over the steps you forgot existed. Unsurprisingly, he caught you. His hand wrapped expertly around your arm, the other pressed against your lower back as he pulled you away from danger. When you were stable, he let you stand on your own.

“What were you saying?” He smirked, not letting you escape even though he technically wasn’t holding you hostage.

Your fingers dug into the fabric about your chest. Your heart was pounding and you felt light-headed. Nervous, you scanned the room but found it was only you and your knight.

“K-Kaeya,” you mumbled. Saying his name felt like a violation of etiquette. It made your ears ring but when you stole a peek at him, your world shifted color.

Kaeya reached for your hand, his thumb brushed over your fingers, the fingers he had protected moments ago. “My Princess,” he whispered above them before placing a kiss to the tips of your nails. He lingered there for what felt like forever. You found it hard to breathe. “There, easier than you expected, hmm?”

He rose to his full height and you pulled your hand away. The sound of rushing footsteps, no doubt belonging to your head maid, echoed just outside the hall.

“If y-you’ll excuse me,” you stammered and practically ran to the washroom praying, for once, someone would give you five minutes of privacy.

Day’s turned into weeks, weeks into months, and you and Kaeya settled into an easy rhythm. Or as easy as it could be. Most of your days were boring. You weren’t allowed to wander around the castle without permission. Even going to the private library had to be passed through channel after channel. You thought getting a personal guard would make it easier for you to live a ‘normal’ life; what a lie that turned out to be.

You hated the rules, hated the expectations; so, naturally, a person born without them would find this secluded lifestyle miserable - Kaeya never complained. Not once did you see him huff or roll his eyes at the state of your life. Instead, he moved about it with ease. Made jokes and had fun even if you found it difficult. He seemed to even have fun with you. The days didn’t seem so lonely with him around.

Maybe whatever duty he had before being whisked away to be your knight was tedious or dreadful - this, probably, seemed like a walk in the park.

Nothing bad ever happened save for an accidental cut when being fitted for a new dress, of which twenty new ones were on their way, or a burn from eating something too hot. Otherwise there were rumored threats that came your way. Threats you weren’t aware of until your father dished out hoards of the kingdoms wealth on a suitable protector for you. Kaeya was not the first knight you were given in your life.

Once, you stumbled on one of the ‘so-called’ letters when you were waiting for your mother to finish getting ready. It was sticking out of the edge of her journal. Your heart was racing as you read it, not because of the contents, more for being caught with something you weren’t supposed to see.

Your parents shielded you from every possible threat but they couldn’t understand how that level of protection harmed you mentally. Their obsession with your safety had turned into chains, their promises of a good life were rose-tinted and flimsy. They wanted a child so badly, but they forgot why the moment you were born.

Slowly, you pulled your attention away from the book in your lap. You’d read the story multiple times, ran your fingers over the pages that had been stolen so you wouldn’t be hurt by the scenes that played out on them. You tried to imagine what the characters went through, what occurred during their forced time-skip. Your ideas changed over the years until you realized it didn’t matter anyway.

Gazing through the thick, crystal glass in your conservatory, you watched sheets of water glide over the other side. You reached out and touch it but felt only cold. Around you the aroma of exotic flowers filled the space, forgotten food lay untouched on a silver tray. There were ample places for you to sit, but you always chose the one closest to the windows. Maybe one day you’d finally break through them.

“Princess,” Kaeya’s voice interrupted your thoughts. When you twisted to look at him he froze in the doorway. His brows bunched up, eyes narrowed as he made his way toward you. With ease he sat in the empty space in front of you. The long day bed creaked at his weight, you moved your legs to avoid touching him.

Kaeya pulled off his glove.

Your gaze grew distant.

Kaeya cupped your cheek and slowly brushed away your tears.

You faded away.

And while you slept beside him, he looked through the distorted glass as his bare fingers brushed through your well-kept hair.

On the night of the new moon, everything changed.

You awoke to find yourself tied up and alone, headed to a place you didn’t know. The threats that were just rumors had finally come to fruition. While the kingdom slept, infiltrators acted their plan.

You overheard their conversations through the bindings they tied around your head. Bleeding arguments seeped through the wrappings you were sure had torn out chunks of your hair. For a while you thought it was a dream until rough hands picked you up and threw you against splintering wood. Whoever they were, they were in a hurry.

“L-Lock it already!” One stuttered, their tone tense and anxious.

“I’m trying,” another said and soon you heard the sound of a lock falling in place. Lifting up, you rammed your head into the celling and fell back down with a heavy thud. Were you in some kind of crate? You stretched but couldn’t extend your legs completely. If your hands weren’t tied behind your back you might be able to feel around. For now you’d do your best to loosen the bindings.

“-- money --!”

“Hahah, we’re --- good for ---”

“--- keep her who knows --- much - make -”

Straining to hear, you picked up even less of their conversation than before. From what you could gather, they just wanted to hold you long enough to get a hefty ransom. You hoped that’s all they wanted. At some point you began to shiver the longer the cart you were in rocked back and forth.

“-- that?” The cart slowed causing you to roll into the side of your small enclosure.

“huh?”

“-- hear th-- AH!” Horrible cries erupted around you. The world outside was so foreign to you that every nightmarish thought you ever had ran through your mind. Their screams grew louder, more guttural, until they stopped as soon as they started.

Tossing in the small space, you wondered if you should make noise or not. If these thieves were attacked by other thieves, would they search the cart only to find you? Would they look over whatever container you were in and let you die alone and afraid. You struggled against your bindings - if it was another threat, having your hands ready might give you the edge you needed.

The cart jostled violently. The creak of a door sounded more like metal bending by enormous force. The lock you heard earlier strained against something before shattering. You scratched up your arms but managed to free your hands. Shifting to your back, you prepared your legs and hands for a fight.

A gust of chilly night air hit you and you launched forward hopeful you were attacking whatever had come to steal your life. Strong hands grabbed you so you thrashed against them.

“GET OFF! LET GO OF ME!” You shouted in the darkness until something ripped the binding off and you could see the face of your attacker.

Kaeya’s face appeared in the shade of the night sky. His complexion looked wrong, unlike him, there was panic in his eyes that didn’t ease even when you said his name. You relaxed, looked past him and saw an arm extended in the dirt.

With expert strength, Kaeya scooped you up. His body shaking as he held you to his chest, as he walked away from the cart so you couldn’t see what he had done to those who stole you from him, as his hand pressed against the back of your head. Your feet dangled over the musty earth while your arms wrapped around his neck.

“You’re alright,” he breathed against into your hair. Repeated the words until they became nothing but mumbling noise.

“You came for me,” you said and tightened your grip.

“You thought that I wouldn’t?” His question had the cadence of a joke but his trembling voice betrayed him. Carefully he set you on the ground and began to look you over. His jaw clenched when he saw the state of your wrists, his eye turned a shade darker when he noticed the cut on your cheek.

“They’re just small injuries, that’s it,” you tried to reassure him but that didn’t seem to work. He was raging, you could tell.

Tenderly, you brushed the hair on his brow. You meant to comfort him but instead you did something else. Kaeya pushed you back until you bumped into the sturdy tree-trunk. His fingers snagged your wrist before brining it to his lips so he could kiss the bruises starting to form.

“... kaeya ...!” you pushed against him, confused and overwhelmed by the sensation. He had been touchy with you before. A wandering hand at your back, a playful shake of your head as he held your chin when you didn’t listen, sat a bit too close while you were working on something, but this. Never this.

Kaeya grabbed your other wrist. Bounced back and forth with his affections while you slid further down the tree.

It was difficult to breathe. Why was he doing this?

“ ... sir ... sir ka-”

“Don’t say it,” he pleaded, appearing in front of your face so fast your head bounced back, startled. “Not yet,” Kaeya leaned in and kissed you, his hands holding your own to his chest while he pushed into your lips with his. You felt dizzy, heart fluttered.

When he finally pulled back you were gasping. It was so hard to focus on anything but him.

“I serve you --” he whispered above your lips, the caress of them as he spoke tickled and made you shiver. “Tell me to stop.” A shock went down your spine. Looking at his face you noticed how his gaze was locked on your lips. “Tell me -” he pleaded, desperate, desire dripping of him. You knew what to say, knew what was expected but knowing the feel of his lips made your will distorted.

“d-- s-stop --” the words bubbled on your lips. You heard them but it didn’t sound like you; that wasn’t what you thought you’d say. Kaeya moved closer only to pull back moments later. You stumbled at the absence of him and tried to catch your breath.

Kaeya, jaw clenching, ran his hands through his hair before turning his back to you. For a moment, the two of you were silent. Composing yourselves with whatever strength you had.

“We aren’t far from the castle.” He eventually said, voice back to normal. The honeyed tone covering each word. “We need to return now before the King sends out his whole army.” He turned, extending his hand toward you. “Can you walk?”

“ ... yes.”

“Ready when you are,” he said and you took his hand even though it was torturous to your heart. What did his actions really mean -- and how could either of you go back now that you knew what the other tasted like?

The two of you returned you to the castle in the early morning but the comfort of the stone walls soon turned into a nightmare as royal guards ripped the two of you apart and drug Kaeya to be reprimanded while you struggled in vain to stop them.

Your mother held your bruised wrist so tightly you swore it would break all the while you’d be forced to watch as several guards beat Kaeya. You weren’t supposed to be here, you’d broken every rule to fight your way to him but he - he was worth it.

“STOP!” You shouted, clawing at your mothers wrist, tearing beads and jewels off her sleeve. “FATHER STOP THIS!” Lila, tears in her eyes, rushed toward you to try and pull you back through the door you burst through moments ago.

She was conflicted by rules and love, “Princess, you mus’nt.”

“He didn’t hurt me. FATHER PLEASE!”

Your heart was shattering, you felt weak and strong at the same time. Like a caged animal who sees the light of freedom, you shook against the hands that held you back.

“Mother, please --” you gazed up at the Queen whose expression was twisted. She was the only one powerful enough to stop the king but in the twenty-three years you’d known her, she never once went against him. “Mom, look at me please,” she did, the corner of her eyes glistening, “If you care for me at all -- please.”

You could hear the sounds of every contact, every brutal landing against Kaeya. He never made a noise.

Torn, conflicted, your mother’s grip eased which gave you the chance to make a break for it. Without thinking, with cries and screams chasing after you, you ran toward the man who gave you his life so you could give him yours.

Shoving past the guards as they swung, one of their blunted weapons made contact with your shoulder but you didn’t care. Kaeya’s eyes went wide. You threw your arms out toward him. He did the same and caught you and brought you below him, shielding you from the blows that followed.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!” Your fathers voice echoed, causing you to tighten your grip around your knights neck. He pressed his bloodied palm against your back and lifted his head. You peeked to look at him only for your your blood run cold at the expression on Kaeya’s face.

His eyepatch had fallen off. You could see the sharpness of his eyes. One rich in royal blue while the other a paler white, an old scar slowly turning red from a cut at his hairline. He had a split lip and another cut against his nose. You bit back a sob at the sate of him while everyone else took several steps back.

“Release my daughter,” the King rumbled, stealing a sword from one of the guards.

“She came to me,” Kaeya bit back, aura growing darker at the sight of the weapon.

“Daughter.”

“I won’t leave.”

“Enough of this! Do as I say or I will --”

“Will what?!” Everything boiled up at once. The floodgates opened and you let them flow, “Keep me in a cage for the rest of my life?” You adjusted so you could look at the royal family, at the guards who were unsure what to do, at the maid who raised you hiding behind her hands, but wherever you looked, you never let go of him, “My life is already one of a prisoner. Do what you want with it! I was certainly never the owner of it - so take it! Take my life!”

“Hu-husband,” your mother took a tentative step toward your father but he shook her hand away.

You continued even though your throat was tight, even though your arms trembled and you could feel the sticky , sickly heat of Kaeya’s blood seep into your gown, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is - I will be obedient but, please, let Kaeya go.”

Everyone fell silent, even Kaeya who’s breathing was ragged in your ear. He opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted.

“Why would I do that?” The King asked, knuckles turning whiter the longer he held onto his sword.

You choked down a sob, “Because I love him.”

The truth was a weight off your chest but would it make a difference? A princess falling for a knight -- there was no precedent for it.

“You - love - him?” Your father swallowed every word.

“I do, father.”

The king scoffed but before he could lift his sword, your mothers palm pressed against his chest, “what about you, knight?”

Kaeya, without warning, moved to stand and you helped him by pressing your hands against his chest being careful not to touch the bruises he had. Fear and worry gripped you - what was he doing?

He wrapped his arm around your back and held you too him while he crafted a sword out of frost in his other. He panted, wheezed and spat out blood from his mouth but through it all his chin remained lifted.

“Give me nothing but her love and I will revel in it for the remainder of my days.”

“You love my daughter?”

“With every breath.”

You couldn’t stop the tears as they cascaded down your cheeks. You thought it when he kissed you in the dark, hoped it meant what you wanted, but hearing him say it ---

Desperate, you looked toward your mother.

The Queen stepped between the King and the two of you, her eyes softer than they’d ever been. For a moment you recalled the warmth of those eyes as if her arms were holding you once again.

“Sir Alberich, you are herby unbound from your duty. The vows you once took are dissolved.” She held up her hand, her husband held his tongue. “For your service, and the rescue of our only he- for the rescue of my beloved daughter, I will grant you one request. Whatever that may be.”

Kaeya dissolved his weapon, you adjusted under his arm to keep him steady. He was let go of his vows. Relieved, you couldn’t help but smile at him. Kaeya looked at you then back to the Queen and the supportive, if not by force, King.

“You will grant me anything I wish?” Kaeya confirmed and the Queen nodded. Grabbing your hand, he took a step forward, “Release her.” He said with determination as he pulled you in front of him.

You twisted, shocked at his request, “Kaeya --?” Confusion washing over your face, he didn’t hesitate to explain himself.

“Ah, you haven’t realized it yet,” he mused as his thumb ran across you the cut on your cheek, “all your life you’ve been viewed as something to be won, a commodity, but that’s not what you are. I do not want you caged, bound like some trophy to put on the shelf. I will have you, Princess, but by your choice alone.” Searching his eyes, you landed on every bruise, cut, and scrape he accrued for your sake. “Let her live, that is my wish,” he doubled-down as he gazed at you the way you always wished someone would.

Kaeya saw you ---

“Granted,” your mother’s voice broke and when you looked toward her you saw her crying. All the fear of losing her daughter was finally outweighed with the understanding that holding her with bars of protection had nearly done just that. “Whether you wish to keep or throw away your title, I will - I will support you, whatever you wish to be. We will be here,” she expressed through her tears.

You never knew the bite of real shackles but you swore your arms and legs felt lighter at her words.

You were free. Free.

Stepping toward Kaeya, you made your commitment, “you say it is my choice,” you repeated with a glistening, cheek-straining smile, “but, I believe, Sir Alberich, you must know the choice was never my own. Certainly, my heart would surely break if it didn’t belong to you.”

Kaeya leaned toward your lips, “I thought we agreed on Kaeya, hmm?”

“You’re right, Kaeya.”

“That’s better,” he hummed as his lips pressed against yours and you were filled with the overpowering taste of iron and utter devotion.

The story is your own - however you want to have it

Just remember to live

Live to the fullest

The both of you --

You, and your beloved Knight, Kaeya Alberich.

#hazel works #genshin impact #genshin x female reader #x fm reader #genshin impact x fm reader #kaeya x fem!reader #kaeya x female reader #genshin kaeya x fm reader

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simpforfandom231 · 4 months

Text

I don't forget too well PT5

Here you gooo

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Y/N clung onto the fabric of Renée's shirt, fingers entwined with the soft material, it became an unspoken tether—the tangible assurance that Renée was there, an anchor in the tempest of emotions. The room, once marred by the echoes of panic, settled into a tranquil haven where the shared heartbeat of two souls resonated.

Renée, sensitive to every nuance in Y/N's demeanor, continued to offer comforting words. "You're safe, princess. I'm right here with you. You can hold onto me as tight as you need."

Y/N, eyes heavy with residual exhaustion, nodded faintly. The rhythmic rise and fall of Renée's chest beneath her touch became a lullaby—a melodic reminder that safety and solace existed in the contours of the shared embrace.

As the night wore on, the ebb and flow of emotions gradually gave way to a sense of calm. Y/N, still clinging onto Renée's shirt, found a fragile peace in the reassurance of touch. The hospital room, once a canvas for distress, transformed into a sanctuary where the alchemy of love worked its quiet miracles.

Renée, mindful of Y/N's need for rest, whispered tenderly, "Close your eyes, babe. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Y/N, succumbing to the soothing undertones of Renée's voice, allowed weariness to claim her. As sleep beckoned, the grip on Renée's shirt loosened, replaced by the gentle cadence of even breaths—a silent testament to the surrender of vulnerability in the arms of trust.

In the quietude of the night, Renée watched over Y/N, the room bathed in the soft glow of hospital lights. The serenity of the moment, punctuated by the muted sounds of medical equipment, was a fragile tableau—a snapshot of resilience woven into the fabric of shared experiences.

After a while, Y/N, finding solace in the cocoon of Renée's presence, succumbed to the embrace of slumber. Renée, still cradling Y/N in her arms, allowed her own weariness to take hold. The chair, a makeshift sanctuary, cradled them both in the lullaby of rest.

As Y/N's breathing steadied into the cadence of deep sleep, Renée, too, felt the tendrils of exhaustion claim her. The room, once a witness to the tumultuous currents of distress, now hosted a tableau of tranquility—their intertwined figures a testament to the endurance of love in the face of mental health challenges.

The night, with its tapestry of emotions and shared vulnerabilities, unfolded into a silent symphony of rest.

As the dawn painted gentle hues across the hospital room, Y/N stirred, a gradual return from the depths of slumber. The residual tendrils of panic had loosened their grip, and with the reassurance of Renée's presence, a sense of grounding permeated the air.

Renée, still holding the space of the makeshift sanctuary, observed as Y/N's eyes fluttered open, the first rays of sunlight casting a warm glow on her face. The room, once cocooned in the hushed serenade of the night, now embraced the promise of a new day.

"Babe," Renée whispered, a tender smile playing on her lips. "How are you feeling?"

Y/N, blinking away the remnants of sleep, gazed into Renée's eyes, a mixture of vulnerability and resilience reflected in her own. "I... I think I'm okay now. Thank you for staying with me."

Renée traced a gentle pattern on Y/N's arm, a silent acknowledgment of the shared journey they navigated. "You never have to thank me for being here. We're in this together, remember?"

Encouraged by Renée's soothing words, Y/N began to shift into a more upright position. The room, now bathed in the soft morning light, revealed a subtle transformation—a shift from the shadows of distress to the tentative emergence of a new day.

"I was thinking," Renée began, "maybe we can start the day with something light. How about a bit of breakfast? I can ask the nurse for some yogurt or fruit."

Y/N, though still in the process of reconnecting with the present, nodded appreciatively. "That sounds good. I could use something light."

Renée, ever attuned to Y/N's needs, pressed the call button to summon the nurse. As they waited, she continued to provide words of comfort. "You did great last night, love. Taking it one step at a time is progress, and I'm proud of you."

The nurse, responding promptly to the call, entered the room with a warm smile. Renée explained their request for a light breakfast, and soon, a tray with yogurt and fresh fruit was set before Y/N.

As Y/N tentatively took a spoonful of yogurt, Renée observed with an encouraging smile. "Small steps, babe. You're doing amazing."

Y/N, though still navigating the nuances of returning to a semblance of normalcy, felt the nourishment and support seep into her being. The hospital room, once a crucible of distress, now witnessed a subtle metamorphosis—a reclamation of agency and well-being.

Renée, sensing the shift in Y/N's energy, engaged in light conversation to further anchor her in the present. They discussed plans for the day, shared anecdotes that brought smiles, and occasionally, Renée would sprinkle the conversation with affectionate nicknames, each endearment a testament to the intimacy they cultivated.

As the morning unfolded, Y/N continued to eat small bites, each spoonful a victory in the journey toward recovery. Renée, a steadfast presence by her side, became the architect of a narrative where love, resilience, and the promise of renewal converged.

Renée, perched on the edge of the hospital bed, gently broached the subject with Y/N, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and understanding. "Babe, I know it might be tough, but the psychologist is here to help. It's just a conversation, and you don't have to face it alone. I'll be right here with you."

Y/N, still navigating the delicate process of reintegration, fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. The prospect of delving into the recesses of her mind, even with the support of Renée, felt like a daunting task. "I... I just don't know if I'm ready for this, Renée. It's like opening a door to everything I've been trying to keep closed."

Renée, recognizing the vulnerability in Y/N's admission, scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I get it, princess. Facing those doors can be scary, but you don't have to do it alone. We can take it at your pace, and I'll be right here holding your hand through it all."

The room, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sunlight, became a sanctuary where the intricacies of mental health were laid bare—an unspoken understanding shared between two souls navigating the labyrinth of emotions.

Y/N, conflicted yet appreciative of Renée's unwavering support, finally met Renée's gaze. "I'm just scared, you know? Scared of what might come up, scared of being vulnerable."

Renée pressed a tender kiss to Y/N's forehead, her words a soothing melody. "It's okay to be scared, baby. Vulnerability is a strength, not a weakness. And I'll be right here, holding you up. We'll face it together, one step at a time."

The psychologist's visit loomed on the horizon, and as the afternoon sunlight painted patterns on the hospital room floor, Renée and Y/N engaged in a quiet dialogue. They reminisced about shared moments, shared dreams, and whispered promises of a future where healing and growth intertwined.

Renée, with a delicate touch, ventured to ask, "What if we make a deal? You share as much or as little as you're comfortable with. And afterward, we can treat ourselves to something nice—maybe your favorite dessert or a cozy movie night?"

Y/N, considering the proposition, felt a flicker of warmth amid the trepidation. "A deal, huh? Okay, but only if you promise to be my anchor through it all."

Renée grinned, a beacon of reassurance. "Deal. I'll be right by your side, holding you steady."

The morning sun painted a warm glow through the hospital room window, signaling the beginning of a new day—a day that held the promise of small triumphs and renewed strength. Y/N, having spent the previous days in the confined space of the bed, decided it was time for a change, a tentative step toward reclaiming a sense of normalcy.

Renée, ever attuned to Y/N's needs, noticed the restlessness in her eyes. "How about we try something different today, love? Maybe a shower to freshen up a bit?"

Y/N hesitated, her gaze flickering between the thought of a shower and the apprehension of facing her own wounds. "I... I don't know, Renée. What if it hurts? What if I can't handle it?"

Renée, sitting beside Y/N, reached for her hand, fingers intertwining in a reassuring grasp. "Hey, we'll take it slow, okay? I'll be right there with you, and we'll make sure it's comfortable. No rush."

Encouraged by Renée's gentle reassurance, Y/N nodded slowly. The decision to get out of bed and into the shower felt like an expedition into uncharted territory, a terrain marked by both physical and emotional challenges.

With Renée's supportive presence, Y/N mustered the courage to stand, the first step toward breaking free from the confines of the hospital bed. Renée, offering a steadying hand, guided Y/N toward the en-suite bathroom. The journey, though short, carried the weight of significance—a symbolic stride toward recovery.

As they entered the bathroom, the sterile scent of soap and warmth enveloped them. The shower, a space typically associated with routine, now held the potential for a cathartic experience. Renée adjusted the water temperature, ensuring it was just right—neither too hot nor too cold.

Y/N, still apprehensive, gazed at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The fear of confronting her wounds, the anxiety of feeling the water against her skin, threatened to overshadow the prospect of relief.

Renée, sensing the internal struggle, stepped closer, arms wrapping around Y/N in a comforting embrace. "We'll take this one step at a time, okay? You're in control, and I'm right here with you."

With gentle guidance, Renée helped Y/N undress, the vulnerability of exposed scars momentarily eclipsed by the tenderness of trust. Y/N, now standing in front of the shower, hesitated before stepping in.

The water, a cascade of warmth, embraced Y/N's body. The initial contact brought a mixture of sensations—familiar and unfamiliar, soothing and unsettling. Renée, standing close, began to softly speak, a distraction woven into words.

"Remember that time we got caught in the rain during that summer festival?" Renée reminisced, her voice a gentle melody. "We danced like nobody was watching, soaked to the bone. This is just like that, an intimate dance with the water."

Y/N, amidst the subtle distraction, began to relax. The initial tension gradually melted away as the water offered a therapeutic touch. Renée, mindful of every nuance, continued to weave tales and share snippets of their shared history, creating a comforting atmosphere.

As the shower progressed, Renée carefully guided Y/N through the process, each moment an act of tenderness. The unveiling of wounds, met with trepidation, became a testament to the strength that resided in vulnerability.

And as the water cascaded down, washing away not just physical remnants but also the echoes of distress, Y/N felt a subtle shift—a resurgence of agency and a newfound understanding that, in the realm of healing, every small step mattered.

As the warm water cascaded over Y/N's body, a hesitant calm settled in the small enclave of the shower. Renée, attuned to the delicate dance of emotions, moved with measured grace. Yet, as she reached for Y/N's wrists to gently guide them under the soothing stream, a subtle ripple of unease threaded through the stillness.

The water, once a symbol of comfort, now bore the hue of vulnerability—a swirl of red that mirrored the remnants of healing wounds. Y/N's breath caught, and the initial tranquility fractured, replaced by the stark reality of scars submerged in a sea of crimson.

Renée, immediately sensing the shift in Y/N's demeanor, tightened her grip on Y/N's hands, steadying the tremor that threatened to escalate. "Hey, love, it's okay. The water is just carrying away what doesn't belong there. It's a part of the healing process."

But the red water, an inadvertent canvas of pain, served as a visual trigger, dredging up memories and emotions that Y/N had yet to fully confront. The panic, a relentless force, clawed at the edges of composure.

Renée, her voice a lifeline, continued to speak with a soothing cadence. "Breathe with me, babe. In and out. We're in this together, remember? The water is just helping us wash away what's holding you back."

As Y/N focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of their breaths, a tentative calm settled over the shower once more. Renée, recognizing the fragility of the moment, took a step back, giving Y/N space to regain a semblance of control.

"I'm here, Y/N. You're safe," Renée whispered, her eyes a mirror reflecting unwavering support. "We can take a break from the water for now if it's too much. We go at your pace."

Y/N, though still gripped by residual unease, nodded in acknowledgment. The water, now a blend of warmth and vulnerability, bore witness to a nuanced journey—one where healing unfolded in unpredictable waves.

As Renée adjusted the shower to a gentler flow, she encouraged Y/N to let the water cascade over them without the visual reminder of wounds fading into the stream. The shower, now a refuge once more, cradled them in a cocoon of shared vulnerability.

In the quiet aftermath of the moment, Renée and Y/N stood under the water, each drop a testament to the complexities of healing. The red water, a transient echo of pain, dissolved into the soothing cascade—a metaphor for the gradual release of distress and the emergence of renewed strength.

The shower, a sanctuary of shared resilience, bore witness to a chapter in their journey—one where the scars of the past met the tender touch of acceptance.

With the echoes of the shower's healing cascade still lingering in the air, Renée, mindful of the delicate balance, enveloped Y/N in a tender embrace. The water droplets on their skin mirrored the glistening residue of vulnerability, a shared testament to the intricate dance of healing.

Renée's arms, a sanctuary of warmth, held Y/N close as the hospital room transformed into an intimate haven. The passage of time seemed suspended, the minutes measured in the language of shared solace.

"I've got you, babe," Renée murmured softly, her words a gentle balm. "Take your time. Let it out."

Y/N, encased in the cocoon of Renée's embrace, felt the reservoir of emotions, kept at bay for too long, begin to surge. The quiet sobs that escaped carried the weight of unspoken fears, the burden of guilt, and the echoes of a vulnerability she had long sought to conceal.

Renée, attuned to the symphony of Y/N's emotions, continued to hold her steadfast. The room, cocooned in the hush of shared vulnerability, became a haven where the unspoken found a voice.

"I'm sorry, Renée," Y/N whispered between sobs. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I hate that I burden you with all my struggles."

Renée's grip tightened, not out of restraint but as an affirmation—a pledge that Y/N need not navigate the tempest alone. "You are not a burden, Y/N. We're in this together, through thick and thin. Your struggles are mine, too, and I'm here to share the load."

As the dam of emotions continued to rupture, Y/N's words tumbled forth, a torrent of confessions and fears. The guilt, an insidious force, wove itself into each sentence, binding Y/N in a web of self-reproach.

Renée, brushing away the strands of Y/N's hair, whispered words of reassurance. "You don't have to carry this weight alone. We face the storms together, remember? Your pain is not a burden—it's a shared journey we navigate side by side."

The hospital room, ensconced in the sacred space of vulnerability, bore witness to the unraveling of Y/N's emotions. Renée, with infinite patience, let the torrent of words flow, understanding that healing often required the release of pent-up anguish.

As Y/N's tears subsided, Renée continued to hold her, an anchor in the aftermath of the emotional storm. The room, now echoing with the resonance of shared pain and solace, became a haven where love and understanding eclipsed the shadows of guilt.

"Babe," Renée whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's forehead, "you are not defined by your struggles. We grow stronger through them, together. I love you, and nothing you feel or face changes that."

In the aftermath of the emotional release, Renée and Y/N found themselves sitting on the shower floor, a tableau of shared vulnerability. The air hung heavy with the echoes of tears, the scent of soap mingling with the rawness of emotions laid bare.

As the nurse approached the room for the routine check, she called out, "Hello, is everything okay in there?"

Renée, startled by the intrusion, quickly gathered herself, shielding Y/N's form with the towel she had retrieved. "Yeah, we're here. Just taking a moment. Can we have a few more minutes, please?"

The nurse, unaware of the intimate scene within the bathroom, obliged, saying, "Sure, take your time. I'll check back in a bit."

With a soft click, the nurse retreated, leaving Renée and Y/N to their private cocoon. Renée, wrapping the towel around Y/N and herself, pulled Y/N closer, their damp skin pressed together.

"I've got you, love," Renée whispered, her fingers gently brushing away lingering tears. "We can take all the time you need."

Y/N, still trembling from the emotional release, leaned into Renée's embrace. The towels, though providing a physical barrier, couldn't conceal the vulnerability etched across their faces.

"I never wanted you to see me like this," Y/N admitted, her voice choked with residual sobs. "I'm supposed to be strong for you, for us."

Renée cupped Y/N's face, her thumb tracing the delicate lines. "Strength isn't about never breaking, babe. It's about allowing yourself to heal when you do. You're the strongest person I know, and I'm here for all of you—strength, vulnerability, and everything in between."

The steady rhythm of the shower's water droplets, now a comforting symphony, underscored the hushed conversation between Renée and Y/N. The bathroom, once a battleground of emotional turmoil, had become a sanctuary where love and acceptance flourished.

Renée, with unwavering determination, met Y/N's eyes. "You're not alone in this, okay? I'm here, and I love every part of you, especially the parts that need healing."

Y/N, though still fragile, managed a small smile. The weight of guilt, momentarily lifted, allowed a sliver of light to filter through. "Thank you, Renée. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Renée pressed a tender kiss to Y/N's forehead. "You don't have to figure it all out alone. We'll navigate this together. Now, let's get dressed and face whatever comes next, as a team."

As they rose from the shower floor, still wrapped in towels, Renée and Y/N faced the next chapter hand in hand.

The hospital room, bathed in the sterile glow of overhead lights, became a sanctuary of shared vulnerability as Y/N settled back into the bed. Renée, now granted permission to attend to Y/N's wounds, approached the task with a mixture of determination and trepidation.

As Renée gathered the necessary supplies on the bedside table, she stole a glance at Y/N, who lay on the hospital bed with a mixture of weariness and gratitude in her eyes. The air in the room hung heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions.

"I'll be gentle, babe," Renée assured, trying to mask the knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. "Let me know if it gets too much."

Y/N nodded, offering a small, appreciative smile. "I trust you, Renée."

The first touch of the antiseptic-soaked cotton pad against Y/N's skin drew a sharp inhale. Renée, though practiced in maintaining composure, couldn't escape the involuntary pang of sorrow that rippled through her.

"I hate seeing you hurt, Y/N," Renée admitted, her voice a fragile whisper. "I wish I could take all this pain away."

Y/N reached for Renée's hand, intertwining their fingers. "You being here, doing this for me, means everything. I couldn't ask for more."

As Renée continued the meticulous task of refreshing the bandages, her gaze lingered on the wounds—testaments to a struggle she wished Y/N never had to endure. The depth of the wounds, both physical and emotional, carved a silent narrative of battles fought and survived.

"I know this is hard for you too, Renée," Y/N said, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and understanding. "But we're in this together, right?"

Renée nodded, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "Always, Y/N. No matter what."

The room, confined in a hushed intensity, became a space where the act of tending to wounds transcended the physical. Renée, as she navigated the delicate task, found solace in the shared commitment—two souls intertwined in the complex dance of healing.

With the last bandage secured, Renée sighed, a blend of relief and sorrow coloring her features. "There. All done."

Y/N, her hand still entwined with Renée's, offered a soft smile. "Thank you, Renée. You make even this bearable."

Renée pressed a tender kiss to Y/N's forehead, the gesture a silent promise of unwavering support. "You're strong, Y/N. Stronger than you even realize. And I'll be here every step of the way."

As the hospital room embraced the echoes of their shared vulnerability, Renée and Y/N leaned into the unspoken understanding—a pact to face the journey ahead hand in hand. The wounds, though deep, became a canvas for resilience, and in the quiet aftermath, a profound sense of connection lingered—a testament to the enduring strength found in the bonds of love.

The small room buzzed with the anticipatory hum of journalists and reporters, eager to capture the next scoop. Renée, flanked by the attending doctor, entered the space, her protective instincts already on high alert. The room's atmosphere tightened as the journalists focused their attention on the young actress.

The doctor, a composed figure in a white coat, nodded toward the sea of cameras and microphones. "Ms. Rapp, they are ready for the press conference. Remember, take your time, and feel free to express yourself."

Renée took a steadying breath, her gaze momentarily flickering to the door, where the distance between her and Y/N felt palpable. The doctor exited, leaving Renée to face the barrage of questions alone.

The reporters, a mix of curiosity and probing skepticism, fired off questions about Y/N's well-being and the recent events. Renée, her eyes reflecting both fatigue and determination, addressed each inquiry with measured responses, carefully guarding the privacy of her girlfriend.

However, amidst the sea of professional queries, one reporter decided to stray into insensitive territory. "Is it true that Y/N's mental health issues are affecting your career? Some might argue that being with someone like her could jeopardize your success."

Renée's eyes flashed with a mixture of indignation and protective fury. "I won't entertain baseless assumptions about the person I love. Y/N is not defined by her struggles, and neither am I. We're navigating this together, and I won't let anyone undermine that."

Undeterred, the reporter pressed on, "But surely, it must be challenging for you. How are you handling the pressure?"

Renée's response, laced with a fiery resolve, cut through the room. "It's challenging, yes. But love isn't conditional on an absence of challenges. Y/N is my priority, and her well-being comes before anything else. If that's a problem for anyone, they can take it up with me."

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of Renée's words echoing against the walls. The doctor, who had been observing from the sidelines, stepped forward, intervening to steer the conversation back to the intended focus—Y/N's recovery and the importance of mental health awareness.

Renée, though emotionally charged, maintained her composure, emphasizing the significance of supporting loved ones through difficult times. The press conference concluded, and as Renée left the room, she felt a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction—the knowledge that she had fiercely defended the person she cherished most.

Returning to Y/N's hospital room, Renée found solace in the shared space. The room, once again a haven for vulnerability, bore witness to the strength of love—a force that transcended the invasive scrutiny of the outside world.

As the day arrived for Y/N to be discharged from the hospital, a mix of excitement and trepidation filled the air. The doctors, recognizing the delicate nature of Y/N's situation, meticulously prepared a list of guidelines and routines for Renée to follow at home. The prospect of leaving the controlled environment of the hospital left Y/N feeling vulnerable, and Renée, though eager to have Y/N home, couldn't shake a sense of responsibility and concern.

The hospital room, once a cocoon of recovery, became a staging ground for the transition back to the outside world. Y/N, dressed in comfortable clothes, sat on the edge of the bed, nervously fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. Renée, holding the printed list of instructions, approached with a reassuring smile.

"Hey, princess," Renée said, using the endearing pet name that had become a symbol of comfort between them. "Are you ready to go home?"

Y/N nodded, but the uncertainty in her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil. "I am, but... What if I mess up, Renée? What if I can't handle it?"

Renée took a seat beside Y/N, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "We'll handle it together. It's okay to be scared; this is a big step. But you're not alone, and we have the support and resources to make this transition smooth."

Y/N sighed, her shoulders sagging with the weight of anxiety. "I just don't want to be a burden, you know? I don't want to hold you back."

Renée cupped Y/N's face, locking eyes with her. "You are not a burden, and you never will be. We're a team, and teams support each other. We'll figure this out together, one step at a time."

The doctor entered the room, holding a folder containing Y/N's medical records and the list of guidelines for Renée. "Everything is in order," the doctor said, offering a supportive smile. "Remember to follow the routines we discussed, and don't hesitate to reach out if you have any concerns."

Renée nodded, a sense of determination settling in. "Thank you, doctor. We appreciate all your help."

As they left the hospital room, Y/N clung to Renée's arm, a mix of excitement and apprehension painting her features. The journey from the hospital to their home felt like a bridge between two worlds—a transition from the structured safety of medical care to the uncertainties of everyday life.

The door to their home swung open, and a wave of both familiarity and relief washed over Y/N as they stepped inside. The couch, a haven of comfort, beckoned to them, and with a tired yet content sigh, Y/N sank into its soft embrace.

Renée, still holding the list provided by the doctors, glanced over at Y/N with a mix of concern and tenderness. "Alright, babe, let's go through this list together. We'll take it one step at a time."

Y/N, nestled into the cushions, nodded appreciatively. "I'm just so tired, Renée. Hospital beds are not the most comfortable."

Renée chuckled softly, understanding the sentiment. "Well, let's make our couch the most comfortable spot in the world then."

As Renée reviewed the list, Y/N's eyes flitted between her and the familiar surroundings of their home. The list, a roadmap for Y/N's continued recovery, detailed medication schedules, relaxation techniques, and strategies for managing anxiety. It was a comprehensive guide, and Renée was determined to make it a seamless part of their daily routine.

"Looks like we need to start with your medication," Renée said, retrieving the prescribed pills from a small container. "You know, it's okay to rest. We've got all the time we need to make sure you're feeling better."

Y/N nodded, taking the medication with a sip of water Renée handed them. "Thank you for being so patient, Renée. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Renée settled onto the couch next to Y/N, a reassuring arm draped over their shoulders. "You're not alone in this, Y/N. We're a team, remember? Now, what else can I do to make you feel at home?"

Y/N leaned into Renée's comforting presence. "Just having you here is enough for now. But maybe a cozy blanket and some snacks?"

Renée grinned, understanding the need for comfort beyond the medicinal aspect. She fetched a soft blanket and a selection of Y/N's favorite snacks, arranging them within easy reach. The room, dimly lit with the warm glow of table lamps, created a tranquil atmosphere—a far cry from the clinical brightness of a hospital room.

As Y/N settled into the cocoon of warmth, Renée resumed reading through the list. "Next on the agenda: relaxation exercises. How about we try one together?"

Y/N nodded, open to the idea. Renée guided them through a series of calming breathing exercises, the rhythmic inhales and exhales creating a shared moment of serenity. The list, once a set of instructions, transformed into a collaborative effort to promote Y/N's well-being.

After the relaxation exercises, Renée suggested watching a favorite movie to lift Y/N's spirits. The familiar laughter and comforting scenes provided a welcome distraction, bridging the gap between the hospital routine and the coziness of home.

As the evening unfolded, Renée and Y/N navigated the new normal with a sense of teamwork and understanding.

The soft glow of evening cast a warm ambiance through the living room as Renée sat on the couch, her phone buzzing with urgency. Y/N, nestled beside her, glanced up curiously.

Renée answered the call, her agent's voice on the other end conveying a sense of urgency. As she absorbed the information, a mix of frustration and responsibility crossed Renée's expression. She hung up, sighing heavily.

"That was my agent," Renée began, looking at Y/N with a seriousness that mirrored the weight of the conversation. "They're saying I can't keep staying at home. The fans are eager for new music, and the label is getting impatient."

Y/N furrowed her brows, concern evident in her eyes. "But, Renée, you're here for me. We're supposed to navigate this together."

Renée nodded, reaching for Y/N's hand. "I know, love. And I want to be here for you, but I also have this career that demands attention. However, I've made a decision."

With a determined expression, Renée explained that she was going to take a hiatus from her music career to prioritize Y/N's well-being. She wanted to be there for Y/N during this crucial time, and her commitment to their relationship superseded any professional demands.

As Renée formulated a statement for her fans, she chose a balance of vulnerability and sincerity. Sitting on the couch, she began reading the heartfelt words to Y/N.

"Hey, everyone. I hope this message finds you well. I wanted to share something important with all of you. As you know, music is my passion, and I cherish the connection we share through it. However, life has a way of challenging our priorities, and right now, my heart is with someone very special—Y/N."

Renée glanced at Y/N, a soft smile playing on her lips as she continued. "Y/N is going through a challenging time, and I want to be there for them every step of the way. So, after much consideration, I've decided to take a hiatus from my music career. My focus right now is on supporting and caring for the person I love."

Y/N listened to every word, emotions swirling in their eyes. Renée squeezed Y/N's hand, conveying reassurance as she went on. "This is not goodbye, but rather a 'see you later.' I promise to return when the time is right, with music that reflects the journey and growth we've experienced together. Thank you for understanding, and for being a part of this incredible community. I love you all, and I hope you'll join me in sending love and positive vibes to Y/N."

Renée took a deep breath before hitting the "post" button on Instagram, releasing the carefully crafted statement to her millions of fans. The response was instantaneous, a whirlwind of emotions and reactions cascading through the digital realm.

Within minutes, an outpouring of support flooded the comments section. Fans from all corners of the world expressed understanding, empathy, and encouragement. Heart emojis, messages of love, and virtual hugs dominated the thread. Celebrities and fellow artists joined the chorus, sending messages of solidarity and admiration for Renée's decision.

As the notifications piled up, Renée and Y/N sat side by side on the couch, scrolling through the overwhelming response. Renée's eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Look at this, Y/N. So many people are sending love and positivity. It's incredible."

Y/N smiled, genuinely touched by the warmth radiating from the messages. "Your fans really care about you, Renée. And it seems like they're supportive of us too."

Amid the sea of positive comments, a few dissenting voices emerged. Some fans voiced disappointment, expressing their longing for new music. Renée acknowledged their feelings but remained steadfast in her decision.

As Renée continued to engage with the comments, she came across one that caught her attention—a message from a fan expressing concern for Y/N's well-being and offering words of encouragement.

"I may miss your music, Renée, but I can't ignore the love you're showing to Y/N. Take all the time you need. We'll be here when you're ready to return. Sending love to both of you. 💖"

Renée read the comment aloud to Y/N, who smiled appreciatively. "See, babe? There are people who understand and support us."

However, not all comments carried the same positive sentiment. Some fans, frustrated with the hiatus, lashed out, questioning Renée's priorities. Renée, aware of the criticism, chose not to engage in negativity and focused on the overwhelming majority expressing love and understanding.

Ayla, Renée's close friend and confidante, reached out with a supportive text. "You're doing the right thing, Renée. Your true fans will understand. Take care of Y/N, and we'll be here waiting for your return."

As the day unfolded, the Instagram post became a virtual gathering place for love and support. Renée and Y/N found solace in the kind words and encouragement from their fans and the celebrity community. The living room, once a space of intimate moments, transformed into a haven where the power of empathy and connection transcended the digital divide.

Renée's phone buzzed with a series of notifications, signaling the beginning of a digital ripple effect that extended far beyond her immediate fanbase. Selena Gomez, an icon in the music industry, had not only seen Renée's statement but also shared it on her own Instagram story with a heartfelt message.

Renée stared at her phone in awe, a mix of emotions swirling within her. "Selena Gomez just shared my post, Y/N. Can you believe it?"

Y/N, equally amazed, looked over Renée's shoulder at the screen. "That's incredible, Renée! What did she say?"

Renée opened Selena's story, revealing a screenshot of Renée's post accompanied by Selena's own words: "Sending all my love to Renée and Y/N. 💖 Taking a break for mental health is a brave decision. Your well-being comes first. We'll be here when you're ready. ✨"

As Renée processed the gesture, another notification popped up. Jenna Ortega, a rising star in Hollywood, had also shared Renée's post with a beautiful message about the importance of prioritizing mental health. Ayla, Renée's close friend, crafted a heartfelt post expressing her admiration for Renée's decision and the importance of supporting loved ones during challenging times.

Even Jennifer Aniston, a veteran actress known for her iconic roles, chimed in with a post of her own. "Renée, your courage to prioritize mental health is inspiring. Sending you and Y/N all the love and strength. Remember, taking care of yourself is a powerful act. 💪🏼❤️"

Renée's living room transformed into a space of celebration and gratitude as the weight of celebrity endorsements and messages of support sank in. Y/N hugged Renée, overwhelmed by the outpouring of love from such influential figures.

"This is incredible, Renée. You've got so many people in your corner," Y/N exclaimed.

Renée, still absorbing the impact of the support, replied, "It's surreal, Y/N. I never expected this kind of response. It's like the whole world is rallying behind us."

As the evening unfolded, Renée and Y/N spent time responding to the flood of messages, comments, and reposts. The digital world, often criticized for its divisive nature, became a platform for unity and understanding. Renée's decision to prioritize mental health resonated with people from all walks of life, and the living room became a space where the power of vulnerability and authenticity could be felt profoundly.

As the night settled in, Renée and Y/N reflected on the day's events. The support from Selena Gomez, Jenna Ortega, Ayla, and Jennifer Aniston had not only validated Renée's decision but had also brought mental health discussions to the forefront of public discourse.

The next day brought with it a new set of challenges as Renée prepared to go over the list of medications with Y/N. The living room, once a haven of digital support, now witnessed a different kind of interaction. Renée sat down beside Y/N, armed with a notebook and a determination to ensure Y/N's well-being.

"Okay, babe, it's time to go through the list again," Renée said gently, glancing at the array of pill bottles on the coffee table.

Y/N, sitting with crossed arms, wore a discontented expression. "I don't like taking these, Renée. They make me feel weird."

Renée sighed, knowing that convincing Y/N to take the prescribed medications would be a delicate task. "I understand, love, but the doctor prescribed these to help you during this time. They're meant to support your mental health."

Y/N grumbled, "But I don't want to rely on pills to feel okay. It's like admitting I can't handle things on my own."

Renée placed a comforting hand on Y/N's shoulder. "Taking medication doesn't mean you're weak. It means you're taking proactive steps to support yourself. You wouldn't hesitate to take medicine for a physical ailment, right? This is just the same, but for your mental well-being."

Y/N's gaze softened, but she remained resistant. "I guess, but they still make me feel strange."

Renée decided to address the concern head-on. "I know the adjustment can be tough, but it might take some time for your body to get used to them. Let's give it a chance, okay? For now, I'll sit with you while you take them, and we can talk about how you're feeling afterward."

Y/N nodded reluctantly, and Renée picked up the pill bottles. As they went through the routine, Renée made sure to create a comfortable atmosphere. She dimmed the lights, played Y/N's favorite calming music, and sat close, offering silent support.

After taking the medication, Y/N reclined on the couch, her expression contemplative. Renée waited patiently, giving Y/N the space to express her feelings.

"It's just frustrating, you know?" Y/N finally spoke, her voice soft. "I don't want to feel dependent on something to be okay. I want to be strong for you and for myself."

Renée leaned in, placing a tender kiss on Y/N's forehead. "You are strong, Y/N. Taking these doesn't diminish that. It's a temporary measure to help you navigate through this challenging time. And I'm here with you every step of the way."

As the day progressed, Renée continued to support Y/N through the ups and downs of adjusting to the medication. They were getting there but it will take time to heal.

#fandom #fanfic #renee rapp #reneé rapp x fem!reader #renee rapp x fem!reader #renee rapp x reader #reneé rapp x reader #reneé rapp

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numbugwritingblog · 1 year

Text

The Miracle Mind of Serene: the Tale of a Girl and a Ghost (Chapter 2)

Previous Chapter

Index

---

18/01/2018

Serene swung back in her chair as she turned to face her phone, her telekinesis typing away at the computer without her even looking. “So! First of all, Mortis, I’m going to need you to gather up all of the information you can think of about Richard.”

“Well,” the phone blared out in that deep, distorted voice that it had whenever Mortis was talking through it. “He’s a bitch.”

Serene shook her head. “No, no, I mean anything that can help identify him. Stuff like surname, species, address, age at the time you, er… died.”

“Well…” Mortis paused for a moment, the only sound being that of Serene’s keyboard going clickety clackety on its own. “He was around 20, 30 years old, and… well I don’t know what his address was, but the people he brought into the United Federation arrived by boat on the South-East coast, and he’s a rat - that’s both literal and an insult.”

“Mortis, you can’t just call someone a rat like that.”

“... He’s a bitch. Is that there.”

“That’s… I suppose…” Serene turned back to the screen as the keyboard finished typing, her initial search starting. “Say, when did you die again?”

“1967.”

Serene stopped entirely, slowly turning in her seat to look at the phone. “... The 60s? Do-... Do you know how old he’d be then?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’d be like 50 or something.”

“No, he’s going to be 70 at the very least, maybe even 80.”

“... Fuck me.”

“He’ll be an old man who’s lived through most of his life by now,” Serene explained. “You sure you still want to find him? And not, I don’t know, find something else to do?”

“No. Finding him and drinking milk are the only two things I want now.”

“But-” Serene blinked in surprise at that last statement. “Wait, milk? I-”

“Milk is fucking delicious.”

She shrugged. “Alright, fair enough… But, well, what are you really going to do once you’ve found him and you’ve given him a piece of your mind?”

Mortis was quiet for a moment, before speaking up. “I assume I’d just fade away on the spot, like this is that unfinished business kind of deal.”

“You assume?” Serene asked aloud, staring at Mortis for longer. “Don’t you know what being a ghost even means? Maybe from other ghosts or-”

“Nah,” Mortis interrupted her outright. “I’m the only one I’ve ever known of, so I have to guess at what’s going on.’

That was when the doorbell suddenly rang, Serene flicking her head over to the approximate entrance.

“Eugh,” Serene grunted out as she rolled her eyes. “Just a moment, Mortis.”

“Why? What is it?”

“Oh, probably just a fan wanting to meet me,” she explained. “I always get some from time to time. Hard not to be famous when you’re the only psychic in the world.”

Mortis let out a huff, dropping out of the phone and following along behind Serene.

Serene immediately put on a smile moments before opening up the front door.

What she wasn’t expecting to see was a male buffalo in a suit, his I.D. labelling him as a government agent. “Serene Cirillo, you’re under arrest.”

Serene paused, her eyes slowly going wide as her smile faded very quickly. “Wh… Under what charges?” she mumbled out. Already her body was getting tense, hand clenching the door handle tightly.

“You violated your official agreement and went off surveillance”. The officer moved aside to escort Serene out.

Serene cleared her throat, holding out her hand. “Let me get my lawyer, because there’s clearly been a mistake-”

“At 9:01 PM last night you went off surveillance without approval.”

Serene glared at him, her eyes starting to have a faint white glow. “... I got approval. You can check the voice logs at 6:13 PM yesterday, the 17th.” She didn’t question how she knew the exact time down to the minute, right at this moment she knew something was wrong. Afterall, how could they forget? They never forgot.

The officer didn’t react beyond speaking further. “It likely is a misunderstanding, then, but until it’s cleared up you’re coming with us.” He then moved aside to give Serene the chance to walk out peacefully.

Serene hesitated, before seeing Mortis pass by and possess the agent right in front of her. “Mortis, no!” She held him in place, Mortis unable to even check the agent for any weapons. “Get out of him, now!”

“You know it’s bullshit,” Mortis hissed out in the officer’s voice. “There’s no way that they just-”

“Just stop,” Serene cut him off without pausing. “This is just going to make things worse. I’ll just get this misunderstanding sorted out, it won’t be long at all. Please.”

There was a long pause. Before finally Serene could see Mortis leave.

Serene then let the agent go, watching him drop to his knees as he hacked and coughed.

“I am following you now,” she explained immediately. “I am exercising my right to remain silent.”

The officer glared at her, but said nothing else as he let her lock the front door before cuffing her and bringing her along.

---

“Name?”

“Serene Cirillo.” God, even in interrogations Serene was still being asked the same routine.

“Age?”

“21.” Not a single thing had changed, despite the fact that it was a police officer instead of a neuroscientist.

“Occupation?”

“Can we just skip to the actual interrogations please?” Serene complained, getting to her feet. “It’s me, the psychic girl, and I can prove I’m the psychic girl real quick by using my psychic powers.”

With that she lifted herself off the ground, hovering for a few seconds before she landed back down. “Is that good? Do you believe that I’m the psychic girl now?”

The officer looked to Serene with a raised brow, but sat down in his chair all the same. “My apologies, miss Cirillo, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Serene dropped back down onto the chair, putting her hand on her forehead. “Thank you, it’s just… It’s been stressful. Today and yesterday.”

The officer nodded. “I understand why it’s so stressful, but hopefully we can resolve this swiftly. It says here that you’re under supervision due to your unique psychic powers.”

Serene didn’t say a word, instead nodding.

“And it says here you’re under arrest for endangering others via illegally interrupting that supervision-”

“6:03 PM yesterday, I rang up to organise my given week of no surveillance,” Serene repeated. “It’s in the logs.”

“I’m sorry, miss Cirillo,” the officer said with what seemed to be a genuine look of disappointment. “But the logs have already been provided, and there was no call from you yesterday.”

Serene’s eyes began glowing white again, silent as she processed this information. “... It must have been tampered with, then. I can provide evidence, too.”

The officer raised his brow again, looking back to Serene. “And what evidence is that?”

“Oh, it’s-” she paused, cogs turning in her head. They couldn’t have forgotten. And… And Mortis had to turn the surveillance off on her end… Why is she only realising now? They’re doing this on purpose. “... Actually, can I speak with Mortis first, please? He’s the ghost that’s been following around.”

The officer was very clearly trying to hold back a laugh, every fibre in his being telling him that laughter was a very poor action to take. Despite all of that, he still failed, a quick chuckle escaping his lips. “R-right,” he said, trying to regain composure - but it was already too late.

Serene blinked, looking over to the ball of fire that only she could see. “Mortis, can you hear me?”

Mortis obliged and flew into the officer, his posture abruptly changing. “Yeah, yeah, the sooner you’re done with this the sooner we can get back to business.”

Serene gave a nod. “Right. Before you even answer me, just ASAP, can you fly back home and into my phone, please? Guard it, just in case-”

She saw Mortis leave the officer’s body as he flew directly up.

At that same moment, the officer was hacking and coughing intensely, almost falling off of his seat. He slowly sat back up, eyes wide in realisation that he was just possessed for nothing more than a brief conversation. “You- the ghost- I-”

Serene nodded. “I haven’t been lying at any point in this interrogation, I promise.”

The officer let out a heavy sigh, getting to his feet. “Well for your sake, I hope you’re right. Don’t worry about Mortis, we’ll make sure the phone stays locked up in evidence until it’s time for the court case.”

With that, the officer turned and left the interrogation room, leaving Serene sitting there alone.

He turned to an officer that was waiting just outside, whispering into his ear. “There’s evidence in her phone, wipe it immediately. Don’t bring any weapons, and stick to a group of three or larger at all times. We don’t know what this ghost is willing to do, but he is real.”

---

Mortis had made his way back to Serene’s home (knowing full well in the back of his head that Serene’s bleeding heart was going to make him make it up for the unfortunate driver he used to get here).

The door was still locked, but that was no trouble, as he just phased through the door to get to the other side.

Guarding the phone… was going to be boring. As Mortis prepared himself for the dull task, he noticed something.

Serene’s computer was still on. And it was on a webpage. He slowly moved into the computer monitor right away, looking to see what he could.

…

He couldn’t scroll.

After a few awkward moments of moving between the monitor and the mouse, he managed to see what was on this webpage. Information on Richard. It looked like he founded a restaurant called the Delicious Den.

He could just go there, and linger until he found the little rat and-

Oh, he loved it so much.

… But they knew he’d be searching for Richard now, surely. Now it’s only a matter of Richard changing restaurants and he’d be back at square one. He couldn’t have that.

At least now he was getting help from that naive little girl, at least now he had a back-up if things went back to square one. So when he left the monitor, he made his way into the phone. He then lifted the phone up all the way to the roof. Might as well make it impossible to spot while he waited.

…

He might be able to make the machine do whatever he wanted, but that didn’t mean he knew how to navigate the web. Maybe now was the time to practice, while he’s stuck inside.

He tried to use this fancy schmancy search bar to find something to watch.

a… c… t… i… o… n… space… m… o… v… i… e… s…

…

Enter?

Ahah, that worked!

… What is all of this rubbish? Why does it look so fake? And why’s this one called volume 2? Guess they just can’t make movies anymore…

---

25/01/2018

Serene was confident that she’d come out of this court case with a success. Her lawyer was unusually incompetent, and the prosecutor was a clear expert, expertly weaving his words into compelling nothings. By all accounts, anyone would think this was a complete disaster.

But thanks to Mortis, she knew that her phone was safe.

And right she was, as when it came time to present that phone to court, the evidence that she had made the call was right in there, time and everything. Even despite the prosecutor trying to argue that the audio was faked, there was nothing he could say to throw it away as evidence.

So she was rather pleased with herself as she walked out of court as they pronounced her innocent, even managing to successfully argue for a full month of no surveillance. It was while she was walking out that a grizzly bear stepped out, wearing a government suit. It was the person in charge of her experimentation, General Thomas.

“Congratulations on the court case,” he spoke warmly, extending a hand. “I hope there’s no hard feelings, miss Cirillo.”

Oh, there were plenty of hard feelings. But Serene didn’t share any of them as she shook his hand. His grip was unusually fierce, her hand even hurting a little from it. “It’s okay, General. But I will be making sure the surveillance is actually off from now on. Hope you understand.”

He looked her right in the eyes with his good eye as he ended the handshake. Behind the smile Serene could see something focused, calculating.

“Of course, you can never be too careful. I’ll likewise be making sure that this embarrassment doesn’t happen again.”

Serene nodded, stepping to the side. “Well then, I’ll be seeing you for your next scheduled experiment in a month. Might even ask for two hours in exchange. Bye bye~” As she continued walking, she briefly twirled around in order to wave at him, smiling wide. Now it was a simple case of making her way to the bus stop.

An ear piercing, high pitched screech rang out from her phone, immediately followed by an annoyed huff from Mortis’s hellish voice.

“Wait for me, why don’t you?”

Serene let out a small giggle, turning the voice speaker off before putting the phone to her ear, as if she was making a phone call rather than talking with her ghost friend. “I did, I was talking with the man who was probably behind all of that. The big grizzly bear.”

“Oh him? He was angry as fuck, definitely trying not to swear in public.”

Serene let out a sigh, slowly shaking his head. “I really can’t believe they’d do this. I spent my whole life trusting them, and… eugh. I’m so glad I can trust you to help me out when I need it, I don’t know what I would’ve done with somebody.”

There was a small silence before Mortis answered. “Of course you can trust me.”

Serene smiled wide. She knew she could trust him, she had made the right call. It was then that the bus arrived. “Just a sec,” she said before lowering the phone.

Once she was on and seated, she brought the phone back to her ear. “And back.”

“Thank god, I was dying of boredom.”

Serene rolled her eyes. “Now that that’s dealt with, we’re going to continue looking into your reunion, aren’t we?”

“Sure am, while nobody was at your house I quickly checked what you left open on your computer. Richard was apparently the founder of some Delicious Den place.”

“Right, but…” Serene briefly pauses to look around, noting that around half of the bus has noticed her, some giving occasional looks, some trying to avoid eye contact entirely, and the few kids that are on the bus staring at her in awe. “... I can’t go as Serene. And besides, I’ve just gotten a big success, I really want to spend the night celebrating.”

She heard the long, drawn out groan from Mortis. “Fine, fine. But we’re going there tomorrow, no matter what.”

---

General Thomas was slumped in his office chair, his grip on his mug unusually tight. He was glaring at the files, just knowing what the week’s papers were going to say.

Psychic Girl Found Innocent Thanks to Supernatural Intervention!

All of his plans with experimentation on this psychic girl, ruined because of this stupid little ghost! This was going to set him back years if he can’t find a way to control the situation! Where did he even come from?!

No, no, he couldn’t let failure distract him, no matter how much it humiliated him. He had to figure out why Serene had searched up information about this ‘Richard’ individual, and why this ghost is helping her. Hopefully his employees have already-

“Sir.” He didn’t move, but his eyes glancing up to the agent that entered his office told that he was paying attention. “We’re in touch with Mr. Richard, and he’s asking for our protection in exchange for his information.”

At this, Thomas looked up to the agent, a brow raising. “Protection? From what?”

“From Mortis, sir. Claims that they knew each other.”

General Thomas paused, his frown slowly fading away. This could be the key to solving this little setback. “Very well. Let’s hear him out.”

---

Next Chapter

#Serene Cirillo #Mortis (character)#General Thomas #Richard (character)#The Miracle Mind of Serene #The Tale of a Girl and a Ghost #The Miracle Mind of Serene: the Tale of a Girl and a Ghost

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whumpitisthen · 6 months

Text

Perfect Present

Small little cw: this one has a pretty long noncon undressing scene! I never write nsfw, but this one can definitely be interpreted as suggestive, so just a heads up!

“I never expected to be blessed with such a sweet little present.”

He is numb. The air burns as he is carried past the thick, decorated wooden door. His shivering does not ebb from the sudden warmth, only worsens at the stranger’s words.

It's hard to concentrate on anything but the daunting prominence of approaching death squeezing his heart. Though he lacks the energy to act upon his fear in any meaningful way, he understands that he is in more than a little danger. The snowstorm that had caught him out in the middle of the woods could not have come at a more inopportune time; in a place where the nearest sign of civilisation was kilometres away. The distance would have been no issue if the skies remained clear, but the freezing winds cut through his coat so efficiently that he can only pray his fingers will thaw out in one piece.

“God knows how much longer you would have survived if I hadn't found you when I did.” — They found him collapsed in the snow, too exhausted to keep stumbling on towards what he hoped was the edge of the forest. His skin blue, his boots drenched, his hair frozen stiff from his own sweat; it's a miracle he hadn't fallen unconscious. — “But there is no need to worry now. I will take good care of you.”

It smells like pine and sugar. The walls are alight in colour, reflecting in the pond of his own glassy eyes. Classical music floats from the left as they pass by. He floats along in the arms of the stranger bringing him deeper into his home. In front of the fireplace, he is laid under a marvelous silver pine standing proud and fearless of the flames licking at its leaves from afar. The rug under him is soft, heavenly so.

“There you are. That feels nice, doesn't it? Those frozen little fingers will melt in no time.” — The stranger covers him in thick blankets, providing pillows to lean on as he coos these reassurances to him. — “I will go look for replacement clothes. We can't have you stay in that drenched, muddy coat, now can we?”

He does not wonder why the stranger seems to linger beside him before turning to leave. He does not mind the hand that cards through his hair affectionately, only happy for the heat that passes onto his scalp for a moment. He doesn't see the fond expression on his face, the way those eyes rake over his body slowly, as if taking in a wonderful, serene landscape. He sees no wrong just yet, focused only on his one goal of keeping his own heart beating.

The stranger returns with clean clothing not three minutes later, setting it aside onto the couch for now. With his blanket covered back to him, he shivers incessantly, gasping. Staring into the flames becomes painful, the heat forcing his eyelids closed against his will.

Removing the soaked through boots and pants should be priority in this situation, but the stranger finds himself enamoured by the weakness and vulnerability he shows as he lies there helplessly, curling tighter and tighter into himself. It is awfully difficult to tear his eyes away from those quivering blue lips. One thought comes and passes, offering to keep his clothes on for a while longer, just to prolong his beautiful suffering. Then another, more devilish one supplies him with a darker idea upon witnessing his fragile neck peeking out from under all that fabric — perhaps undressing him would be more satisfying in the end. The urge to peel back every layer coating his divine skin slowly, meticulously revealing flesh to be explored in earnest nests inside him and refuses to leave. Truly, unwrapping a present is half the fun after all.

Perhaps there will be no need for replacement clothes either way.

Wordlessly, he kneels by the bundle of trembling cloth, pulling him closer lightly. With a hand on his shoulder, he turns him onto his back, taking hold of those icy hands grasping the cover like it is trying to escape them. His present looks up at him with wide, terrified eyes; soon that fear will be converted to a more special, deeper kind of fear. He will not be nearly as afraid of the cold as he will be of the stranger.

Those eyes become a little wider when pulls away the blanket, even wider when he straddles him and starts unbuttoning his coat with an eager expression. It takes a couple buttons for his present to understand that this is not right, wriggling and whimpering quietly, confused. He becomes nervous when the buttons run out and his coat is pulled away to reveal nothing but a flimsy dress shirt underneath. It isn't even fully buttoned up, leaving a prominent collarbone exposed under the dishevelled, wrinkled material.

The stranger tuts at him disapprovingly. — “So careless...”

The pause is a little too long for comfort, passed by as the man takes in his form before he returns to unwrapping his gift, a warm knuckle caressing the naked skin as his hands move to the next button. Even through the exhaustion, confusion, terror and pain, the cold mess of limbs understands how dangerous it is to be undressed in such a way in a stranger's home.

“S-S-Stop, p-, stop, no…” — Those blue fingertips come into view as they try to push numbly at the stranger's hands, squirming uncomfortably. He cannot feel if their hands meet at all, but he can hear the slaps as he jerks his hands into the other’s arms and chest frantically, kicking out and twisting.

The man looks at him a while, not bothered in the least. He just smiles at his desperate, yet pathetic efforts at fighting him, fighting back just as weakly by repositioning his head and wrists faster than he could comprehend with his dizzy mind, but letting up right after to watch those limbs fly around like useless flesh worms. Once the struggle becomes more annoying than entertaining however, he simply takes those wild arms and pins them under his knees, securing them in place so he can continue unboxing in peace.

At the miserable grunt that he makes once he realises how trapped he really is, the stranger only hushes him, — “be good. I am only trying to help you, can't you see? You are soaked.”

He had to use so much energy just to force his useless, heavy limbs to do something, but it only amused the man. He feels the shirt open button by button, powerless to do absolutely anything about it. The violent shivering only worsens once his naked skin touches the air, goosebumps rising at the feeling. It's warm, but cold at the same time, burning all the same.

The stranger’s fingers running down his torso bring tears of frustration and humiliation to his eyes, his face contorting into the very definition of misery. His struggles renew when that hand reaches under the shirt, circling around to feel his now swiftly beating heart, while the other cups the side of his stomach bouncing up and down with each of his panicked gasps for air. He cannot bear it any longer once the hand lifts from his chest up all the way under his chin, taking hold of his neck.

“Don’t, d-d-d-don’t, pl-ease, please, I-I-I-I, I c-can’t, I can't —”

“You don't need to. I will take care of you.”

That only makes him sob in earnest. A broken no is all that makes it out before he devolves into fearful whimpers and cries, thoroughly overwhelmed from going through multiple life-threatening crises at the same time. The grip tightens ever so slowly, experiencing the way his neck twitches and pulses, the frigid, pale blue skin stretching over an artery pumping dangerously cool blood hysterically under cruel fingertips caressing it. It's hard to tell through the tears covering his vision in confusing sparkles, but he can definitely feel the intense attention of the man glaring down at him in morbid fascination.

His hand never grows tight enough to strangle him, but it gets very close. Laboured, wheezing breaths already coming out forced now turn even smaller, just a little harsher, thinner, just enough to start hurting from the warm pressure. Once it reaches that point however, it returns to simply lying on top of his neck, an almost pleasant coat over him to slowly warm him through.

The stranger pauses for a moment, considering his thoughts. He makes a decision unbeknownst to his present, and moves to continue removing his clothes instead. His hand slips from feeling up his neck towards his shoulder, helping him out of the coat and the shirt at the same time, revealing even more damp, icy flesh underneath. Skin contact between the two of them brings goosebumps in its wake, as if the lost man's very body itself was flaring up to stretch into the warmth of the other. Scary, dangerous, uncomfortable and wrong, yet so pleasant, necessary, and enchanting at the same time. He needs that warmth to stay alive, but that hand will never let him go once it truly latches onto him.

The fire crackles too loud to hear his thoughts over. Focusing on anything but what is being done to him is a herculean task, only overpowered by the endless ice encircling his lungs. The more naked he feels, the less he fights, with his shoulders now bare and free, and his arms slender and fragile and useless all the same. His boots are pulled off him with little issue, soaked through socks following behind. It feels equally awful, yet relieving to be rid of the heavy, water clogged clothes. A towel is given to him then, the man noticing his shamefully weak arms hugging himself desperately, which then hold onto the towel even more fiercely, laying it over as much of his body as he can. It provides minimal warmth and privacy, but is more than welcome.

His pants are being unbuttoned then, and he kicks out in horror instinctively. He doesn't like this, he doesn't like this! — “P-P-Please, I can, I c-can —”

“No,” — he is swiftly cut off by the stranger, a tone not unkind.

He curses his heavy, frozen tongue for stuttering and failing so miserably, just like the rest of his body. He curses the weather that caught up to him so suddenly, that caused the hypothermia and weakness, the insistent winds that thirsted him into submission, sucking all power out of him. He curses the man most of all, for finding him, for taking him without so much as a question, for bringing him to a warm log cabin, to a lovely little home dressed in glimmer and blown through by an aroma hard to resist, for laying him in front of the fireplace, telling him all the while that he will help, that he is saved, and that he is such a lucky man to be found by him. He curses the stranger for lying to him, and taking advantage of him, and pulling unbothered on his trousers until he is fully naked, in a stranger's home, in the middle of a quiet, snowy nowhere, frozen to near death and sobbing in petrifying fear, forced to endure powerlessness and lay under the stranger as he does as he pleases with him.

The towel quickly shoves downward as his only shield against peering, curious eyes. He begs, though he can barely manage to utter out a single word understandable through his unfeeling lips. He keeps begging, he keeps resisting, he keeps squirming and whining and crying and clawing, but he is simply not a threat. It would not take more than a gentle pair of large, soft hands to peel away his own from his body, bringing the towel with. The stranger pauses again, letting his gaze and touch wander his body, touching just over his navel with such gentleness and hunger that he can barely hold himself from screaming as loud as he can.

Luckily, he stops soon enough, mercifully not dipping any lower to feel him up any more. The unnerving silence — or lack of conversation, to be precise, as the stranger's present is more than vocal about how much he hates this — is finally broken, the man leaning over him rousing himself free from this terrifying, lustful, obsessive mood he put himself into with a couple blinks. His eyes return to focusing on him as a person; as opposed to drinking in his body as a gift. — “There. That wasn't so hard now, was it?”

He takes the dry, heavenly soft towel and bundles him in it with care, lifting and manhandling him into a sitting position looking towards the fire. Another towel comes soon after, massaging his scalp as the stranger begins rubbing his hair dry. It is uncomfortable, but at the moment, he is only glad he is no longer being straddled on the ground, now keeping his knees high up under his chin and his body well hidden under the layers of cover.

The change in mood is not lost on the stranger. — “This feels good, doesn't it? Much better, without all that fighting. You are safe with me.”

“N-N-N-No, I-I’m, I-I-I’m not, I'm not…”

“Shhhh…” — the man shushes him again, sitting down behind him to hug him close, — “it's hard to speak, I know. The shivering will die down soon enough. No need to force it. I know.”

In a sudden all-consuming anger that flares up in his chest at the condescending tone, he jerks backwards to headbutt the stranger holding him hostage in his embrace, in his house, getting way, way too comfortable with his helplessness. It's infuriating; not only his pathetic state of vulnerability making it impossible to even do anything on his own, but that the stranger thinks he can just do anything he wants, that he can just take him and touch him and mock him and talk over him like this, while knowing fully well that the only reason he is still unharmed is because his ‘gift’, as he so creepily put it, is still thawing out from a snowstorm. If they were on equal footing, he would already be unconscious from how hard he'd have pummelled him as soon as he started taking his clothes off.

Unfortunately, even through the fury that takes hold of him, his movements are sluggish at best, and the man easily dodges him both times he tries to fight back this way. Even worse, he laughs, and only holds him closer, squeezing the breath out of him with one arm, and holding his head snapped back over his shoulder with the other, effectively pinning him arched over himself. — “Simmer down, sweetness. You'll hurt yourself.”

He only struggles for a small few seconds, then swiftly runs out of energy. His anger remains, slowly melting like a candle, eating itself alive. — “Wh-Why won't, w-won’t you let me go? Please, just, j-j-just sto-pp t-touching me!”

The list of the stranger's creepy, condescending mannerisms just keeps growing ever longer. This time, he pets his hair affectionately, humming a sympathetic, yet disapproving sound. — “I am not letting you go because you need help. You are shivering like a leaf, poor thing. You can barely move. Barely talk. You cannot take care of yourself.”

“I can, I c-can!”

“No, you can not.” — The facade of gentle kindness slips just a tad, his voice, while still pleasant, cuts with an edge that wasn't there before. There is a finality to his words, almost parental; however, the danger feels much more intimidating than just a usual scolding. The rumble of the stranger's tone right next to his ear doesn't help either. — “Be patient. I will show you how well I can take care of you, you'll see. I am very generous. It's the least I can do, after all.”

It takes an indescribable amount of will to force himself to even understand the extent of his situation, much less fight and argue with a mad man, so he just weeps in silence, going limp once again. He is slowly, excruciatingly warming by the fire, at least. One of his worries will be solved, and he is still alive. That is definitely a good thing. Now if only he wasn't basically kidnapped for that to have happened.

He holds out hope for when he feels better. Once he can move and speak like normal again, and stand his ground — or even just stand, period — he will fight him off, or look for an exit.

For now, he is exhausted. The warmth surroundings him, however unpleasant, relaxes him further into the arms of his captor. His still damp hair is becoming room temperature. His quivering is fading, bit by bit. He still twitches, his lungs still feel less than adequate, and he is just so incredibly tired. The stranger stands up at some point, leaving him for a while. Says he will return with some warm soup — must have gotten bored of waiting in silence. Without the support of the other man, he leans to the side and ends up curled up on the floor, dozing off.

By the time the man returns, steaming hot soup in his hands, he finds his gift passed out, cocooned up in the middle of his living room, right under the christmas tree. It's a delightful sight, even more so once he notices his rough wheezes as he sleeps, a perfect background noise in tandem with the quiet Händel playing in the hallway. It's so peaceful — the snow has covered everything outside with a thick coat, the sun has gone down, the fireplace has warmed up the whole cabin and the food is ready. It is the most perfect Christmas evening, made flawless by having such a pretty little present sleeping soundly under the tree. Vulnerable, gorgeous, far from home and with the sweetest little tears still glistening on his cheeks rose red from the cold.

Nothing could ruin this, least of all an unruly present.

The stranger sits down on his couch, watching intently the delicious sight, sipping on the delicious vegetable soup. He looks so defenceless like that. Naked, bundled up, unconscious. So many awful ideas spawn in the stranger's mind as he fantasises about all the things they will do together. All the fun they will have.

He could keep him in the shed, but not just yet, it's much too cold. He can keep him in his house, but then he will not have his own room. Then again, his gift doesn't need his own room. He could stay in the stranger's bedroom, locked up nice and safe. They could sleep in the same bed… maybe he could even chain him to the bedpost. Have a sweet thing like him always be right where he belongs. He does not need to leave, all he needs to do is let himself be taken care of. Yes, that sounds just delightful.

He will have to make sure to keep him in check. He can already tell this boy will be trouble if left to his own devices. He will need to be tamed. Carefully. He will need to be taught his place. He will need to be punished harshly for every wrong thought that crosses his mind. That's how he will be good enough to keep. Good enough to spoil with all the attention and care he could ever imagine. A good boy, who will keep him company out here, all on his own. The stranger will make him perfect.

No one will hear him scream. He can yell and fight all he wants. He cannot leave here. Not now that he was given to the stranger like this. The best Christmas present he could have ever asked for.

Hopefully by the time next year's Christmas comes around, he will have learned to be thankful for all his owner had done for him on this day, and will have had plenty of reminders carved into his skin, marking him as property, that he will be able to admire from the sofa like he does today. He will watch him wheeze in his sleep, and curl up bare in front of the crackling fire, and he will go up to him then and remind him of the day he was given to him as the most perfect little present.

Masterlist I Ko-fi

#whump #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #my writing #whump writing #fear #sadistic whumper #hypothermia #captivity #noncon touching #noncon stripping #nsft #suggestive #crying #this came out a bit late but eho cares its still Christmas in my heart #it is not massive tho! i have defeated my curse! i can write shorter things!

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winterrrnight · 11 months

Text

make up part II

PAIRING: drew starkey x best friend!gn!reader

SUMMARY: You and Drew finally recite your love for each other, all thanks to Cigarettes After Sex.

WARNINGS: little intimate moments between the reader and drew, but of course nothing sexual, drugs, alcohol, small mentions of anxiety + ignore any grammatical/spelling mistakes!

EDITH SPEAKS: this is requested by @totalswag, thank you so much for the request lovie, I had so much fun writing this! thank you for also giving me a plot idea on how you would like to see this part progress :)

please like and/or reblog if you like this, feedback is highly appreciated! 🌷

This is part two to make up! So for more context, make sure to read that first :)

navigation || join my taglist || requests

You're sitting next to Drew in the passenger seat as he's driving you both to the party. The tension from before is still lingering around you and is suffocating you. The only sound in the car is from the radio playing unknown music softly in the background.

You lean your head against the window and watch the trees and the houses rush past; your desperate attempt to get your mind off the thick tension. But it doesn't work. You cannot stop thinking about how peaceful Drew looked while you were doing his make up - his eyes closed and soft breathes escaping him - he looked like the epitome of serenity.

And then there was you, with your heart beating so fast you were worried it will just jump out of your chest. You felt your fingers slightly tremble as you brushed your fingertips over his eyelids and cheekbones. It was a miracle how you didn't mess up his look.

While you were doing your own make up look, unbeknownst to you, Drew was watching you intently as you brushed your own face with the similiar blush you used for him. He was in awe; your hands moving so perfectly it almost looked effortless. No doubt he felt the same tension you did, he was able to keep a cool front while really he was going completely crazy on the inside.

Drew takes a quick look at you, your focus completely on the sights outside the window. He wants to say something; anything to kill this tension between you two.

But he doesn't know what to say, he's at a loss of words, just the way you are. Drew tries to find his own distraction by only thinking about the music playing on the radio and keeping his eyes on the road.

Pretty soon, you and him are near your friend's house. She definitely has a big group of friends, so you know there won't be less than atleast 200 people in her house. The neon lights from her house can be seen flashing from the distance, and the bass of the loud music thumps against your eardrums.

You and Drew stand outside her house. There are some people outside in the gardens, with their weed and alcohol to keep them company. The door is wide open, so you both just welcome yourself inside.

With the amount of people you and Drew are trying to navigate your way in, you already start to feel overwhelmed by it all. The heat, the sweaty bodies, the reeking smell of weed all around the room starts to get to you.

Drew knows how nervous you tend to get in places like these. He is quick to grasp your hand in his, intertwining your fingers so you don't lose each other, and to provide you some comfort in this tough situation.

At the sudden skin to skin contact, you tense for a second, but relax almost immediately. His hand, just the right temperature, just the right size, feels so perfect holding yours.

You turn to take a look at Drew, who has a reassuring smile on his face. It's okay, I'm here, is what he's trying to convey to you. I'll always be here for you. I'll never let anything happen to you.

As you both continue to walk through the big crowds of people with the dim lighting gleaming your make up in the most ethereal way possible, you finally find yourself with all your friend group.

"Heyyy!" Your friend, Amber - who's birthday it is, says as she waltzes over you two. You can already see she has had one too many cups of alcohol. She comes up to you and wraps your arms around you, locking you in a hug. This causes your hand to break apart from Drew's.

You plaster a smile on your face as you pull from the hug. "Happy birthday darling!" You wish her, and Amber just swiftly kisses both your cheeks. She goes to meet Drew and you go ahead and catch up with the rest of the group.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

It's been atleast an hour, and all of you are slumping on the couches with alcohol buzzing your systems. One of your friends, Jasper, goes ahead and fills up all your cups with some vodka but none of you say anything to him.

You found yourself on Drew's lap, yet again. This time, his arms are wrapped tightly around your waist, like he never wants to let you go. With the alcohol spreading in you like a plague and blurring all your thoughts and emotions, you lean into his body, his chin resting on your shoulder and his breathes softly fanning your neck.

One of your friends - Avery - suddenly gets up from her seat and downs all the contents of her cup. "Let's go dance!" She yells over the loud music. You look over to the dance floor to see people swaying to the beat.

With the same enthusiasm as Avery all your friends decide to head to the dance floor. You start to get up from Drew's lap but he pulls you back in.

"Where you going?" He mumbles in your ear. You turn your head around to look at him; your faces so close just the same they were in the evening, and your want to kiss him comes back, more strong and more powerful than the last time.

"To dance, you wanna come?" You whisper back, your eyes closed as you softly nudge his nose with yours.

"Nah I'm all good. You go," He says, despite his heart only wanting you to stay with him. With all the willpower in him, Drew lets go of you and you get off his lap. The sudden loss of warmth encased you in a coldness - which doesn't feel so good.

Nevertheless, you catch up with your friends and all of you head on the dance floor, your cups in your hand as you find your bodies moving to the melody of the song playing, the beat setting you free.

Some other guys along with Drew were still at their places in the couch, as they talked about some random topics.

"Did you catch the game last night Drew? It was so worth watching," One of his mates, River says. But Drew doesn't listen to him; he's way too busy looking at you across the room dancing so carelessly with your friends, the brightest smile gracing your lips as you scream the lyrics.

"Drew? Drew?" River says, concerned as he shakes his shoulder. Drew suddenly snaps out of his daze and directs his attention to River.

"Yeah man?" He asks, a quizzical look on his face.

"Nothing, I was just wondering if you watched the game last night," River asks, sipping on his drink.

"Oh uh, no I didn't, I was uh... a little busy," he clears his throat and directs his eyesight back to the dance floor, trying to find you.

Jasper sighs at this sight. "Why don't you just go and confess? You have fallen so hard man,"

"Oh you know I can't do that Jas, I don't think my feelings are reciprocated I mean..." Drew sighs. At this point, the feelings Drew has for you are overflowing in him. One little flick of the switch and they'll start bleeding out non stop.

"Take this," Jasper offers Drew a cup with one his unknown concoctions in it.

"What's that?" Drew asks, eyeing the cup in his hand but not taking it.

"Liquid luck," Jasper nudges the cup closer to him. "Come on, take it man! No one needs it more than you."

Drew looks at the cup and then at Jasper, who is determined to make him drink it all. "Fuck it," he mumbles as he takes the cup and downs the entire drink in a single go. Grimacing at the bitter taste, Drew gets up from his seat and starts to make his way to you.

He squeezes in through the sweaty crowd of people until he finally stumbles upon the group of familiar people. Your back is towards him as you're dancing around with Amber. Drew takes in a deep breathe and walks up to you. You unknowingly take a step back and crash into him.

You turn around to see Drew, which causes the biggest grin to grace your face. You instantly wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you, his arms instantly latching onto your waist.

The song in the background suddenly changes from an EDM one to 'Sweet' by Cigarettes After Sex. The mood of the dance floor changes immediately, and you and Drew find yourself dancing slowly to the melody of the slow song.

It's so sweet, knowing that you love me, though we don't need to say it to each other

Your eyes are lost in his, as the only thing you can think about his him. He's always been there for you, he's always been so in love with you, he cannot imagine himself with anyone else except you. You lean in your forehead against his, your eyes closed as you feel the music in you and Drew's scent completely encasing you.

Knowing that I love you, and running my fingers through your hair, it's so sweet

The gentle instrumental plays in the background and you and Drew feel like you're the only ones on this planet. You're his, forever and ever.

"Drew?" You whisper, and he just hums in response. You open your eyes and lean your head back. Your gaze falls onto his lips, so soft and so sweet, just waiting to feel yours against them.

And I will gladly break it, I will gladly break my heart for you

You lean in so painfully slow, but finally, your lips meet his halfway and you feel little euphoric firecrackers set off in your stomach. His lips, tasting like honey and berries as you crave the taste more and more with each second. You're melting under his touch, and he only holds you closer, impossibly closer, as his lips trace yours, your lips feeling like the most delicate flower softly brushing their petals against him.

You pull back, and lean your head against your chest, a content smile on your face.

It's so sweet, knowing that you love me, though we don't need to say it to each other

This is it. You finally have what you have always wanted.

Him.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @ragingsammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3

(If you want to be added, check out the 'join my taglist' post on top! + send in requests if you have any, but please read the 'requests' post first!)

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fic #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey oneshot #drew starkey x you #written by edith! 🪄

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ancientgoddessofegypt · 5 months

Text

Venus Escape : What you need to do to express your Venusian qualities more.

INTUITIVE READING!

PICK A NUMBER BELOW.

SEE WHAT RESONATES.

717. 222 . 444. 555.

READY? SET? GO!

717

7 - Mysticism, Godlike powers, The Creator, Universe, Luck, Spiritual

1 - Do it yourself, One of one, The Sun, Confidence, The Leader

7+1+7 = 15

1+5 = 6

6 = Venus, Harmony, Love, Relationships, Sex, Artistic Values

STAR , NEW BEGINNINGS

You need to let the world know who you are baby! Pick yourself up and allow the universe to sit you high on the pyramid. Connecting to yourself will be the only way you allow this miracle to manifest. Some of you have a spirit team that is looking to work with you on this journey. Using your intellect and facing towards your dreams will allow you access to the shift faster than you'd expect. Be patient, be still, and wonder. Dreams are real.

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

222

2 - Libra, Harmony, Romantic, Life Partners, Connection

2+2+2 = 6

6 - Venus, Harmony, Love, Relationships, Sex, Artistic Values

KNOWLEDGE & BRILLIANCE

You can carry your own weight, you know that right? Aren't you tired of the same ole things? Use your resources and explore the mind a little deeper. You have qualities you ignore but will benefit you in the long run. Your genius is captivated by doing this you love for a long time. Commitment is at your mercy if you picked this number. Parterships are connected to your soul purpose. Be more attracted to the mentality of a person than just their character alone. Be less attracted to people who have a lack of commitment. You know the difference, you're a very cunning artist. These individuals will connect you to the aspects of your mind you normally wouldn't share with other people. This need for more connection will propel you to allow your mind to shine, as you are brilliant I might add. Enjoy the rodeo, this will be fun!

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

444

4 - Marketing, Physical reality, Grounding, Connection to the earth, Responsibility

4+4+4 = 12

1+2 = 3

3 - Jupiter, Optimism, Joy, Faith, Groups, Familiarity

DREAMS : FOCUS ON REWARDS

Be more focused on your priorities and what you want for your future self at this time. Prepare to make a shift in where this journey leads. You might fight this need for serenity, but you need peace to move on. It's the only way out of here. Clarity of mind can be get it through staying connected with Mother Gaia. Try more physicality activity as this can help your body attract your desires to you. When your body is in shape, so is your mind. The endurance you need to finish a task can be morphed by taking a chance on working out daily. Wether its walking, dancing, or even a few yoga poses will help your body stay flexible and grounded. What helps out your venusian qualities is you're need to feel better in your body. Eat right, focus on goals that help strengthen your health and be more optimistic on what you can't see.

On another note, you have to get clear on what you want for yourself. This is the primary focus for you and helps your energy be more light and attracting to others. We love you when your charming and independant, being fiery and knowing what you want is what gets your admirers going ;)

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

555

5 - Mercury, change, growth, the mind, cultural, travel, insights

5+5+5 = 15

1+5 = 6

6 = Venus, Harmony, Love, Relationships, Sex, Artistic Values

CLEANSING & TRANSFORMING : CREATING OUT OF THIN AIR

If you chose this number you have strong empathic qualities. You are capable of connecting to other peoples energy and being able to transmute your experiences with others and producing something out of it. When you focus on clearing your energy field everyday, you can find more clarity in your connections with others. Your discernment skills keep the wrong energy from getting to close, its okay to tell them no. Trust me.

You have gifts in creating whether its through design, crafting, or forming works of art that profound people in a way. Say yes to whats new.

#oracle readings #oracle #mystic #venusian readings #pick a card #pick a number #astrology venus #astrology readings #connect

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vikkirosko · 3 months

Note

could you do gamzee x rage player! reader? maybe reader is a bard too, like him, lol

♑️ Gamzee Makara x Reader headcanons Rage player 🎪

Your relationship with Gamzee was something that was unclear to some of your friends. For a long time, you didn't trust him, until you finally became convinced that he could be allowed into the circle of people you trusted. One of the conditions of your communication was that he would not lie to you. You were pathologically intolerant of lying, and Gamzee really wasn't lying to you. He might not have told you the whole truth, but he wasn't lying

Some of your thoughts were similar. You were drawn to the truth, you wanted to change what you considered unacceptable, and Gamzee respected your views, although they did not always coincide with his. You were constantly searching for the truth and several times he offered you to relax with one of his pies, but you refused, preferring to stay with a sober mind

Gamzee enjoyed watching how you, usually impulsive, kept yourself in check while talking to those who annoyed you. In a sense, you were a strategist, knowing at what moments it was necessary to remain silent. Gamzee often told you that these were the real miracles, to which you grinned and told him that if he liked to call it that, then you didn't mind

Despite the outward serenity, Gamzee saw perfectly well that you were holding back your anger. He understood that at some point your rage, like water released from a dam, would spill out with renewed vigor, and he was waiting for this moment. He wanted to see how it would happen and what the consequences would be, even if he suffered from it himself. He was willing to take the risk, especially if it had to do with you

Your friends knew that you needed to learn to trust others, but why you chose Gamzee was unclear. However, he didn't mind. He was glad that you appeared in his life. You were somewhat similar, and Gamzee felt comfortable around you. Perhaps together you can find the truth that you were both looking for

#homestuck #homestuck x reader #homestuck headcanons #gamzee makara #gamzee makara x reader

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weemsfreak · 6 months

Text

Midnight Miracle

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟMerry Christmas/Happy Holidays to those who celebrate! I wish you all a midnight miracle this season :) ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Jane Murdstone x Named fReader

A short Christmas story with our favorite victorian red flag ~2k words

Warnings: Talk of religion and the Anglican church (not in detail)

Wrapped in your ebony cape, you shielded yourself from the biting winter breeze that sent shivers down your spine. Usually the cold didn't bother you, but the wind was extra frigid tonight.

This Christmas Eve, the gaslit streets were adorned with an extra twinkle, buildings and shops aglow with an abundance of candles and festive decorations.

You weren't avoiding spending Christmas Eve with your family; rather, you sought a way to keep yourself occupied, and organizing your books provided a diversion.

The care of your books in your quaint store was where you spent your days. You assumed no one would venture to your store at this hour, dinner time on Christmas eve, still, you left the door unlocked. Amidst the aromatic embrace of cinnamon and pine, you immersed yourself in the quiet world of rearranging décor and organizing shelves, the dim light casting a serene ambiance.

Yet, your thoughts were consumed by a mysterious presence, a certain someone lingered in your mind despite the attempted distraction.

You couldn't stop yourself from wondering about her, you never could. Does she share your passion for books? Does she delight in the written word, perhaps poetry or prose? If so, what about? Does she spend her time writing like you?

You wondered what she could be occupied with now. You envisioned her partaking in a familial feast, while you longed for her presence, a wishful dream in the quiet corners of your mind. Your heart carried the weight of unspoken admiration for her, alas, you couldn't bring yourself to say a word to her, her cold yet enchanting demeanour both unsettled and exhilarated you.

You knew her through shared pews and hallowed hymns at the church, you observed her movements as she entered, sat, listened, prayed, sang - captivated by her every blink and breath.

She was a dark enchantress, her aesthetic seamlessly entwined with yours. Curiosity stirred as you wondered about the facets of her life that mirrored your own and the untold tales hidden behind her mysterious gaze. Perhaps she liked books, perhaps she lacked a husband, perhaps she preferred the company of women.

But alas, such thoughts remained in the realm of wishful thinking, your desires weaving through the fabric of a Christmas Eve both magical and elusive.

✧✧✧

You recollected the first time you saw her. Freshly settled in Blunderstone, you decided to venture to the Anglican church. Running late, you had no choice but to occupy a seat in the back. You leaned awkwardly to the side, nearly falling into the pews edge in an attempt to see the presider.

To your astonishment, a far superior sight unfolded—a raven-haired woman draped in black.

In the midst of prayer and hymns, you found your gaze drawn to her graceful figure, an enigmatic figure. Her dark curls were nestled beneath an even darker bonnet, adorned with silk ribbon. Instantly enchanting, her alabaster skin and, as you later discovered, azure eyes captivated your being. Despite the allure of her elegant stride and the way the corner of her mouth would occasionally turn up into a small smile, you dared not approach the subject of your admiration.

Yet, you dared to indulge in stolen glances, each soft gaze kindling a warmth within your heart.

Sundays held newfound anticipation for you, a shift from previous motives of seeking solace in the congregation.

However, on a recent Sunday, you were left devoid of joy and motivation when she failed to grace you with her presence.

✧✧✧

The ticking of the clock echoed in the shop, and before you knew it, the hands pointed to nearly 11 pm. A sense of joy and fluttering anticipation filled your stomach as thoughts of the impending midnight mass danced in your mind. The magic of Christmas enveloped the church, casting a spell that you could feel.

Heading to the back of your store, you stole a glance out the window, greeted by a gentle snowfall that blanketed the world.

You began extinguishing the candles one by one when the bell on the door rang, breaking the stillness and signalling an unexpected visitor.

You froze, who could be seeking books at this hour?

Slowly peaking through the shelves, it was far too dark to see. Creeping closer, you heard the soft shuffle of someone exploring the books.

You peered around the shelf and there she stood- the woman of your dreams, adorned in a black talma.

A gasp escaped your lips, prompting a swift retreat to the safety of the opposite shelf.

Memories of a previous encounter flooded your mind. Before one Sunday service began, you had ventured out early to pray. You stopped dead with trembling hands when you caught her kneeling with a grace that matched the intricately stained-glass windows. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on her profile, enhancing the allure that captivated you and lived in your imagination.

As she navigated the shadows of the books, you swooned, waiting with bated breath. Why had she chosen your shop? Shouldn't she be with her family, joining the congregation? Then again, you should have been with your own.

"Hello? Are you open for business?"

Her voice, a demanding melody, reverberated in the void of your shop. Your heartbeat quickened, torn between fleeing and standing your ground. This was your shop; you had to summon your strength.

Carefully, you stepped out from behind the bookshelf and surveyed the dark. When your eyes met hers, the unspoken connection between you became a silent dance, a tapestry woven with stolen glances and the shared sanctity of the church pews. You noticed the lack of warmth in her eyes and the metaphorical wall that she had up changed when she saw you. Your heart swelled with agony of unexpressed emotions and the delicate joy derived from the mere proximity of her ethereal presence. In a way, you mourned the unspoken connection, for there was no other option but to abandon it.

"Hi, I-I am open. How can I assist you?" you squeaked, attempting to mask any uncertainty or fear. The woman looked down at you, tilting her head in surprise.

"Amelia? This is your bookstore?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but your words eluded you. She spoke with less arrogance and gentler than you had known previous, but even more, she knew your name?

Of course, you were well aware of who she was, she and her brother were somewhat known in this town as the Murdstones—or, as some whispered, the Murderstones.

Perhaps she could be cruel, perhaps she was deceiving, yet she exuded a sickly sweetness, a captivating beauty in your eyes.

"Well I, yes I do" you nodded.

Jane stood tall, her eyebrows raising. You watched as a smile stretched across her face, and you couldn't help but think that this was the first time you saw her smile, a real smile; it was glorious.

"I must express my relief. I had no doubt that I would be greeted from behind the literature by a man." Jane released a small huff of laughter, and you suppressed a giggle.

"No, it's solely me" you replied with a smile.

Jane continued her exploration of the works, her long, slender fingers delicately wrapping around the spine of each one, caressing them lightly. You were entranced as she moved, perhaps she was a lover of literature after all.

Suddenly, Jane turned to you, furrowing her brows.

"Why are you open at this late hour?"

It was a valid question, why were you open at this hour? Well, for her, of course. But you pondered the same about her—why was she out so late?

"I sought fresh air after dinner, and I found myself here. I've been here for several hours" you chuckled, shrugging in embarrassment.

Jane smiled once more, averting her gaze and running her hand over the cover of a book.

"I'd love to spend several hours in a bookstore."

Silence enveloped you as she opened the book and flipped through its pages. Caught up in the enchantment of her presence, you failed to notice the book title, as your attention was wholly absorbed by the proximity of her features. She stood closer than ever before, her lips twitching as she silently mouthed the words her azure eyes scanned. The soft glow from the festive decorations cast a warm hue upon her, accentuating the grace of her features.

Jane's gaze shifted from the book to you, pulling you shamefully out of your trance.

"Do you plan to attend midnight mass?"

You nodded your head yes. "And you?"

Jane closed the book, cradling it against her chest.;

"Indeed. May I purchase this work?"

As Jane placed the book on the counter, revealing the cover and title, you paused. Running your hand over the leather, memories flooded back, reminiscent of the first time you read it. Unpopular, not for the story's shortcomings, but for its rather...unique allure—it was your favorite.

"Is this title familiar to you?" you questioned.

Jane shook her head, "I have not perused it, no."

You collected her payment and passed the book to her, long fingers grazing against yours. "Thank you."

You smiled and bowed your head, "Thank you for your purchase."

Jane's teeth shone through her smile, and genuine amusement sparkled in her eyes.

"Would you care to accompany me to the midnight mass?" she unexpectedly proposed, catching you off guard.

You blinked with surprise, was she serious?

Jane heard no reply, but she didn't budge, and you hopefully determined that she was.

✧✧✧

You and Jane embarked on a walk down the snow-covered cobblestone streets. You thought about the birth of Christ, the miracle of the season. You thought about the Anglican church and worship, you thought about Jane.

Your eyes sought out Jane's, the only eyes that captivated you, and you realized how lucky you were, for she was your sole companion in this moment. Her gaze met yours, a subtle recognition sparking between you. Jane fluttered her lashes, holding the book against her body with both hands. As you walked side by side, the snowflakes seemed to dance around you, and you longed to hold her gloved hand in yours.

As the midnight hour approached, the distant sounds of Christmas carols reached your ears. The Anglican church awaited, its doors open to those seeking solace and celebration. Together, you and Jane entered the sacred space, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the ancient walls.

As you knelt in prayer, Jane's presence beside you added an unexpected grace to the sacred ritual, it embraced you. The air was charged with a sense of belonging, a connection that transcended the unspoken desires of wishful thinking.

✧✧✧

After the mass concluded, the two of you stepped out into the crisp night air, the world adorned in a fresh blanket of snow. Jane's gaze met yours under the glow of the moon, and a shared understanding lingered between you. The magic of Christmas had intricately woven a fabric of connection, and the possibility of your souls uniting felt more real than ever.

"This selection is commendable. It happens to be my favorite," you whispered, the words carrying a warmth that defied the winter chill.

Jane's eyes gleamed with a quiet delight, and a genuine smile played on her lips. The church bells chimed, marking the arrival of Christmas Day.

"Perhaps you'd like to take another stroll?" Jane asked, her voice soft against the stillness of the night.

As you and Jane navigated the mysteries of the night, she took a chance and let go of the book with one hand, carefully reaching out for yours.

In that moment, as the world held its breath in anticipation, you realized that the enchantment of the season had not only brought you a magical Christmas Eve, but also the mysterious beauty of Jane Murdstone. It was a midnight miracle.

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