#bird creature x reader
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☆ decadence divine [ act I ]
{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina
{☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied)
{☆} word count 2.3k
ARLECCHINO
Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.
She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.
They weren't making it easy, however.
Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.
Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.
Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.
All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.
"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."
Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.
Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.
NEUVILLETTE
Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.
Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.
He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.
Now a masquerade.
He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.
So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.
Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.
No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.
Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?
He dares not ponder.
Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.
"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.
"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..
He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.
"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.
He had waited too long.
No longer.
FURINA
Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.
But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..
They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.
Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.
They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.
But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.
Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.
She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.
Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.
But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.
"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.
Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.
Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.
She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.
"But if you want to make it up to me.."
#genshin impact#genshin impact yandere#genshin yandere#neuvillette x reader#yandere neuvillette#yandere neuvillette x reader#arlecchino x reader#yandere arlecchino#yandere arlecchino x reader#furina x reader#yandere furina#yandere furina x reader#fic tag#pats neuvillette this noodle dragon can be so pathetic#aiming for pathetic desperate and slightly guilty. it gnaws at him knowing he's keeping you like a bird in a cage#esp if you react extremely negatively hes like a kicked puppy#not outwardly but internally hes a MESS. sobbing crying wailing#furina and neuvi sopping wet kittens u found in a cardboard box in an alley#vs arle thinking abt all the crimes shes going 2 commit in the process w/o an ounce of guilt. blackmail? check. kidnapping? check.#a little murder for flavor. as u can see im coping horribly w being practically snowed in rn i need 2 be put down#its like 4 degrees out rn (fahrenheit) and getting colder ueueueue i am dying..........#only thing keeping me going is my furinameow plushie coming. eventually. staying strong just for her.................#also needs 2 be mentioned all the stories r separate ksjfkhdsf#no not everyone in fontaine is yan and trying 2 kidnap sorry for getting ur hopes up..#yet#anyway u cant convince me arle isn't bribing (or just straight up forcing) her agents into doing stupid shit so she can “save” you#and make you owe her#two silly goofy little creatures vs the personification of gaslight gatekeep girlboss (heavy on the gaslight)#also split this up in 3 parts bc. lol. lmao. im not writing 9 characters at once goodbye#also all the masks do actually have significance i have an entire essay on why i gave each animal to specific characters okay
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Kisses. 🎲🫶
Kisses 🤝
You rolled 6! That's one gentle peck (not from a bird, I promise)
"We're leaving."
"We're wha- hey Zandik!"
You winced at how every student in the House of Daena turned towards you, their stares unforgiving in silent condemnation of the careless disturbance. Zandik merely huffed, light blue curls bouncing with the shake of his head; unbothered by the countless eyes on him.
How did he, loudly criticised at every gruelling step forward, carry himself with such an air of confidence?
Too late did you realise that the source of this contemplation stemmed from observing his gait, hips swaying lightly and shoulders pressed back as he walked away. Away from you. Right.
It was hardly satisfactory conduct in the opinions of your peers, too loudly shutting your books and stuffing everything haphazardly into a bag. It didn't matter, dew under the sun. They would talk regardless of what you did and how, such was the price for befriending an outlier.
Not that it mattered, not when Zandik's eyes lit up, drowning the stars in a crimson ocean while wild theories spilled from his sculpted lips. You caught up halfway to his preferred exit.
"What was that about? I wasn't done studying," you did your best to sound angry, ignoring the warm feeling of your palm against his shoulder, the uniform soft against your skin.
No doubt he was softer still underneath.
"And yet, you clearly have no qualms leaving prematurely, tagging along like a lost puppy" he sounded just a little smug, a tone you knew well enough to leave the bait alone.
"You specifically said that *we* were leaving."
"And you did as I said like..."
He raised his eyebrows, flashing you a sharp smile that had your heart fluttering. If there was one indisputable truth in this world, it would be how this man would one day be the death of you, of that you were certain. And as such, a scowl settled on your features, rolling your eyes before reluctantly completing his sentence.
"...a dog"
He chuckled slightly, relishing in another victory. It was comfortable, days spent attending classes, discussing what you'd each learned whenever your schedules would allow. Nothing was truly unattainable as long as he was by your side, your combined strengths blending seamlessly to form a reassuring net, always prepared to catch and cradle whoever should stumble along the way.
A brief brush of his lips against your forehead was enough to pull you back to the physical plane. The gesture set your veins ablaze, the stares burning into your back paling in comparison. He'd never done anything remarkably comparable in the presence of others. It tingled.
With his hand adorning your wrist, he led you outside in the direction of his dormitory.
"I had noticed you were beginning to lose focus anyway. And I have exciting news to share," his breathing came a little faster, "I will show you the details in my room. But I have made a breakthrough in my tinkering."
Without hesitation, your pace quickened to match his, hand shifting to allow your fingers to entangle. Was he not so reliant on time ever moving forward, a prayer to relive this uncomplicated moment forever would've already left your lips.
#he's a dork he's full of sass but most importantly he got that ass#i need to shake him actually#like a peper shaker to see if the little bird creatures will dislodge from his head like dandruff and spice my meal up#zandik x reader#dottore x reader#screaming at the murder
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Types of Wizards! ✨
❥ This was just a fun idea since I’ve been reading lots of fantasy headcanons, I wanted to try! Plus I don’t see too many for magic-y stuff out there so this gave me a good idea!
❥ Also! Most of these are female centered but some of this can be for boys too! I just prefer the term wizard because it sounds cooler lol. But thank you! Enjoy!
Storybook Wizards 🤎
Usually has an owl or sparrows as a companion.
Quills are made from barn owl feathers.
Wands are made from cinnamomum trees, elm trees, or hazel trees.
Likes to feed the crickets that sing on the bookshelves. Some think it’s gross but they’re very nice!
Uses golden wax seals for nearly everything.
Collects old trinkets they find or receive from friends. They don’t work anymore or are just old, but has tried fixing them up.
Loves both books & scrolls, but thinks books are easier to hold onto. That one friend who decides to read one more chapter, but ends up reading all night.
Loves to wish on stars or dandelions but is too embarrassed to tell anyone.
Seems like a bit of a hermit, but is actually really friendly! Loves to interact with people & exchange different interests, quite talkative at times.
Either works at an archive or some kind of library, has a special little key that works only for them.
Weather Wizards 🌩️
Usually has a bird of prey as a companion, but don’t worry they’re friendly 😅🙏
Quills are made from crow feathers.
Wands are made from maple trees, pine trees, or baobab trees.
The ultimate bird parent!! Birds love them & they’re always putting out bird seed feeders or scraps of veggies.
Lives alone in a tall tower in the middle of the woods. Only goes to town when necessary & will turn into a grumpy pants if you knock on their door.
Sometimes storm clouds or rain will swirl around their house, usually due to spell testing or potions.
The weather is actually pretty nice when they’re around! Cool breezes, clear skies, warm sunny days; tries to deny it’s their work until the sunshine gets brighter.
Collects clean water in mason jars or glass bottles when it rains.
Likes to climb rooftops & chart the stars.
Can always sense when a storm is approaching, doesn’t matter what kind they’re spot on. Likely their job is to keep them at bay as a guardian or lookout.
Love Wizards 💝
Usually has a dove or a type of songbird as a companion.
Quills are made from white swan feathers.
Wands are made from cherry trees, camellia trees, or jasmine shrubs.
Has an easier time communicating with fauna.
Ladybugs are automatically attracted to them & will usually bring good luck to them throughout the day.
Stores their potions in old perfume bottles but will make perfume as a small side job. Has to label everything though.
Has a small rose bush growing outside of their window; likes to talk to it & believes plants have feelings.
Super affectionate! Either the mom friend or the cutsey clingy child friend.
Never forgets Valentine’s Day!! (I’m sorry I know it was last week!) Goes over the top every year & everyone either gets a bouquet or a little goodie bag. The size of the gift depends on who you are sometimes.
Business is a postal service for relationship problems but gets a lot of love letters to proofread. A bit embarrassed receiving one addressed to them.
Swamp Wizards 🐸
Usually has a crane or even a heron as a companion. But sometimes that makes it hard to get in them the house...
Quills are made from duck feathers.
Wands are made of mangrove trees, dogwood trees, or lilypad stems.
Defined as the oddballs of wizardry. They are known to travel a lot but usually live alone.
Uses an old timey ferry boat to get around, but has to use magic to get the paddle wheel moving. It’ll creak & stop like an old engine.
Probably the most experienced in floral/nature magic & their house is like an absolute jungle. Will even let moss grow out because “it wants to be there.”
Has tried more than once to kiss a frog & see if it’ll turn into their true love, but carries medicine around just in case.
Really loves milkweed flowers & will set up cute bundles in their home to make it smell good.
The best cook in the world but mostly uses magic to help.
Probably the friendliest person you’ll meet! Will tell all sorts of stories about their travels, the different kinds of people they’ve met, where to find the best berry bushes, how to care for tadpoles— It might be awhile before you can introduce yourself…
#fantasy#fantasy headcanons#fantasy au#magic rp#wizards#wizard rp#wizard headcanons#magical creatures#magical creature headcanons#fantasy au headcanons#fantasy aesthetic#magic aesthetic#wizard aesthetic#magical world#mythical creatures#fantasy x reader headcanons#fantasy x reader#bird aesthetic#writers of tumblr#writers on tumblr#writing prompts#fantasy prompts
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What’s Larry’s reaction to his SO having the least normal normal-types, the porygon line? Porygon Z specifically if u only want to deal with one of them 💚
Ooooh this is such a good idea! The Porygon line are all little weirdos for being Normal-types. Here you go, anon!
Larry With An S/O Who Has All Of The Porygon Line
- Larry likes Porygon and Porygon2. Not only does he like their color – pink and blue remind him of cotton candy – but he finds their duckling-esque appearance endearing. He’s never trained one himself. They seem a bit too much for him to handle. The Porygon line has a very dynamic moveset and is a better fit for the science types. He is most definitely not what one would call scientifically inclined. That doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the Pokemon you have by your side from afar.
- You have all three of the Porygon line. Porygon, Porygon2, and your beloved Porygon-Z. It was your first partner as a young trainer and your best friend. After its final evolution, it became a bit… erratic, but it’s still your partner, and you don’t know where’d you be without it. Besides, watching your boyfriend awkwardly putter alongside it is quite possibly the funniest thing you’ve seen.
- Porygon and Porygon2 don’t bother Larry much. He treats them the same as he’d treat his Flying-types. They float, and they have what can pass as beaks, that’s bird enough for him. They glide around him as he meanders about his apartment, occasionally scratching them under the chin. Porygon-Z throws him for a loop. The way it moves makes no sense, its strange cry makes his ears ring, and he is almost convinced he needs to call whoever wrote its entry and change its typing to AT LEAST Normal/Psychic. You’re starting to think that Porygon-Z likes to tease him. Sometimes, it even sneaks up behind him when he’s not paying attention- which is almost always - and moves its limbs in strange spirals that always get him to make the cutest expression. Larry’s brows furrow as he squints his eyes and slowly cocks his head to the side. “Is… it okay…?”
- One day, as Larry comes home from work he sees you and your three Pokemon relaxing on the couch together. With a small smile and a kiss to your temple he says, “There's my flock of odd ducklings.” Larry takes to calling you that as a pet name from then on.
#pokemon x reader#pokemon imagines#pokemon headcanons#elite four larry x reader#gym leader larry x reader#odd duckling doesnt roll off the tongue as a pet name but larry strikes me as someone who comes up with WEIRD pet names#but youre forever his weird bird#his odd little duck#his strange creature#hit him with no YOURE my odd duck and he melts
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hiii i loved „spring breaks loose”!!🤍 could i request another something for theodore, where the reader is quite bubbly and loves talking and he, the quiet guy he is, just likes to listen? and maybe the reader is worried that she talks too much and it could be annoying to him but he’s just so in love that he’s obsessed with all her rabling😭😭 sorry if thats too specific
darling socialite
A/N: um i love this because if someone let me chat their ear off, i would fall in love. i love a chatter and i love a listener 🩷 gif creds: @perfectlyfuckingcivils
Pairings: Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader
Summary: You are talkative as all hell, and Theo has dubbed himself your devoted listener. 1.3k words
Warnings: i be cursing, fluff, mild self-consciousness, two dummies in LOVE, mattheo being a perv (boy moment), kissing…, pansy being a slight bitch (lovingly)
Everyday, you look forward to telling Theo anything and everything. Sometimes, you'll get so excited to tell him something that you'll jot it down on the nearest surface. Most of the time, that surface is your hand. Who can blame you; you can't resist the gory details.
Everyday, Theo looks forward to hearing anything and everything from you. You're his favorite news source, his sweetest messenger, his darling socialite, and he is your devoted subscriber. He's worried one day you'll run out of things to tell him, but according to the ink splotches across your skin, there's a slim chance that'll happen.
"Hi, teddy!" you chirp, and he turns to welcome you into the seat beside him. "You will not believe what I saw in the courtyard on my way here: a willow tit!"
Mattheo chokes on a gulp of juice, sputtering in his seat and looking over at you. "Pardon?"
"Don't be crude, Matty. I'm talking about birds."
"Yeah, I got that, I just never realized you’re playing for the other team—"
"Mattheo!" you holler, glaring at him in utter disbelief, "you complete idiot! Birds, as in real birds. As in those things that fly around and chirp and eat berries!"
"Let me get this straight, we're not talking about some bird's tits? Suddenly, I'm uninterested," he says, earning a pointed glare from Theo.
"Anyway," you say, rolling your eyes and facing Theo, "You hardly see them anymore, they're very rare, but I saw one, and it was the cutest creature I've ever seen on campus! It was so round, I could have died. He must've liked all the rain we got over the weekend. I hope he survives the winter and has lots of little tit babies in the spring!"
Theo could not be more head over heels for you while you babble about round tits and babies. He thinks if he ever opens his mouth to respond, he’ll screw it up in an instant. Thank Merlin, he's naturally quiet and content to listen to you all day. And thank Merlin, you never ask for anything more from him.
If only you knew how much he truly adores you and your ramblings. He holds your company in his highest regard and considers every time you choose him a blessing.
You never think too much of Theo's tight-lippedness. You figure if he was completely sick of it, he'd just get up and walk away. Or maybe that's not like him, and maybe you are a bother.
It doesn't help when Pansy skips up to you in the hall and says, "I'm really impressed you're able to hold Theo's attention as long as you do."
"What are you talking about, P?" you say.
"Well... don't you ever worry he's, like... bored with you? I mean, when was the last time he actually contributed to your 'conversations'. I just don't want you to get your hopes up, you know?" —she shrugs it off like it's not an unforgivable curse to the gut—"If I were you, I'd find a more attentive playmate. You can always talk to me!"
"Thanks, Pansy," you say.
"Just looking out for a friend! See ya!"
You nod and wait by the bottom of the stairs as she hops her way up. You didn't think you were getting your hopes up, necessarily. You thought Theo was just a good listener. And sure, he's not super responsive, but he's just shy. That's not his fault.
…
There's a rapping of knuckles at the door, and Mattheo hurdles his bed and reaches for the knob.
"Why, good evening, dearest birdwatcher"—Theo perks up from where he's rifling through his trunk.
"I could say the same to you, perv," you tease, "Is Theo around? I need—"
"To talk to him? Figures. He's just hiding his softcore stash—"
"Shut up!" Theo hollers, popping up and hurrying to the door, a little flushed to find you looking at him, "he's just joking."
Mattheo chuckles, "No, he's right, Theo would never have so much fun"—he dodges the jab to his side—"Alright, I'll leave you two lovebirds to your tits and whatnot. Try not to make too much noise, we have downstairs neighbors." He winks and makes his way down the boys dormitories stairwell.
And suddenly, Theo can't remember the last time he was truly alone with you. No onlookers or eavesdroppers, no Pansy and no Mattheo. Just the two of you. His sweaty palms and your rapid heartbeat.
"I need to ask you something," you finally blurt. He looked so nervous you thought he might throw up over the railing, so you put him out of his misery before he has the chance.
"Yes, yeah, anything," he huffs.
"Well," you say, "I was thinking—just... ruminating, really, because it was suggested that I bore you with my chattiness"—you cross your arms over your chest and look to the floor—"and not that I'm begging for pity or even a response, I just wanted to know how you feel because I realized maybe I don't ask about you enough. You know, like I'm always worried about me, or something, but I do worry about you, too! I just wasn't sure if that's something—if you maybe wanted to talk about it more. Because I can be a good listener! I'd be happy to hear whatever you have to say!"
Theo leans his shoulder against the doorframe, adjusting the bottom of his sweater as it clings to his hips. How could he let you believe you're too much for him. How could he let you believe yourself to be some kind of social burden to him. All because he'd much rather listen to you than contribute his own two cents.
"See! Merlin, even now, I've just talked your ear off while trying to apologize for constantly talking your ear off! And I haven't even apologized, yet! I'm so sorry, Theo, I know it's a problem, and I didn't mean to take advantage of your politeness."
You scuff your sole on the landing with a whine, and he leans to the side to watch you look over the edge. It's so quiet for a moment, he can hear your soft breathing if he focuses on it.
"It's not a problem," Theo says. You look over, lips parted at the smug look on his face. "And if I was the one who suggested otherwise, I couldn't be more apologetic."
It makes you smile. He's just said two very thoughtful things to you. Out loud. To your face. You could crumble.
"No! No, teddy, it wasn't you, it was... doesn't matter. You really don't mind?"
He shakes his head, a little amused, honestly. How could he mind? You’re the greatest thing since dark chocolate, and he’d still give that up. You’d go just as well with his afternoon tea.
“Well, then,” you huff, warmer under his gaze, determined to get this damned apology across.
“Alright,” Theo says. Apology accepted. Apology not even necessary. But still accepted.
“Okay. But next time you catch me rambling, you better just shut me up! Tell me to ‘shush’ or something! It’s a problem, and I give you full permission to—”
He kisses you. He leans down, smug with his fingers under your chin, and he kisses you! Shuts you right up like you’re still some gullible first year completely wooed by his boyish charms! Oh, but he’s kissing you very sweetly. And when your knees go a tad wobbly, he rushes to cradle your elbow.
“Like that?” he says.
“That’s no way to treat a lady, Theodore. You should be completely ashamed of yourself for ever thinkin—”
He kisses you again. More sure and much quicker. Like a reflex. A knee jerk reaction without the kneeing or the jerking. Just his stupidly soft lips.
“Yeah,” you whisper, “that works… but you can’t just kiss me every time you want to shut me up.”
“No”—he pecks your lips, fingers gentle at your cheek—“I plan on kissing you much more often than that.”
masterlist
#theo nott#theodore nott#theo nott fluff#theodore nott fluff#theo nott x reader#theodore nott x reader#fluff#fanfic#hp universe#x reader#fanfiction#x female reader#x fem!reader#theo nott x fem!reader#friends to lovers
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Caught In His Web
Yandere Male Drider x Gender Neutral Reader
CW: Noncon, painless/gentle noncon, venom, drugging, biting, light bondage, webbing, drider, spider-hybrid, oral sex, oviposition, dead animals wrapped in webbing, stalking, underwear sniffing, general yandere behavior.
Word Count: 2.7k
(A drider is technically an elf-spider formed as a punishment by Lolth, but this is just a human-spider hybrid with magic. Not technically a drider. But "spidertaur" just sounds off. Hope you enjoy, this was technically the first fic I started though I only resumed and finished it today)
You were an herbalist, you took plants and herbs from the wild fields, forests, and hills surrounding your small humble cottage. You expertly prepared the ingredients that you gathered and imbued them with the tiny bit of healing magic that you possessed. Magic in humans was very rare and your abilities and magical education were somewhat limited, but your potions, salves, ointments and remedies sold well enough in the town about six miles away on the other side of the forest.
Twice a month you made the journey there and back to sell your healing supplies. You made enough to survive on, and also enough to get you through the colder months when the healing plants you used did not grow. It was a modest life, but you were happy enough. Well, except for one thing... you were being followed...
At first, starting almost a year ago, you couldn’t get past the feeling that you were being watched from the shadows of the forest, occasionally you could swear you could catch glimpses of a large shape moving out of the corner of your eye or could hear something moving through the branches. You convinced yourself it was all in your imagination, or at least just some innocent woodland creature moving in the woods. For a month or so your denial was easy enough. You live by the forest, of course the animals must simply be getting more used to your non-threatening presence and getting a bit closer than they had previously. Everything was perfectly fine.
But then, about three months ago, things started to escalate. At first it was odd, but still explainable by the functions of nature. There were bundled up small dead animals bound in webbing left around in the places you most frequently gathered herbs and flowers. Okay, that is creepy, it must be some large spiders that are attracted to the birds and mice that are attracted to the insects drawn by the plants, perfectly normal and natural. You wish it would be perfectly normal and natural a bit farther away from you, but there was clearly nothing to worry about... except the fact that there are apparently a lot of spiders big enough to kill birds and mice in close proximity to you...
You could have dealt with the creepy large webs and the implied but unseen giant spiders, but then just a few days ago the bundles started being left on your porch for you to dispose of each morning. The webbed up animals were completely un-dessicated, killed and then just… left… A spider would not drop food for later in such an odd place. And what’s more the webbing now contained flowers woven into it, the flowers you most commonly used in your trade. No longer could you maintain any notions that the glimpses you saw from the forest, the noises you heard, and the web bundles were just coincidence.
The nearest humans lived too far away to keep up such a well maintained and menacing prank/threat, so you conclude that there must be some foul creature or malicious spirit that is stalking you. The past few days you were terrified and on the verge of freaking out, but you managed to maintain your calm composure. Besides, it has not escalated since then and today was the day that you went to the closest village to peddle your medical supplies, perhaps you could purchase some wards to protect yourself from spirits and talk to the local trappers, hunters, and elders to see if they know of anything dangerous lurking in the area.
You opened the door with a broom to sweep your doorstep, where you knew the web ball would be left. You shuddered as you swept it into the bushes and out of sight. So gross. You then went about your daily chores, and put the final touches on a last minute tincture. You put all your various vials, bottles, and other containers full of your merchandise into a large backpack that you put on before setting off on your way out the door and into the long path through the woods that would lead you to the village.
You started off at a brisk pace, there was no time to enjoy what would otherwise be a pleasant and leisurely stroll on a cool breezy day. You gripped the handle of the dagger in your belt tightly, in constant fear of what could potentially lurk just out of sight. You were paranoid and hyper fixated on watching the trees and path ahead for any possible signs of danger. So fixated that you completely neglected to watch where you were going. You did not notice a large bump in the path and tripped, you tried to get up but your ankle was sprained and you ended up flopping back over on your side.
This was bad, you were probably at least two miles into the forest unable to walk. Utterly helpless, with no more than a small dagger that in your inexperienced hands was mostly just for a false sense of security. But you couldn’t just lay here, you turned back towards the direction of your home and started ever so slowly dragging yourself.
You tried to do this as quietly as possible to not draw any attention to yourself, but you heard skittering and rustling in the bushes ahead of you.
Futilely, you hoped that it was just an animal or even the wind, but it wasn’t The being that had been lurking in the shadows and stoking your fears finally came forth.
A large drider came out of the trees. Like a centaur he was a creature that was human enough from the waist up but instead of a horse below that he was a giant white spider with black markings. From far enough away, and if the spider half were not in view, he could have easily been mistaken for a striking woman. His figure was slender and his hair was long and shimmered beautifully like silver in the rays of light that penetrated through the forest canopy.
But that is where the illusion ended for he had two fangs and four red eyes. He spoke in a cautious voice, as if trying to placate an animal that he feared may lash out.
“I’m Umzerth. I won’t hurt you, I promise.
You looked at him, trembling in dread and unable to take your eyes away as you scrambled backwards.
“Please no.” You repeated desperately in a frantic whisper.
The drider looked both concerned at your predicament and hurt by your reaction at seeing him.
“Please… darling… you’re hurt… just let me help you…”
“No, j-just stay back…”
“But your leg needs tending to my sweetling, I’ve never hurt you. I have proven I can take care of you by giving you all those plants you like. And food with them!”
“I am not interested in you taking care of me! Please just leave me alone… I have healing supplies with me…” Your voice faltered and it was clear that you were terrified of him.
Umzerth looked dejected, but he wasn’t going to give up. This was the first time he had properly met you and you were in pain. Surely you would accept him as your mate. He was so powerful and could take care of you. That’s what little humans wanted in a mate surely. He just had to calm you down and prove it.
The spider took a few tentative steps closer. You pulled your dagger from your belt and pointed it towards him. Your hand shook, more evidence of the fear coursing through you. He knew you’d never hold such a weapon to him if you were in your right mind. Maybe some of his venom would soothe you.
“Please put that away and let me help you sweetheart, my home is very close by. Your healing salves won’t work as fast as my methods will.”
You backed away a bit more, still holding up the dagger.
“I’ll take my chances.”
He moved with lightning speed and plucked the dagger from your hand, tossing it far away and out of sight. He spoke more forcefully.
“It would still take days to heal that foot. I can see the bruising from here. There are wild animals everywhere and I am not going to my beloved die out here because they were too damn stubborn.”
You cry out briefly as he bit down on your neck before an unnatural calm took your mind and your body went limp before fading into a relaxed sleep. His venom wasn’t at all deadly, not to humans, spiders, or driders. For a human it would merely give them a nice sleep. Which is exactly what you needed while he attended to your injury.
As you began stirring from your sleep you heard your name whispered. You woke to find your leg completely free of any pain, wrapped in silvery webbing. You could feel the thrum of magic within it. Much stronger than anything you could manage. Well… at least that proved he really wasn’t going to kill you.
“Are you feeling better, my little wild flower? I watched to make sure you slept well… I did take a break to catch you some food.”
The room you were in was unfamiliar, it looked to be a dwelling carved into stone. Likely at the base of the hills nearby. You were in a soft hammock made of silk. There was a wooden table next to you. Hand-carved. Umzerth apparently had grown accustomed to making his own furniture. Atop it lay a dead rat covered in webbing.
You recoiled at the sight.
“What’s wrong sweetling, it’s all predigested! You just have to bite and suck it out… don’t you like it?”
You didn’t say anything, but hopped up and bolted towards the exit. The ground was rough and cold on your bare feet, but you gave it no notice. You had to get away from this freak.
Umzerth caught you before you even reached the door.
“Let me go! I want to go home! Please!” You began sobbing and begging. Even if you were in no immediate danger he still frightened you. Thrust into a strange place with a terrifying creature and expected to eat… that… It was all too much.
“You ARE home my sweet flower!”
He caressed you oh so tenderly and claimed your lips with his own before setting you down on a cushioned chair that was far too small for him. Evidently he had prepared for your arrival for quite some time. Utterly disgusted with having been kissed by the monster, you wiped your lips.
“Are you upset with the food? Do humans not like that? I can learn to prepare human foods for you…”
He paced back and forth for a while with a nervous expression on his face, he wanted to make you happy and it was clear that you weren’t. How could he please you? He’d learn how to do that cooking thing he had watched humans do, but how could he make you like him more immediately?
Other than food that was to your liking hadn’t he provided everything a mate should? Shelter. Medical treatment.
Oh of course!
Sex!
You were being a whiny little human because you probably were desperate to copulate! He knew you were single since he had never seen another person at your dwelling, you probably hadn’t had a good dick like his in you in a long time, if ever.
You’d probably be all shy and bratty about it though. Natural first time jitters. He knew what would calm you down.
He scooped you up from the chair and, despite your struggles, gave your neck a little nip. Just a fraction of a full dose. You went limp again, but didn’t fall asleep this time. Your limbs felt too heavy and you felt really relaxed. You couldn’t muster the energy or will to fight anymore.
Umzerth gently placed you on a high stone shelf so that he was eye level with your crotch.
“I know just what you need to make you happy sweetling~”
You only groaned absently in response.
The drider gently peeled off your pants and underwear, taking it to his face and inhaling your scent deeply before placing it aside. The smell had him aroused in an instant. His erect cock poked out of a slit at his waist just below where his two halves met. Big and somewhat slimy.
He rubbed your soft thighs.
“Such a soft fragile thing.” He whispered.
He kissed up your thighs, occasionally giving them a careful nip, not enough to draw blood. He attended to you with a sloppy tongue and beneath the effects of his venom all you could feel was pleasure. You grinded into his face as you weakly stroked his hair, grabbing it harder when he brought you to climax.
He licked you clean as you shuddered.
“Ah, you fed me so well for worshiping at the altar between your thighs~”
You were even more relaxed now than when he had just bitten you, and just as powerless to resist. The spider picked you up carefully and shared another dominating kiss with you. This time sliding his tongue and brushing it against yours, smearing your taste buds with your very own flavor mixed with his saliva. A string of which connected your lips for a moment as he pulled away.
Then he held you as he positioned your body in front of his cock.
“Oh sweetling, you’ll look even prettier with a bellyful of my eggs~”
His words elicited just the smallest spark of worry in your envenomated mind, though it was quickly squashed when you felt his cock smear warm pre at your entrance. While holding you with one strong hand he slipped a finger in and out of you, slowly adding more one at a time.
Drooling and unable to articulate any thoughts, you moved back against his fingers.
At that he decided you were ready. He slipped his wet cock into you easily and with no pain at all, he had been very careful to make sure he pleasured his delicate flower.
He held you by your hips, gently rocking you back and forth along his shaft. You occasionally moaned softly. It felt so nice. So perfect. Like you were made just for this. Why had you been resisting again?
Umzerth started to go just a little harder, sure that his love could take it. With each thrust you let out a little gasp of pleasure. His cock fit itself into you beautifully, hitting every inch and making you feel full and sated in a way you never had before.
The fill of your shivering body as you had another climax pulled Umzerth over the edge with you. Powerful shudders racking the both of you in unison as his cock deposited small eggs deep inside you. Soft yet firm, they attached themselves to your insides. They would fertilize as they absorbed a bit of your DNA, then they’d fall out after a few days and then hatch a few weeks later.
Having deposited so many inside of his darling, your belly looked larger. He lay you in his web with him in the corner, rubbing your belly in awe. You smiled up at him and idly played with his soft hair.
“I’ll be back soon my love, I am going to get you something to eat.”
He wrapped you up in his webbing to keep you cozy before giving you a bit more venom to send you off into a short sleep. Then he covered the entrance to his den with his strongest webbing to make sure that you were completely safe while he was away. By the time you awoke he would have a good meal fit for any human. Then you would have nothing at all to be grumpy about.
This time he’d swipe a meal from the village, of course he’d leave them a gold coin in compensation since humans seemed to like those, and after that you could teach him!
#yandere teratophilia#yandere terato#my ocs#yandere x reader#monster boyfriend#gender neutral reader#yandere monster#male yandere x gn reader#yandere boyfriend#yandere spidertaur#spidertaur x reader#yandere drider#drider x reader#My OCs#My OC Umzerth#yandere#male yandere
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Yandere Head Canons:
Love After Death
Yandere Skeleton x Fem Reader
I’m obsessed with Kate Bush’s song ‘Army Dreamers.’ So I decided to write a story about a soldier who died during a war, but he came back to life just to fulfill his promise of coming home to his lover…
There was a Great War many years ago between monsters and humans. A war that took countless innocent lives all due to the human’s greed. A war that took the life of your lover, Zered. Your childhood sweetheart.
Zered was a young sorcerer from the magic tower. A prodigy and pioneer of magic with a heart of gold. He was the man you had planned to spend the rest of your life with. You wanted to run your fingers through those blonde curls until the two of you were balding and wrinkly. To look into those sea foam eyes until you couldn’t. To press soft kisses against his full lips until your lungs burned. You loved that man more than anything in this world… but the war took him from you.
Zered may have died a hero of the empire, but you couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped its fingers into your heart. Your beloved was no nothing more of a war story. A great sorcerer who was able to take down the dragon enemies to give time for reinforcements to arrive. A war hero. And they couldn’t even bring a single remain of him back to you…
You sighed as you sipped on some homemade ale. Your eyes glanced at the sun’s rays that danced across the hay fields in sorrow. This was the cottage the two of you were going to live in for the rest of your days. The one you’d start a family in that was now cold and empty. It didn’t matter that the sun hit it perfectly each time, Zered wasn’t here.
You rock back and forth in the rocking chair. The birds weren’t singing their melodic tunes like they normally did. Which was odd. Why weren’t the birds singing- you almost screamed when you see a dark figure slink through the meadow towards your cabin. What on earth was an undead doing here?!
You quickly sprang up from your chair and fell over since you were a bit tipsy. Crap. Crap. Crap! You needed to head inside before that creature got to you.
You let out a shrill shriek of terror when the skeleton stood in your porch. Its red eyes stared into your very soul as it tilted its head to the side. Oh god… this was it. This was the end. You were going to be ripped apart by this hideous creature-
You went still when the creature threw itself into your arms as it released weeping noises. The skeleton whined and shook as its arms wrapped around your body in a tight hug.
“H-home. I… home.” The skeleton’s voice was a spin chilling rasp. A small tuft of blonde on its head showed that it was once human.
What did it mean by being home- wait. This cousin possibly be?
“Zered?” You gasped when the skeleton pressed its teeth onto your cheek like it wanted for press a kiss against your cheeks. “Zered, what happened?”
“Home… home.” Zered was barely to rasp out legible words. The skeleton cupped your face in its palms. “Love you… I home.”
#female reader#yandere fic#yandere imagine#yandere#yandere obsession#Yandere skeleton#yandere lich#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc#yandere original character#yandere concept#yandere insert#yandere headcanons#yandere fantasy#yandere boy#yandere male#yandere male x reader#yandere soldier#fantasy#yandere short story#Yandere zombie#monster yandere#yandere monster#monster x reader#yandere drabble#light angst
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hiii can i request a silly little scene i have in my head? ok so!
alastor x wife! reader- theyve been together since they were alive, legit partners in crime they both encouraged eachother to kill and when they reunited in hell after around 8 years they were independent once again UNTIL They got in trouble with Lilith and she took reader to be like her slave until Alastor finished helping Charie with her dream (until he helped prove that demons can be redeemed) so they didnt see each other for another 7 years (his absence)
And all throughout the first season hes like “I miss my wife, Husk. I miss her a lot” (while drunk-) like that one sonic dub meme and starts shaping his shadow creature into reader and talking to it and everyone is like “m yep he’s officially lost it.”
BUT then Sir Pentious is redeemed and Lilith sees and shes like “damn :/“ and send reader to the new hotel via portal and reader just. falls on the ground in front of the big entrance and everyone hears it and they rush out and Alastor is quiet, wide eyed and reader goes smth like “i know- i shouldnt have accepted it in your name but-“ blah blah she rambles on about it and Alastor just goes “Youre as beautiful as the day I los you.” LIKE THAT HEARYBREAKING SCENE FROM HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON 2 ;-; and everyone reacts in their own way
I REALLY NEED THIS BUT I LACK THE ABILITIES TO DO IT HEEELP (love u)
A/N oh bestie,, i got you. I was actually planning on something similar where Alastor was getting drunk at a bar and talking about the love of his life (I'm still gonna write that one too but I really like this prompt!!) You guys really come up with the best requests, please keep sending them in.
Fuel and the Fire (Alastor x Wife!Partner-in-Crime!Reader)
Pairing: Alastor x Reader
Warnings: ANGST also bad words (idk why i wrote the warnings like this). Also Angel Dust is in this one and I love him but he is a warning on his own.
Word Count: 2,392
Master Lists:
Master Lists
Hazbin Hotel Master List
Alastor and Y/n, partners in crime, the fuel and the fire. On a first glance, it would be assumed she was his fuel, the coal and dry leaves he fed himself by. Once anyone got to know them -- and god, what trouble a person was in if they got to know them -- they quickly realized it was the other way around.
Hand in hand from day one, from childhood. Running from the cops, washing the blood off one another's faces. In the living world and life after death, nothing could tear them apart. He was the soil she planted herself in, he was her rock and Y/n? Well she was Alastor's everything. He'd do anything at all for her, all she had to do was ask.
For a decade, they terrified the living world. They were the reason to double check the lock on the door before bed, they were the ominous shadow at the corner. When cold death wrapped them in his reckless grasp, they turned their terror on Hell.
The pair made a name for themselves quickly, filling up the airwaves and making waves in the underworld. For generations, they reigned supreme. For generations, they knew no fear. Then one day, they simply disappeared.
When Alastor reappeared on the streets seven years later without his shadow, the town was alight with gossip. No one knew where he had been, where she still was, or why he had returned but Alastor quickly rebuilt his operation, setting up shop at Lucifer's daughter's Hazbin Hotel along with several of the souls he owned.
The hotel's other residents and workers were distrustful of the man, to say the least. He was shifty, wore a constant smile, and rumors circled around him like birds of prey. That was until about three months into his stay, at least.
Angel hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He'd been coming down to the bar for a drink and a rant of his own when he'd heard the familiar, crackling voice of the Hotel's host.
"I just... I miss her so much, Husk."
He sounded sad, utterly dejected. Angel crouched down on the staircase, hiding his slim body behind one of the ornate posts supporting the railing.
"You keep saying that but do nothing to go find her. She disappeared the same time as you, you know." came Husk's gruff reply.
"I know she did."
"You keep saying that, acting like you know something. Admit it: you don't know shit, Alastor."
Alastor's radio waves faltered, squeaking slightly. Angel tensed in terror, wondering if he'd been found out. This was clearly a private conversation, and the Radio Demon was testy at the best of times. Right now he seemed positively furious.
"Don't test me, Husk." Alastor said after a moment, breaking the tense silence, "She... we both got roped into something. I am doing my part, she is doing hers."
Angel straightened himself up, deciding it was high time he entered the room. He still wanted that drink, after all. He let his feet fall heavily on the stairs, alerting the others to his presence. Husk turned toward the sound, meeting Angel's eyes as he entered the bar. Alastor, on the other hand, kept his back to the spider demon.
Taking a seat beside Alastor, Husk immediately poured Angel a drink and slid it across the counter towards him.
"So, tough night, Smiles?" Angel asked, turning to Alastor who downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp.
"I don't know what you're talking about, my good fellow." Alastor hummed in response.
There was a threat in his voice, but Angel could tell the demon's heart wasn't in it. Everything was just, odd.
"Yeah... sure..." Angel scoffed, taking a sip of his own drink.
"Radio man was crying to me about his wife five seconds ago." Husk grumbled and Angel's eyes went wide.
"You have a wife?" he asked, turning back to Alastor, "I mean, I get it. I'm in to the whole 'tall dark and creepy' thing too but, you care about someone? I don’t know if I can see it.”
Alastor's eyes narrowed as he turned on Husk. The cat demon rolled his eyes in a brazen display of disrespect. He knew his master well, knew this was the only thing he had any leverage with the man on. With a deep breath, Alastor placed his hands firmly on the bar top and pulled himself to his feet. Not saying another word, he disappeared into his shadows.
That had been the first odd occurrence. Of course Angel had told Charlie and Charlie had told everyone, had even approached Alastor about it. The Radio Demon brushed it all off with skill and for a while, things were quiet.
About a month later, the second strange thing began happening. Alastor had always had a certain sway over shadows, everyone knew that. However, he very rarely used them, brought them out if it wasn't to hide him or take him where he needed to be. Then, suddenly, one began to follow him.
"Uh, Alastor?" Charlie had timidly approached him the first time she saw this happening.
"Yes, Charlie my dear?" Alastor asked, turning to face her as he tossed his microphone in the air, catching it neatly in the center of the stand.
"Well, we were just wondering if everything was... okay?" she asked, her hands behind her back and a pointed gaze on the shadow.
"If everything..." Alastor trailed off, following the path of Charlie's gaze and realizing what was going on, "No, no my dear. Everything is quite all right, quite alright indeed."
"Well, okay... If you say so." Charlie had relented after a few moments, unsure of what else to do.
Eventually, the members of the Hazbin Hotel grew used to the shadows, they too slipped out of their minds. Overcome with impending doom of the extermination just a month away, Alastor's strange behavior was no longer a priority.
That had been until the third odd occurrence came into being. It was Sir Pentious who had noticed it first, drawing it to the group's attention as Alastor walked through the lobby and past the group doing trust exercises there on his way to some meeting or another with the other overlords.
"Sir Pentious?" Charlie had called, trying to bring him back to earth as he watched the place Alastor had occupied, "Sir Pentious?"
"Pentious!" Vaggie yelled and his head snapped to her, "You're not coming up with some new plan to attack Alastor, are you?"
"No!" he quickly exclaimed, waving his hands frantically in the air, "Not at all just..."
"What?" Vaggie asked through gritted teeth, advancing a step forward, her spear in hand.
"It's just... doesn't that shadow Alastor has had following him well.... doesn't it kind of look like a woman?"
Husk broke out into wild laughter while Angel widened his eyes.
"Oh, he's definitely lost it now." Husk exclaimed as he calmed himself, clutching his stomach, "If I knew Y/n was the secret to breaking him down, I woulda done something about it years ago."
"No you wouldn't have, ya big talker." Angel teased, elbowing the cat demon lightly.
"Y/n?" Sir Pentious asked.
"Alastor's wife. That was her name." Husk replied.
"Did you know her?" Charlie asked.
Alastor had left the hotel, the threat that had held their questions at bay for months was gone and the topic was right. Husk nodded.
"So, what's she like?" Angel asked suggestively, "Is she more of a dom? Does deer boy like to get dicked down by his lady?"
"Gross." Charlie shook her head, her hands to her temples, "I do not want to know that."
"She's a good kid." Husk said after a moment, "She's nice..."
He trailed off.
"But?" Vaggie prompted, sensing there was more that he wanted to say.
Husk sighed.
"If you think Alastor is trouble, she's a fucking house fire set for the insurance money."
"So probably not interested in being a guest." Charlie dejectedly stated.
Husk shrugged.
"You never know. It has been seven years since anyone has seen her. Alastor allegedly knows where she's at but, he hasn't gone after her. Just keeps whining to me about it so, I don't know. Maybe she's changed. I doubt it though. Sweet as a pea, sharp as a knife."
Charlie had never felt such relief as when she learned Alastor had not died in the chaos of the battle. The hotel was destroyed, heaven was pissed, Sir Pentious had died but, at least he was alright. They rebuilt the hotel, Alastor's same shadow of a woman trailing after him wherever he went. After about a week, thanks to all the angelic and demonic powers involved in the construction, the new Hotel was finished.
It was just as they put the finishing touches on the place, hung the portrait of Sir Pentious they'd commissioned above the fire place, that a portal opened in the lobby. Everyone tensed, banding together behind Charlie and Alastor. Angels were coming, they were sure of it.
A crash echoed from the other side, a sharp yell and then something tumbled through the portal. With a flash, the portal disappeared behind the shape of a person huddled on the floor. She coughed violently.
Alastor's eyes went wide. Everyone else was too distracted to notice, but if they'd have been paying attention, they would have seen his shadow disappear.
The girl was filthy, her clothes torn and her hair tangled. She let out another, sharp cough before slowly lifting her head. Alastor took a trembling step forward.
"Y/n?" he asked, his voice soft in disbeleif.
A smile, wide and sharp, split the woman's bruised face in two.
"Hey hun, I'm home."
In a flash, he was at her side, helping her to her feet, checking her for wounds.
"Jesus, Y/n." he sighed, "You're a mess."
"I know."
"Y/n-"
"I know. I shouldn't have done it, you don't need to lecture me. I didn't have a choice. It was you or me, Al. I couldn't... I can't... I had to. You've gotta understand."
"Sweetheart-"
Y/n cut him off again, her speech a single, constant, stressed-out stream.
"It was stupid, I know. I know. I really do but, she gave me the option and I couldn't say no cause then if I said no you'd really be the one in trouble a-"
Alastor raised a hand gently to her cheek and Y/n's words caught in her throat. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes at last.
"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."
His voice was soft, so quiet the others could barely hear him. Y/n's cheeks flushed a bright pink. Her hands found the lapels of his jacket, holding them lightly.
"I.." she stuttered, her mind racing.
With a sigh and a slight shake of her head, she gave up in the search for words and buried herself in his chest. Alastor wrapped his arms around Y/n, pressing her tightly into his frame.
"God, I missed you." she said, her voice muffled by the fabric.
Alastor pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
"I love you." she continued, "I'm so sorry."
Alastor pulled her off of him, leaning down the slightest bit so they were eye to eye. Y/n, wiped a stray tear away, letting out a slight, sad laugh. Alastor's eyes traversed her face, caressing every crevasse.
"I'm so glad your alright but, I don't understand." he said at last, "How are you back? The deal..."
Y/n nodded and Alastor's eyes went wider still. Leaning on Alastor's shoulder for support, she turned her eyes onto the rest of the group.
"You must be Charlie." she hummed softly, meeting the young demon's gaze.
Taking a deep breath, Charlie stepped forward and nodded.
"Yes, I am. I run the Hazbin Hotel, which is where you are, to help rehabilitate sinners."
"I know." Y/n nodded, her voice quavering slightly, "I've heard so much about you. You... my dear, it worked."
"I- what?" every other question died in Charlie's throat, shock shot through her body like a bullet.
"It worked." Y/n confirmed, "You did it. I had a deal, a deal which Alastor went to your side to get me out of. If you succeeded in redeeming a soul with his aid, I would be free. And here I am."
"Here you are." Alastor repeated, spinning Y/n to face him once again.
She wobbled unsteadily on her feet. Catching sight of this along with the numerous wounds all over her body, Alastor scooped Y/n up into his arms like he did when they had first been married, when they had crossed the first threshold together. Y/n looped her arms around his neck, exhaustion seeping in with the relief as she let her head fall on his chest.
"Vaggie..." Charlie began as she turned to her girlfriend, "you don't think..."
"Pentious?" Vaggie asked and Charlie nodded.
"It's gotta be." Angel confirmed.
"You did good, kid." Husk smiled, patting Charlie on the back.
Y/n raised her head at the sound of a familiar voice, her eyes opening.
"Husker?" she asked with a smile.
The cat demon stepped forward, bowing slightly.
"Husker! I-"
"Enough of that, my love." Alastor cut her off, tapping her nose gently, "You need a shower and some rest. You can meet everyone in the morning."
Y/n crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes as she looked up at her husband.
"Promise?"
"Yes, I promise." he sighed.
"Does that mean you're staying?" Charlie asked tentatively and the couple turned to her.
"Whatever the little lady desires." Alastor stated, looking back down at his wife in a lovestruck daze.
"Yes, Charlie. We're staying." Y/n laughed, "Things need to start changing around here and I don't see anyone else doing a god damn thing to make that happen except for you."
"I.." Charlie was speechless, the kindness this fear inspiring woman was directing towards her, having never met her before. What Husk had said made sense, she smiled, "Thank you. I don't know what you did, but that you both so much."
"Anything for my favorite girl." Alastor kissed Y/n softly.
"Oh, get a room." Angel scoffed, rolling his eyes.
#x reader#fic writer#x reader one shot#x reader fics#x reader writer#alastor#alastor the radio demon#alastor x reader#fanfic#fanfic writer#please request#requests open#requests#request#hazbin alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor fanfiction#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin#hazbin hotel#hellaverse#hazbin spoilers#the radio demon#radio demon#x reader fanfic#x you#x reader fanfiction
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Heavenly Creatures
Pairing: Altar Boy! Leon Kennedy x Catholic School Girl! Reader
Summary: Growing up in a conservative, Catholic community, you and Leon were kept apart as kids for your own good. However, a fateful encounter at church many years later causes you to question those boundaries.
Content & Warnings: 18+ Smut, porn with plot, unprotected p in v, oral (m & f receiving), rimming (f receiving), semi-public sex (church), Catholicism, religious imagery & symbolism, temptation, guilt, shaming, name-calling, growing up, smoking, swearing, romance, fluff, secret relationship.
Authors' Note: Leon and Reader are in senior high and 18 when smut happens. No guarantee that you won’t burn in hell after reading this 🔥😂
Special thanks to AliBelleRosetta for being my sounding board + shadesoflsk & Cameron for your helpful feedback.
AO3 Link
Snake. Devil. Satan’s spawn.
Those were the names you had grown accustomed to as a child. You didn’t know why you were called them, instead of the one your parents had given you. You were too little to understand. All you knew was that you were made to feel different. Maybe you were really an anomaly from the rest after all.
Instead of being quiet and shy, you were loud and boisterous. It was natural for you, seeing as you were going through your tomboy phase, which was the exact reason your parents had stuck to when they received complaints about your behavior. They laughed it off, while others reigned their daughters in, forcing them into perfect Sunday dresses, braided hair adorned with pastel ribbons and clean, black Mary Jane shoes. Good enough to fit into a pretty gift box with wrapping paper. But you would tear it all down, before anyone could lay a finger on you.
Growing up in a place where other children were told to shun you was difficult at first. But then, you learnt to play by yourself and relish in the power of make believe. You climbed trees, rolled in the mud and ran through the forest fending off imaginary monsters. Sometimes, when you bumped into other groups of boys who threw stones and made fun of you, you fought back, further earning the title of crazy witch! Who needed these idiots anyway? You were your own best company.
One day, you sat in your disheveled, cream cotton dress, swinging your legs from a tree in your front lawn as usual. It overlooked the suburban neighborhood street, giving you a bird’s eye view of your surroundings. You noticed a family of three strolling along the sidewalk, though the couple gave you a disapproving look as they walked past, and whispered to their little, adolescent boy. They thought they were being so discreet, but you could hear every single word they were saying.
“Don’t pay attention to her. She’s bad news.”
Regardless of this remark, the boy gave in to his curiosity and as he peered up, you held his wide-eyed gaze. His irises were azure in color, glowing as it caught the early dusk light from different angles, shifting across a stunning spectrum of bluish, iridescent hues. You were captivated by them, and as you continued staring, his cheeks turned rosy red, though it seemed like he could not break away from you either. That moment was abruptly cut short, as his father smacked the back of his head, chiding his son for disobeying him.
“Come along now, Leon.” The older man wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders, turning him away from your direction.
Leon. So, that was his name. As you watched them turn the corner at the end of the street and head off, you wondered if and when you’d see him again.
━━━━━━━━━━━
Leon had heard the stories passed around about you. His parents had often commented about your family as being one of those ‘weird, hippy types’. Frankly, this didn’t scare him, but rather, it fascinated him. They made you appear like something he had read in a book about myths and legends, and he wanted to see if it was real.
The next time he went out to play in the field, he walked by your place again on purpose, even though it would have been the longer route. As he had predicted, you were up in the tree again, lounging across its branches with your eyes closed, like a slithery snake basking in the sun. Your dress was stained with grass and dirt, and your feet were soiled and filthy. Twigs poked out haphazardly from your knotted, messy hair.
You looked like a creature of sorts, alright, he thought.
He inched towards the base of the tree trunk gingerly, trying not to stir the sleeping beast. But as he got closer, he accidentally stepped into a pile of dead leaves, which crunched underfoot.
You roused from your slumber then, rubbing your eyes as you stretched your arms out with a lazy yawn. He flinched when you looked downwards at him, as if you might strike out, but you just smiled and said, “Hi.”
He was confused then. From the descriptions of you, he had expected you to breathe fire and gnash your teeth at him fiercely, but you were just a normal girl. He gave you a puzzled look, nodding as he greeted you with a stutter, “Hi… I-I’m, uh, Leon.”
“I know.” You grinned.
“You do?” He looked astounded, as if you’d conducted some dark ritual to find out.
You picked up on this and teased him, wiggling your fingers as you mouthed, “Magic…”
He laughed, relaxing his stiff shoulders and asking you for your name. He’d only known you until now as that girl, or one of those nicknames people gave you out of spite.
You introduced yourself and offered him a half-eaten apple you had munched on before napping on the tree. He hesitated at first, regarding it as if it were a forbidden fruit, but eventually he reached out for it. Gratefully, he bit in, savoring the flavorful burst of its juicy flesh.
“Do you go to church?” He asked suddenly, out of the blue.
Shielding your eyes from the afternoon sun with your hand, you squinted at him. “Yeah, why?”
“Oh.” He paused, considering his next words, though he blurted out with unfiltered honesty, “Well, my dad said that demons can’t enter hallowed ground.”
“I’m not a demon,” you huffed indignantly.
“No, you aren’t,” he agreed, waving his hands in the air apologetically, trying to salvage the situation. “I think you’re nice, actually.” His face was warm and pink again.
“I think you’re nice too.”
And it continued on like this. Some days, he’d pop over to visit and speak with you from below the tree, when he was sure no one was watching. Until a day came where he wasn’t as careful, and was spotted by a concerned neighbor, who ratted him out to his parents.
You were sad that he wasn’t allowed to see you again, but you’d grown used to being alone for most of your childhood, so you tried to put it behind you and move on, unaware that he’d often look out for you at each week’s Sunday Mass.
━━━━━━━━━━━
A number of years passed, and you filled out into your own body. You were in your senior year of an all-girls Catholic high school, and had recently turned 18. Reaching womanhood also meant that you became acutely aware of the changes in the way society treated you now, as compared to the opposite sex. Heads turned as you stalked around with one of the more unruly cliques in your school. Instead of being name-called after otherworldly creatures, you were reduced to bitch, slut, or whore.
People hated what they couldn’t understand or control. You’d been giving the nuns a hard time by asking controversial questions about the biblical text you were meant to study and recite blindly. Detention was nothing new to you and your friends, whom you’d been caught smoking cigarettes together with on school grounds. You were a rebel at heart, and the rest of the law-abiding community wanted to crush that and make you conform.
Leon, on the other hand, had been going to the all-boys school next door, which shared a brother school relationship with yours. He was in the same year and age as you, though being a man meant he had the privilege of getting away with certain things you couldn’t. Even there, your name wasn’t safe from being circulated around the rumor mill. You were the subject of boys’ locker room talk. They associated you with the ‘bad girl’ crowd, highlighting your love for reading banned books and boasting about supposed sexual escapades with you.
“She’ll do favors,” they said, making vulgar gestures by moving their fist back and forth in front of their mouth, while poking their tongue against their cheek.
Leon slammed his locker door shut and stormed off. It made him uncomfortable that they gossiped about you that way, but he was even more ashamed of the fact that he made no effort to stand up for you. He hardly knew you, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that what they were doing was finding a scapegoat to blame. That, unfortunately, time and time again, happened to be you.
Most of the students there were sexually active anyway, but no one had complained about them. As long as one kept things on the down-low and upheld a certain moralistic façade, they were considered as ‘innocent’, ‘pure’, or ‘normal’ even. For one, he was pretty sure that his father was having an affair with the church choir mistress, but that seemed to go overlooked.
Everyone’s such hypocrites, he pondered, frowning in distaste. Including himself. Although he liked to think that he was brave and courageous, in actuality, he was afraid of rocking the boat. Fitting in was more important, just as his parents had taught him from a young age. It was the side of him that he hated the most, but could not get rid of.
Gathering his belongings, he left school and hurried off. He’d been requested last-minute to serve at Mass that evening, as one of the other altar boys had fallen ill. At church, he exchanged his school uniform for the standard black cassock and white surplice, before starting with the Introductory Rites.
You, on the other hand, had been singled out along with a bunch of other troublesome girls to attend Evening Mass with the Mother Superior that day. It was just your luck that you had to devote an hour of your time to a set of outdated rituals and prayers, with the aim of reflecting upon your sins. The most frustrating part of this exercise was that all of you were placed in the front row pews, so there was no chance of daydreaming or dozing off in front of the priest. You’d never been much of a believer, but sometimes you did speculate if God was watching your every move from above.
As you stood up for the entrance procession, which signaled the start of Mass, a familiar mop of dirty blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes passed by. You’d recognize that anywhere, but it was a wonder how you hadn’t realized that he was serving as an altar boy all this while. Maybe your Mass timings hadn’t aligned? Or maybe you just never paid much attention in church. You’d only seen him here and there when he attended Mass with his family as part of the congregation, but you ignored him back then, because you didn’t want to remember the feeling of losing the closest thing you had to a friend in your pre-teen days.
When Leon turned around to face the congregation for the greeting, he gulped as he saw you, standing almost directly in front of him as both of you made the Sign of the Cross. Speak of the devil, he muttered internally, before chastising himself for unintentionally insulting you and shook that thought away.
You gave him a coy smile as he scampered off to where he was meant to be stationed. For the first time in a while, you took the chance to admire his chiseled features and how much he had grown. He had always been attractive, but he was no longer the little boy you used to know, and instead now a fine, young man, in an even finer religious attire. Puberty did him good, you mused.
All at once, a mischievous plan flashed across your mind as you plotted how to win his attention. It would be an entertaining way to pass the time in this mundane institution. Viewing the school uniform as yet another means for the authorities to curb people’s freedom and creative expression, you had a habit of violating the dress code by making minor adjustments to it. Whether it was shortening the hem of your skirt or wearing below the ankle socks, you went for it. And today was no exception.
You waited until it was time to be seated before attempting to catch his gaze. Within a few minutes, he sneaked a peek your way and you stifled a laugh. Bingo. As you continued looking straight at him, you stretched your legs out cautiously, so as not to alert the Mother Superior, who sat beside you, to your antics. His eyes widened and flickered, as you showed off their length, rotating your ankles in small circles languidly. The other altar boys started to take note and whispered in hushed tones amongst themselves. But you only had eyes for Leon, scrutinizing him like a hawk, as you bared your teeth with a sly grin plastered across your face.
It was only a matter of time before the Mother Superior rapped you on the legs with a thin, wooden cane she carried around for doling out such punishments. The other girls in your row giggled as you returned your legs to a respectable position, disregarding the smarting pain that had accompanied the blow.
It was worth it, you reasoned, spotting Leon’s lopsided smile, as he turned away to hide his blush.
This soon carried on like an unspoken game between you and Leon. You’d attend Mass whenever he was serving as an altar boy, and he’d look out for you, exchanging glances like a secret code shared between the two of you. A sense of thrill arose within him each time, as to what you’d try next. If only he knew what you were capable of.
At some point, you grew bolder. During the Holy Communion, where Leon had been helping the priest to hold the patina under the chins of those who received the Sacred host, you made sure once again to make eye contact with him the whole way through. Your mouth was slightly agape, as you extended your tongue, clasping your hands together in a pious prayer position. When the priest placed the host in your mouth, you swallowed it suggestively, licking your upper lip for a finishing touch. Leon nearly stumbled over backwards as his face turned bright red like a tomato. The last thing he heard was your silvery laughter, and you returned to your seat as if nothing had happened. You had ensnared him now.
When Mass ended, you slipped him a note, asking him to meet you at the confessional when everyone else had been ushered out. You knelt in the penitent compartment, waiting for him to arrive, confident that he would show up. A few minutes later, you heard someone enter the booth where the priest usually sat.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you began. Through the latticed screen, you could just about make out Leon’s face as he chuckled.
“What are you playing at?”
“You tell me,” you challenged, testing the waters. “I haven’t received any complaints.”
“Well, I have a question,” he mentioned quietly. “Do you still remember when we hung out back then? At the tree.”
There was pang in your heart, as you recalled your childhood memories. “Of course, you were the only one who bothered to speak to me.”
You pursed your lips before taking the plunge. “I really appreciated that.”
There was a momentary pause, as he took your words in. “I wish they didn’t separate us.”
“It isn’t too late to start over.” It was humiliating how eager you sounded. No matter how much you tried to repress it, you yearned to rekindle that connection you had with him once.
“Listen, I like you,” he admitted, sighing heavily. “But, I can’t go public with this. My parents-”
“Who says it has to be public?” You retorted defensively.
His heartfelt confession emboldened you, yet a part of you felt dejected that this was the best option he could offer. However, you didn’t want to concede without giving it a shot.
He made a noise which sounded like he was in disbelief. “You mean-”
“Shall I come over and show you?” You interrupted, already getting up before he could answer.
“Y-yeah,” he stammered. “I-I’d like that, I guess.”
Exiting your compartment, you stepped out and swiftly went over to where he was, closing the door behind you. It was crammed and stuffy in this tiny box with two people, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Giving him a once-over, it struck you that he was still in his altar boy attire and perhaps what you were about to do was wrong on so many levels, but you brushed those thoughts aside.
“Um-”
Before he could speak any further, you ran your hands up along his chest and planted your lips onto his, soft and pillowy in texture. He let out a low moan, easing into your embrace as he kissed back, holding onto the back of your head for better leverage. His tongue grazed across your lips and you parted them in response, allowing it to slip inside as you tasted each other. Grabbing the collar of his cassock, you pressed your bodies together heatedly. You sucked on his tongue, eliciting another moan from his throat, as you shuffled him around, pushing his back against the wooden wall with a loud thud. Both of you had lost yourselves in a whirlwind of kisses, oblivious to the outside world and the ruckus you were making.
However, it was hard to ignore the hymn that was being sung when the next Mass started. Leon froze, before pulling away hastily. His mouth was red and swollen, and a pearly string of saliva connected it with yours.
“Shit, we lost track of time,” he panted.
If you didn’t want to be seen, you’d need to remain where you were until the Mass ended. In other words, both of you were trapped here for at least another hour.
Not being one to let such matters ruin the vibe, you responded, “That’s not a problem for me.” Trailing a lone finger down Leon’s body seductively, you let it come to rest above the growing bulge in his cassock.
“Are you serious?” He breathed, as you cupped your hand around it, palming him through his clothes.
“You got a better idea?” You murmured in his ear, squeezing his erection a little as you continued rubbing against it.
“Don’t get me wrong, it feels amazing.” His voice was strained as he spoke. “But, it’s just…”
“Catholic guilt?” You teased.
“Yeah, probably.” He nodded sheepishly.
“Well, maybe if we get you out of this thing.” You gestured to his attire. “You might relax into it more.”
“Makes sense,” he agreed, tugging the surplice over his head and discarding it to the ground. “Though it never really goes away, does it?”
You shrugged, shaking your head. “I still get it, but it’s less of an issue now.” It made you follow up with a question of your own. “Does that mean I’m a bad person?”
His eyes crinkled as he grinned. “You're doing it again.”
“Hm?”
“Guilt,” he indicated. “But to answer your question, no, I don’t think you’re a bad person.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway.” You tried to deflect the topic, knowing the rumors that people spread about you. Leon had probably heard it all. “At least there’s still hope for you.”
“Thanks?”
“Don’t thank me yet.” You winked, removing the sash from his cassock as he unbuttoned the rest of it, revealing a plain white shirt and a pair of shorts underneath.
He snickered as you clucked your tongue at the sight. “What did you expect me to do? Go Commando?”
“Would’ve been hot,” you pointed out.
Leon had always been perceptive. From your interactions, he began to suspect that sometimes you relied on lighthearted banter as a way to mask your nervousness and other underlying emotions.
Nestling his fingers under your chin, he turned you towards him. “You sure about this?”
“Mm hm.” It was sweet of him to check in. Most guys never offered you the same courtesy. “Been thinking about it since Communion,” you added brazenly.
He snorted as you gave him a quick peck on the lips. Working your way down, you kissed his clothed body, pulling the waistband of his underwear and shorts to his ankles. Kneeling before him, you reached for his cock, smearing beads of his precum carelessly along his velvety skin, while you pumped his hot shaft slowly.
He inhaled sharply, snapping his eyes shut, as he tilted his head back in pleasure. In the background, you could hear the priest’s sermon droning on.
With a smug smile, you warned, “Do me a favor and try to keep it down, will you?”
Before he had a chance to react, you filled your mouth with his cock, sliding all the way down its hardened length.
“Jesus,” he groaned.
Instantly, you released it with a pop and tutted in mock disappointment, “Taking the Lord’s name in vain?”
“We’re so going to hell for this,” he laughed faintly, tangling his hands in your hair.
“Ah-” He gasped again, as you held onto the base of his cock, lifting it to flatten your tongue on its underside. Slathering it with saliva, you took his balls into your wet mouth, one at a time, sucking on them delectably. “Fuck!”
“Don’t you ever shut up?” You joked.
“Not if you keep doing what you’re doing, angel.”
Angel. That was a new one. You’d never been called that before, but you liked the sound of it.
Wrapping your lips around his cock, you started a steady rhythm, bobbing your head up and down his shaft. Each time you came up, you flicked your tongue at the tip, licking it as you stared up at him. His eyes flew open, gazing at you with lust and arousal while you sucked him off more vigorously.
Sliding his cock in deeper, you allowed it to hit the back of your throat, causing you to make a guttural noise. Clenching his fist, he bit down hard on his knuckles to stop himself from crying out. If this was hell, he’d stay right here with you. He couldn’t think straight anymore, as he bucked his hips forward in response.
Grabbing his ass, your fingernails left crescent shaped indents on his skin, as you let him fuck your mouth to chase his high. Tears lined your eyelashes and sweat poured down your brow. It had gotten incredibly hot and humid in this enclosed space. But his muted moans only served to turn you on even more. You wondered how perverse and trashy you looked in this position, though Leon could only mumble the opposite in his feverish state.
Soon, he tensed and quivered while hissing through gritted teeth, “God, I’m gonna cum.”
Lady Luck appeared to be on your side, as the congregation were in the middle of singing another hymn, which inadvertently muffled whatever sounds were coming from the confessional. He struggled to hold in his groans as you felt a thick, salty load of his cum wash up against your throat. You choked a bit before swallowing it whole.
Collapsing backwards, you leaned against the cool surface of the seat behind you, wiping the edges of your mouth. Tucking his spent dick back under his clothes, he sank down beside you, kissing you gently and tasting himself on your lips.
“You ok?” He brushed his thumb along your cheek.
You nodded silently and smiled, contemplating if there would be a future to what you had with him now.
“I ruined you,” he jested, showering you with kisses along your jawline.
“As if.” You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew it was the truth.
And, just like he had read your mind, he uttered the magic words, “So, when will I see you again?”
━━━━━━━━━━━
Since the encounter at the confessional, you continued your clandestine meetings with Leon, just like back in the old days, except both of you were now wiser in covering your tracks. In public, you pretended not to know each other, yet shared furtive, longing glances when you were in the same vicinity. Sometimes, he would make an excuse to brush past you, his touch ghosting across the curve of your spine, your shoulders, the back of your hand to the tip of your pinkie finger. Away from prying eyes, you hooked up passionately, damning each other further to hell. How many levels were there again? You’d lost count.
You enjoyed the moments spent with him. The aftercare and cuddling. The long talks into the night. You understood each other somehow, it wasn’t like this with other people. So, if the Day of Judgment arrived, why would God not sympathize with you both?
Despite that, neither of you had put a label on where you stood with each other. How did this secret relationship work? If you were found out, would he ditch you like before? Would you be thrown under the bus, so that he could be purified again? It wasn’t long until insecurity reared its ugly head, gnawing at you from within.
Leon sensed something was off as you lay in his arms, naked while he spooned you in the back seat of his car, parked along a desolate dirt path near the forest. You had that pensive look on your face, like you were in a world of your own, one where he couldn’t enter.
Pulling you close to him, he kissed the top of your shoulder, coaxing you out of your reverie. “Wanna talk about it?”
You hummed noncommittally. After a long pause, you asked, “Are you embarrassed by me?”
He was caught off-guard by the question and his breathing stilled. “No,” he argued. “Why would you think that?”
“I’m just tired of hiding,” you sighed. “It’s like I’m making you do something bad.”
There was a brief ache in his chest, as guilt swelled up like a wave. Coward, an inner voice spat.
Carding his fingers through your hair, he pressed his lips against the temple of your head. “You make me feel like the best version of myself.”
“Hm.” You pinched your lips together, wanting to believe him, but you weren’t convinced.
He observed this, but decided not to press the issue any further, knowing that you needed action, not words.
She’ll be your downfall. A surly voice piped up within him, like fire and brimstone. He shook it off, ignoring the moral tug-of-war that had occurred once he made that statement, as he vowed to prove himself to you in the coming days.
━━━━━━━━━━━
The next time you’d agreed to meet was in church, after the very last Mass of the day. He was serving as an altar boy again, and you were intrigued as to whether he had planned to reenact the entire confessional scene or switch it up with something new, like making you go through the Stations of the Cross while fucking you. You giggled at the idea, only to be shushed by a fellow parishioner, whom you had disturbed in meditative prayer.
When Mass ended and everyone except yourself had left the nave, you waited patiently for him in the pews. After a while, you felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around to face Leon, who had changed into his casual clothes. As you got to your feet, he cupped the sides of your face in his hands, closing the distance, and bringing your lips to meet his in a fervent kiss. You were slightly taken aback by his initiation, since he was usually the shyer one out of the two of you.
Claiming your hand in his, he led you to the front, where the altar stood before the austere crucifix that hung from the wall. He smirked, noticing the look of shock and incredulity on your face, as it gradually began to dawn on you what he had in mind. However, he was anxious too, you could tell from the way his hand was trembling. He was sealing his fate, and you were both going down together. Nothing could bring you back after this ultimate act of blasphemy.
At the foot of the altar, he caressed his lips against yours. “I guess God is our witness now.”
Leaning in, you found yourselves consumed in a lip lock, which deepened with each passing second as you helped each other out of your clothes, kicking them off unceremoniously to the side. He spun you around, bending you forward against the smooth, marble top of the altar. The cold surface caused your nipples to harden and goosebumps to form on your skin. You shivered as he spread your legs wider apart and knelt down, holding your thighs as he licked a firm stripe along your silken folds.
As he continued to lap at the sensitive flesh, he brought a hand towards your clit, stroking it softly with his middle finger. You jerked from the sensation, whimpering as he alternated between thrusting his tongue into your heat and suckling it with his lips. There was a slight pressure as you felt one of his fingers sliding into your pussy, already soaked with arousal. At the same time, his tongue trailed up towards your rim, teasing it with long, flat licks.
“Oh my god!” You gasped, gripping the edge of the altar, as an electrifying tingle coursed through your veins.
There was a playful smack on your ass. “Forgotten the Third Commandment already?” Leon scolded.
“Huh?”
“Taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he mimicked your tone from when you had teased him at the confessional.
“Ugh,” you whined. “I’m sure this is the least of our concerns.”
You felt his hot breath against your asshole before he dipped his tongue in lightly. Simultaneously, he pumped your pussy, pushing in another finger and stretching you out, before his tongue went back to circling around your rim, inciting a string of moans from your mouth.
“Feeling good?”
“Mm, yes,” you replied hoarsely. “But when are you going to fuck me?”
He coughed out a laugh at your bluntness, before imparting a piece of unsolicited advice. “Patience is a virtue.”
You groaned at his quip. “Really, Leon? Are you-”
He interrupted rudely, pressing his hand on your back as he entered you, burying his cock deep into your cunt. You nearly screamed in ecstasy as he pounded his hips against your ass repeatedly, already setting a brutal pace from the beginning. Maybe you should’ve been careful of what you wished for.
“What was that again?” He taunted.
You growled, clenching your jaw as you felt his dick dragging against your sensitive walls. The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoed across the space. Your mind fogged up in an insatiable haze as you pushed back rhythmically against his thrusting, allowing him to penetrate you further, and taking pleasure in how his head brushed against your cervix with each stroke.
“So close,” you rasped, your core tightening as if it was about to burst.
At this, he pulled away briefly, flipping you over as he lifted you onto the altar top. He had a bruising grip around your thighs, which you wrapped around his waist instinctively, interlocking your ankles behind his back to draw him closer. Bewitched, he took a moment to drink in the divine sight of your flushed, moist body, supple and wanting in his arms, before kissing you sloppily on the mouth. Pressing his forehead against yours, he asserted, “You don’t know what you do to me, angel.”
With that, he rutted into you relentlessly, your breasts bouncing as you clung to the back of his neck, crying out in rapture. When you finally snapped, a glimmer from the gold cross necklace he wore daily flashed before your eyes. You looped your index finger around it, tugging at it as you peered up at the bleeding face of Christ looking down at you ominously from the crucifix. The last remains of the day’s light filtered through the stained glass behind him, casting a kaleidoscope of mottled colors across your bodies, the altar and the stone floor, like a disease.
You realized you had tempted Leon beyond salvation. But in spite of it, he had followed you willingly. This was the proof he had wanted to show you. You were the angel he would desecrate everything for. He’d cut your wings off so you’d be his and stay.
His cock throbbed with desire as he rode you through your orgasm. As he neared the edge, he pulled out, finishing himself off. Nuzzling his face into your neck, he murmured a mixture of curses and professions against your skin, while spurting hot white cum over the mound of your pussy. Holding onto the marbled structure for support, he bent over you, placing tender kisses on your eyes and your lips.
It seemed as if he had turned his back on God and worshiped you now. But instead of a guilty conscience, you felt nothing but love. Silently, both of you cleaned up and got dressed. He delicately reattached the butterfly clip that had come loose in your hair, while you wiped away the lipstick that had smudged onto his face. There would be no signs of what had transpired, except he had another surprise lined up for you.
Upon exiting the church doors, Leon took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, as you walked out onto the street together. You were his - he’d show you off to the whole damn world without shame.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy fluff#religious au#church au#resident evil#porcelainscribbles
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ours is the hunt - daemon targaryen.
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader.
Warnings: 18+ Cheating. Hunting. Death/Killing. Mentions of pregnancy/ending a pregnancy. This is kinda fucked up, read the summary. Probably major spelling and grammar mistakes. Tense/POV mix ups.
Summary: Based on a request from the lovely @holy-minseok. like how westerosi kings warn the people of the consequences if they move out of line, reader presents daemons mistress to him on a spike with her swollen belly as a final warning for his betrayals.
Word Count: 2.8k+
A/N: This took on a life of its own and didn't play out exactly as the request but, hopefully it's still enjoyable (well... as enjoyable as it can be). Italics section is a flashback.
The Kingswood is eerily silent in the minutes before sunrise. The party, like many of the woodland creatures, still slept, peaceful in their oblivion as servants moved quietly around the camp to prepare for the rush that daybreak would bring. You take a deep breath, the crisp forest air a welcome change from that of the stench of King’s Landing; the smell of the previous afternoon’s rain also lingers but it would dry with the promise of good weather and a bright sun.
“My Lady,” Ser Eadric Qyle calls, your most loyal, your sworn sword. “Everything is prepared to your instruction.”
“How many?”
“Three total. Two in the woods as we had hoped now, one. We will release the last one on your instruction.”
The snap of a twig, a slight breeze, the distant wail of a wounded animal and the flutter of wings as the early morning bird sings its song as it flies across the waking sky. The forest whispers your name and you answer its call.
“Let the hunt begin.”
-
Your horse slows to a trot and eventually, to a stop as you approach the camp; an accompanying stablehand taking hold of the reins as a stool is brought to aid your dismount.
“I had wondered where my wife had gone,” Daemon’s voice comes from beside you with a hand held out. “I should have known to check the woods.”
Your smile is wide, eyes lighting up at his presence as you take his hand and dismount. He is still dressed in his sleeping robes, the Targaryen Prince having obviously just woken not long ago. The thought that he immediately came to seek you out upon waking endears you.
Steadying yourself with a hand on Daemon’s shoulder, you find your balance and firmly plant your feet on the stool; with the added height you find yourself at eye-level with him and greet him with a kiss to the side of his head.
“Good morrow, my love.”
Daemon returns the greeting by leaning into you with a groan, head dropping into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his arms wrapping around you.
“Remind me again why we must be here at this bloody thing?”
You wrap an arm around his shoulder, hand soothing his back.
“You cannot get out of this, Daemon,” you tell him with a small laugh.
Daemon groans again, his breath hot against your neck as he attempts to burrow his face deeper, grumbling all the while. He doesn’t get far however, when you thread your fingers through his unruly hair and pull.
“What was that, my love?”
“When you said you arranged a hunt for my name day, I thought it would be just us. Not a whole fucking camp for a Royal Hunt.”
While Daemon was content to revel in celebrations of his victory, a Royal Hunt and a Royal Tourney were two entirely different things. Besides, he could think of much better things to do on his name day and he makes it known, allowing you to hold his head in place, a familiar glint in his eyes that you force yourself to ignore.
“Did you really think your Lord-King brother would allow that? You have him to thank for-” you release his hair to gesture at the several tents. “-this.”
“Hm. How generous of him.”
You hum in agreement, adjusting the top of his robes.
“Very but, worry not, my love. Despite reports of only one stag, Ser Eadric and I managed to gain the trail of one other.”
A grin pulls at the corner of Daemon’s lips.
“The Royal Hunt will track one stag and we will hunt the other,” you finish. Using your grip on his robes to pull him closer, you brush your nose against his, before pressing your lips to his for a brief moment. He tries to deepen the kiss but you don’t allow him.
“Now, come,” you step down from the stool, taking his hand in yours. “Let's get you ready for the day.”
“Very well,” Daemon agrees, pressing a kiss to your hand with a charming smile.
You return the smile before turning and leading him back to the centre of the camp with a tight jaw.
Daemon’s mood lightens considerably thereafter. The Rogue Prince noticeably happier after you broke the news that the two of you would separate from the Royal Hunt because while Daemon loved to hunt, he hated not being the one to actually do it. He didn’t need someone else to track down the game just for him to land the final blow in some false display of strength and authority. He could do it himself. He wanted to do it himself. He liked to do it himself. And though his mood had lightened, you noted that it didn’t stop his eyes from wandering around in search of someone else.
-
By mid-morning, the camp is teeming with life, the several Lords and Ladies of Westeros who gathered in celebration of Daemon’s name day dotted all over the grounds and inside tents. You yourself enter the main tent with Ser Eadric, the grand structure larger than that of most of the homes of the smallfolk.
You don’t have to look far to find Daemon, Viserys’ great laugh leading you right to him; the two brother’s seated beside one another at a long table surrounded by other lords.
Turning to Eadric, you place a cloth in his hand. “Release the last stag and give this to the bloodhound,” you instruct. He nods, taking it in hand and departing.
Taking a deep breath, you roll your shoulders back to loosen them, a delightful smile gracing your lips as you approach Daemon and Viserys. Daemon immediately reaches out for you out of habit once you're seated, and you cradle his strong hand between your own.
“Ah my Lady,” Viserys greets you and you, him, with a bow of your head.
“Your Grace.”
“I have been meaning to offer you both my condolences following the death of your brother and my congratulations, I hear you have been named heir of Bloodstone.”
You tighten your grip around Daemon’s hand then loosen it, both hands releasing his as you begin instead to fidget with your own fingers. Daemon notices immediately, taking hold of one of your hands in his, his grip firm in silent comfort as he sends you a reassuring look.
“A regrettable hunting accident,” you pull at the collar of your riding jacket. “But, please, accept my thanks for your congratulations, Your Grace. It is an honour and I can only hope to be half the ruler my Lord-father is of Bloodstone.”
“Well, I cannot say what type of ruler you will be but, from what I heard you are double the hunter of that of what your brothers were and rival even that of your father-”
“Better,” Daemon interrupts proudly with a squeeze of your hand.
“Better?” Viserys’ repeats in amusement.
You breathe a laugh at Daemon’s antics, “I am able to hold my own somewhat.”
Daemon scoffs at your downplay of your skill, “my wife is humble, brother but, I am not. She is the better between her and her father. Perhaps one of the best in all the land.”
You make a show of balking at the declaration, forcing a meek laugh “I- that is not-”
But, Viserys’ cuts you off, holding one hand up in surrender, “if Daemon says you are one of the best then I believe him. I mean what good is it if House Chase’ words are ‘Ours is the Hunt’ if they cannot do exactly that?”
Viserys’ laughs heartily at his own joke and you spare a glance at Daemon who grins at you playfully.
The conversation teeters off soon after that as Daemon and Viserys’ listen to the report sent by the Royal Huntsman. You in turn, turn your attention to one of your Ladies-in-waiting, Lady Millicent. While the custom of having Ladies-in-waiting was unusual outside of the Great Houses, the custom was needed within your own House as it was in fact greater than even that of your liege lords, House Baratheon. House Chase commanded both a larger army and fertile lands that weren’t felled by the terrible weather that surrounded Storm’s End. House Chase was second to Baratheon in rank only.
“My Lady, I’ve been meaning to ask but, where is Lady Gwendolyn? I’ve not seen her around the camp all morning, I fear-”
“Yes,” Daemon interrupts abruptly. “Where is Lady Gwendolyn?”
You delight at the question, ears burning as you turn your attention to Daemon about your newest Lady-of-waiting of six, maybe seven months.
“I did not know you had such a keen interest in my ladies of waiting. Husband.”
“My only interest is that she attends to my grooming every morning and yet, when I needed her this morning, she was nowhere to be found.”
Daemon shrugs the question off with a practiced ease while your lips almost pull dangerously downwards, mask hanging by a thread and nearly slipping completely at the brazen statement. Instead you fix your smile, reaching across to smooth the neck of his hunting attire.
“I have given Lady Gwendolyn leave while we are here, she is likely with her kin in the woods.”
-
A dull light permeates from the lantern in your hand, bathing its immediate surroundings - including yourself - in a warm glow as you carefully navigate the unfamiliar bed chambers that your husband had come to frequent as of late. Shadows bouncing off of the walls, the silhouettes of the two figures in the bed become clearer the closer you get.
See, you weren’t naive to the ways of men and their crude sexual appetites; the way they would seek out other women when their wives could not sate them.
‘It is the way of men, he will have his whores and his playthings but you are his wife and no whore can take away from you.’ is what your mother had told you but, you would not heed her words. You would not lay down while your husband took mistresses and whores alike and you had told him so, warning him once of the consequences.
Placing the lantern down on the bedside table, you peer down at the Baratheon beauty laid in the bed with your husband; a few drops of milk of the poppy in their goblets and it was keeping both husband and whore sedated.
The mattress dips slightly under your weight as you settle yourself beside her sleeping figure, hip to hip as you take a closer look at your Lady-in-waiting, who had also taken up position as Daemon’s mistress, stealing both his time and attention from you.
Lady Gwendolyn of House Baratheon, the niece of a cousin of a second son nobody; a distant relative carrying the Great name of the Great Stags of the Stormlands.
“Ser Eadric,” you call on your sworn sword; fingers ghosting over her abdomen. The swell is slight but it is there. “Our Prince’s name day is fast approaching. Ensure arrangements have begun at first light. We will celebrate like none before.”
-
The sun sits at its peak in the sky, streams of its light filtering through the tops of the forest's trees. The crossbow is heavy in Daemon’s hands as he sits astride his horse, sweat gathering on his forehead as he watches his surroundings; the reins of your own horse in his other hand. He had led the first few hours, and now you had taken over.
As planned, the two of you went out with the Royal Hunt and eventually broke off under the guise of returning to the camp.
Daemon’s ears perk at the sound of a nearby wail and the flutter of several wings as a group of birds seem to scatter. Dismounting, Daemon joins you on the ground, coming to stand behind you as he scans the woods for any signs of danger. There is no danger however, just your blood hound.
Daemon moves past you and calls the hound to heel at his side.
“We’re close,” you toss the hours old droppings back onto the ground and pick up your own crossbow. “These droppings are fresh.”
“Very close.” Daemon calls you over to where the bloodhound sits obediently by his feet. There is blood around its jowl. A thrill goes down your spine at the sight, knowing that the two of you were close now.
“We go on foot from here,” he declares, trying the reins of your horses to a nearby tree and you agree.
Moving silently ahead through the Kingswood, what was once vibrating with life, has now come to standstill with your approach. All the woodland creatures recognising the two predators hunting in their territory.
Your eyes flitter from the ground to up ahead as you follow the Stag’s tracks, Daemon trailing behind you and then- the sudden trample of hooves to the left of you and a blur of brown and then silence.
“Daemon,” you whisper and nod up ahead.
There in the distance stands the Great Stag the two of you had been hunting for the better part of four hours, its mammoth antlers moving frantically as it turned its head over and over.
Daemon places a hand on the small of your back and you turn your head toward him.
“From here?” you ask and he nods, stepping carefully in front of you.
The Stag stumbles around clumsily, which Daemon can only assume is from when the bloodhound must’ve sunk its teeth into it but it otherwise remains in the same area, believing itself to be safe.
“Let us test out the might of these crossbows from here,” Daemon croons quietly. The armourer had declared it the single most powerful crossbow, capable of bringing down the greatest creatures from an even greater distance.
Positioning himself, Daemon presses his body against yours, your hand touching his collar before you slide it down and place it on his waist. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of both of your breaths as you watched over his shoulder. He lines up the shot, finger on the trigger, your breaths in harmonious sync, his back against your chest as your hearts beat as one. You slide a hand underneath his arm, steadying his hold and with a kiss to his shoulder blade, he pulls.
Thwack!
The recoil is slight as the sound reverberates with a sickening crunch. The Stag cries out but, before it can make a move to run, you’re passing Daemon your own crossbow and he sends another arrow straight through its neck with perfect precision.
There’s a beat of silence as the entire woods including yourselves come to a halt, your breaths the only sound that could be heard. It’s soon broken however, by your laughter, the sound building into something hysterical as you step away from Daemon. Catching Daemon’s attention, he turns to you, initially in concern, it doesn’t take long however for him to join you when he sees how delighted you are. Catching you by the back of your neck, Daemon pulls you into him, his mouth covering yours in a searing kiss which you happily return.
“Shall we claim our prize?” you break the kiss, foreheads pressed together.
Daemon nods, taking your hand into his and eagerly leading the way.
You hum happily beneath your breath, keeping a keen eye on him as the two of you get closer, watching and waiting, watching and waiting until finally- there’s a catch in his breath, footsteps faltering as his head tilts, bemused. You feel the way his hand twitches in your hold, grip loosening as he glances back at you, confused until- a sharp intake of breath and the realisation of not, what he has killed but, who.
You slip your hand from his hold as he chokes on a gasp at the sight of his mistress, his whore, the Lady Gwendolyn. She is covered in a layer of mud, her usual gown replaced with a dirty and ripped tunic and pants, a strip of cloth tied around her mouth and gagging her. One arrow shot through her chest, nailing her to the tree behind her and the second through her neck; on the floor beside her lies the head of a stag.
Three total. Two in the woods as we had hoped now, one. We will release the last one on your instruction.
“What is this?” Daemon speaks in abject horror.
“The last one,” you tell him grimly.
Daemon continues to stare at Gwendolyn, dazed and not understanding what was happening as he watches blood drip from her wounds and onto her swelling belly.
“What have you done?”
“What have I done? What have you done?” you tut, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Do not fret, I granted her this small mercy, my last mercy,” you inform him, hand adjusting his collar. “A quick and clean death.”
Your words seems to bring him back to himself, horror and confusion short lived and replaced with a fury you had never seen before. It does naught to frighten you though.
“She was with child,” he turns on you, jaw impossibly tight as he spits the words at you; crowding you against a tree. “My child.”
“I know,” you tell him softly with a nod.
Your placidness unsettles him. You can see it in his eyes and the way he flinches at your touch when you brush his hair back from either side of his face.
“So heed this as my final warning for your betrayals. I won’t be so nice if there’s another one.”
Steadying yourself with a hand on his arm, you reach up and press a kiss to the side of his head, “happy name day, Daemon.”
-
All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.
Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.
bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.
#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x you#daemon targaryen x female reader#hotd fanfic#matt smith x reader#matt smith fanfiction
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Yandere! Monster x Reader [Werewolf]
In Romanian mythology, Pricolici is an evil spirit believed to be born after the death of wicked humans, able to transform into certain animals such as ferocious dogs and wolves. The etymology is unknown, although it's suspected to be of Dacian origin, thus going as far back in time as the 1st century BC. An ancient creature has set its predatory eyes on you.
Winner of the Folklore Monster Poll celebrating Romanian history!
TW: obsessive behavior, violence, death
[Horror Masterlist] [More Headcanons]
He can tell it's a dream. Nonetheless, it always feels unbearably real. He can smell the incense, hear the hurried trample of feet underneath him. He wants to open his mouth and demand they stop. No words ever come out, the throat is dry and flattened by heavy despair. It's a dream, after all. The priests march on, and the spears are lifted. For a moment, he's blinded by their powerful, sharp glisten. As he gazes at the sacred circle, it occurs to him just how uncomfortable the shackles are. He becomes somewhat distracted by this irritating friction, so much he doesn't register the instructions given by the mysterious men.
Centuries later, he would stumble upon an old history book by Herodotus that detailed his misfortune:
"The Getae are the bravest of the Thracians and the most just. They believe they are immortal, forever living, in the following sense: they think they do not die and that the one who dies joins Zalmoxis, a divine being. Every four years, they send a messenger to Zalmoxis, who is chosen by chance. They ask him to tell Zalmoxis what they want on that occasion. The mission is performed in the following way: men standing there for that purpose hold three spears; other people take the one who is sent to Zalmoxis by his hands and feet and fling him in the air on the spears. If he dies pierced, they think that the divinity is going to help them; if he does not die, it is he who is accused and they declare that he is a bad person. And, after he has been charged, they send another one. The messenger is told the requests while he is still alive."
The foreign hands tighten around his limbs and he takes a deep breath in, ready for the plunge. Truth be told, he's not too anxious. The first time was terrifying, but one becomes accustomed to death if it repeats itself, night after night as the years pass and millennia settle over it, like a thick blanket of ash and bone and dust. He doesn't remember the pain anymore, only the bitterness. The wrath. He had no business playing God's messenger. He hadn't wished to be choking on his own blood, rippling violently at the corners of his mouth as his eyes dart over the excited masses. There are claps and cheers, and hope, and peace. Just not for him.
No matter, if they long so dearly after eternity, he'll become their very proof. A tangible undead, a creature of eternity. Let them gaze at their ardent desire as it claws their bowels out for the birds to feed on. Let them sing praise before their God as their soft throats detangle under his fangs. Before he knows it, the corpses lay mangled at his feet and he notices his horrid reflection swaying in the puddles of fresh blood.
He has become a beast.
And just like that, the nightmare ends. It always ends here. He pats the sweat off his forehead with the monotonous vigor of habit. It's already noon and the narrow street flocks with curious tourists and natives on their stroll. Every now and then he will venture into the city, just to get a glimpse of the world. He twists the knob and opens a window, enjoying the breeze that cools his skin. His tired eyes wander around with no purpose.
That's when he sees you. Your wide, carefree smile as you converse with your friend. You're drawing circles along the edge of your coffee cup, propped over the table, entranced by your discussion. Your gentle laugh rings unexpectedly loud against his ears. He finds himself frozen in place, unable to contract a single muscle.
"Oh, this trail is supposed to have some really nice sights." Your friend is shuffling through unfolded maps, spread out onto the small café table. "We should leave pretty early though, otherwise it'll get dark before the return."
You groan at the idea. Your friend responds with a chuckle.
"Remember, our tour guide joked about werewolves roaming the outskirts. Do you want to be eaten?" She inquires with a cheeky grin.
"You know I have a thing for monsters." You answer with a wink.
The jokes carry on until the bill arrives, and you eventually stand up and merrily make your way down the street. For a brief moment you feel a cold shiver running down your spine, so you peek back inquisitively. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Ah. By the time his focus returns, the sun is setting, reflecting its crimson rays over the old cobblestone. You've been gone for a while, so he must've been staring into the nothingness for good hours. He clears his throat, mildly embarrassed by his absent-mindedness. He isn't hungry, so he has trouble explaining his sudden captivation with a random human.
Even more bizarre is the consequence of the accidental encounter. The following nights are devoid of the usual torment. Has he ever had a peaceful slumber before? He can't recall. And yet here he is, vacantly eyeing the ceiling without the labored breath or cold shivers, faintly reminiscing about your amused expression. He frowns slightly at the realization that his recollection seems to contain less details compared to yesterday. Your face is smudged by the intense light of the noon, titled at an angle that allows no shadows to discern the features. What will he do when it's entirely gone? A faceless memory, anchored in the depths of his heart as a reminder of what could've been. Is there some universal law that dictates only misery remains unforgotten, or is he just exceptionally unlucky? Infuriating.
The overwhelming sensation creeps upon him again. A primordial vengefulness that hasn't yet released him from its cold, bony fingers. For once, can't he be granted fairness? His jaw clenches and he marches out of the room.
Tonight shall be a feast.
The lights are still on in the little tavern inn, and through the small windows he can make out the lively movement of the people inside. He glances at the waning moon one final time. The world may change, and the years may pass, but one thing has never left him throughout the centuries. Always bearing the same pallid, melancholic countenance, his taciturn companion rises, indifferent to the Universe.
His back arches outwards, the bones tear and twist, the joints dislocate and the skin is giving way to coarse, thick fur. His eyes now carry an amber glow as they rest on the modest building. Without further hesitation, he pounces on the door and it folds like cardboard under his inhuman strength. The room goes quiet and all heads turn to him. He recognizes that look. A fleeting second of fear and curiosity, before true panic settles in. But they rarely have the time to scream. Just as the vocal chords contract and vibrate, their chests are trashed and limbs are tattered. Splattered visceral remains and blood coat the ground under his feral attack.
You squeeze your eyes closed and force your hands over your mouth to ensure your stillness to the massacre. You were just returning from the bathroom when you heard the wails and the wet sounds of mutilated flesh. You'd ducked behind the wall and hid under an end table. What the hell is that creature? You initially thought a wild wolf had somehow made its way into the tavern, but no animal can be this large. There is a backdoor, but on the other side of this hall. You'd have to sprint across the archway that leads into the main room. Then again, if it's this busy ripping the others apart...
No need to ponder your options much. Silence falls behind you, which means the creature must have finished its horrid sport early. His snout picks up a particular scent and he tenses up, expectantly. Could it be?
The wooden parquet tiles creak under the weight of foreign footsteps; a human approaching you. You look up from under the table. Has someone dealt with the beast? Although you immediately regret revealing yourself. You freeze in your spot, hands propped on the ground, like prey awaiting execution.
The man is unnaturally tall, having to crouch under the ceiling, with wild black hair and rough features. His chiseled face is painted red, and his clothing is torn apart and soaked in blood. His large hands end in sharp claws, and amid his ruffled locks you can distinguish animal ears.
There you are.
Well, quite the irony to meet you here of all times and places. From this distance, you look even prettier. He bends over slightly to examine the details that have faded since the first encounter. A surreal experience, really. Seeing you kneel right in front of him and not as a figment of his imagination. He extends his fingers over your face and presses his nails in, leaving a vague trail of swollen, red skin. What a frail being you are.
"Your friend is alive, by the way." His deep, dissonant voice pierces the silence.
"O-oh." You gasp. You were so anxious you barely understood the meaning of his words.
"You may check on her if you so desire, however..."
He considers it. Normally, even after allowing his anger to seep into cadavers and ruins, all he's left with is disgust and emptiness. Yet your presence seems to fill him with unfamiliar comfort. If one is drowning, is it truly selfish to hold onto the first thing that keeps them afloat? The only people who'd condemn such beggar are the ones that have never been underwater. They don't know what it's like to have your lungs tighten and collapse under the heavy pressure, waving your arms towards a surface that's never reached.
"...You'll be coming with me afterwards."
You can only stare.
"Don't worry, I won't kill you." He attempts to simulate a smile. "I suppose I'm not too convincing like this", he jokes as he gestures towards his body, "But you have my word I'll never harm you."
"Why, though?" You manage to stutter, frowning in confusion.
He's taken aback by your inquiry. Perhaps his statement is indeed more threatening than anything else. On the other hand, he hasn't conversed with humans in...longer than he can remember. What might pose as convincing in this case? Drawing out a rose and confessing his undying love among the bodies he murdered feels rather ridiculous. Suddenly, a passage he's once read comes to mind. At the time, it depressed him greatly. Now it feels like the only fitting reasoning.
"Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds… true love?"
"Isn't that from Stoker's Dracula? How is it-"
You pause and search his eyes. Golden trenches of loneliness and gloom. Your heart is heavy and your mouth curls into a grimace the longer you stare into these pools swirling with agony.
"I understand." Is all you can mutter as you stand up.
Have you had a choice to begin with? Not even the frothing waves of a storming ocean can come between a dying man and his only raft.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x darling#yandere fic#yandere imagines#yandere monster#yandere monster x reader#monster x reader#werewolf x reader#yandere werewolf#female reader#gender neutral reader#yandere horror#horror x reader#yandere oc#romanian folklore
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A Man With a Plan.1
prologue // p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7
Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU
CW: mentions of bullying - only one description of it, but it's chill cuz James tells them to fuck off like the king he is? Descriptions of werewolf behaviour idk. Use of Y/N
Synopsis: Remus planned to never fall in love. Moony had other plans.
“Don’t you think she’s just the loveliest thing, Moons?” James spoke in reverence.
Remus needn’t move his gaze from his book to know that Lily Evans just walked into the library – so he didn’t.
“Sure is, James.”
“Don’t be getting any ideas though.” James said as he nudged his friend. He was clearly trying to go for light and breezy, but Remus caught the nervous twinge in his voice.
“You truly have nothing to worry about, Prongs.” He muttered.
“What? Don’t like birds?” James asked, though he was still watching Lily make her way over to her friends.
“Who doesn’t like birds?” Sirius questioned as he appeared out of nowhere, swatting Remus’ feet off a neighbouring chair and taking the seat for himself.
“Remus, apparently.” Peter answered from behind his book.
Remus finally lowered his book to regard his friends. “That is not what I said.”
“He said he doesn’t like Lily.” James told Sirius, finally turning his attention away from this girl to look at his mate like can you believe this guy?
“I literally just said I agreed that she was lovely.” Remus guffawed.
“If you think she’s so lovely, why don’t you go ask her out then?” Sirius asked with a smirk, causing James to let out a strangled groan.
“What! No, common that’s like, against the bro code. Oh! Hi Y/N!” James cut himself off as he spotted you entering the library.
“Hello, James.” You greeted serenely as you started towards him. “What has your aura so pink today?”
This caused both Sirius and Remus’ eyebrows to cock, though neither of them interrupted yours and James’ interaction.
“We were just talking about how lovely Lily is.” James answered solemnly.
“Yes, I suppose that would do it.” You answered as you turned to follow James’ gaze.
“It’s funny, her aura turns the same colour when she looks at you. I wonder what that could mean.” You said softly, completely missing the way James’ head reared back.
“Well, I must be off. I’ve been trying to check out a book all week, but each time I’ve come to the library I’ve ended up distracted trying to clear the nargles from the shelves. The library is just full of them!”
Your voice was feather light as you bid a simple goodbye to James who returned it with an easy smile before you floated away.
James turned from your retreating form to see the bemused faces of his friends, sans Peter who still hadn’t raised his head from his book.
“What was that?” Sirius finally asked.
“What was what?” James asked as he furrowed his brows. “Y/N?”
“Since when are you friends with her?” Sirius continued.
“We have care of magical creatures together. She’s tutoring me, actually. She’s really quite nice.” James said as he picked up his own forgotten textbook.
Sirius, still not able to let it go, added, “She’s an odd little bird, isn’t she?”
James only shook his head. “She’s harmless. People give her a harder time than she deserves.”
“Perhaps...” Remus acquiesced. “But what the hell is a nargle?”
“Oh, not a clue.” James answered simply before beginning to work on his Ancient Runes translation.
Remus and Sirius exchanged one more look before moving to their own homework.
It’s not that Remus didn’t know who you were – Hogwarts wasn’t a big enough school to not know the other students in your own year – but there had never been any interactions between your circles of friends. Namely, Remus’ friends and whoever you happened to hang out with never seemed to intertwine. Remus had to assume you had friends – even he had friends, and he was a monster – but he had no idea who they could be.
Remus had to admit you were a cute little thing, if a little odd as Sirius said. James could be a lot of things, but he always saw the best in people; so, it really shouldn’t have surprised Remus that James had made a friend of you.
What Remus didn’t yet know was what your newfound friendship with James would mean for him.
“So, what do we think? Does Lily here have some competition?” Marlene joked with a wicked grin as she threw her arm across Lily’s shoulders at the Gryffindor table.
“Competition for what?” Sirius asked around a mouthful of eggs from his spot across from Peter and Remus.
“James, of course.” Dorcas clarified.
Lily groaned. “I was never competing.”
“I mean, who needs tutoring in care of magical creatures? Don’t you just like, show up and feed them? Seems like a ruse to me.” Mary chuckled from her place.
Peter leaned into Remus before adding. “Does seem a little weird that James needs help in care of magical creatures, seeing as that’s exactly what he does once a month.”
Remus nearly choked on his tea before regaining his composure. Apparently, he hadn't regained it quickly enough.
“What’s so funny over there?” Lily asked as she narrowed her teasing-filled eyes at the two offending boys.
“Nothing at all, Evans. But trust me when I say you have absolutely nothing to worry about when it comes to the future Mr. Evans-Potter.” He responded easily. All the mirth left Lily’s face as she turned her gaze towards her breakfast, but both Peter and Remus noticed the faint blush dusting her cheeks.
It was surprising to all, although not surprising at all (I mean, come on, James has been at this for seven years – it was bound to come about eventually), that Lily was slowly beginning to warm up to James’ advances. It probably helped that they were head girl and boy this year, it also probably helped that James was less annoying about it and far more polite with his advances, and it also probably helped that the rest of Lily’s friends really quite liked James.
As if summoned, James accompanied by Lily’s competition, entered the Great Hall together.
“I’d really like that, Y/N. Thank you!” James could be heard saying as the two of you approached his friends.
“It’s really no problem, James. I’m sure they’d love to have more visitors.” You responded softly. Remus noticed your smile was just as soft as your voice; he thought it was lovely.
What the fuck? Stop thinking people are lovely, you git. He scolded himself immediately.
“Who’s this little birdie introducing you to, Prongsie?” Sirius asked as he shot a salacious wink your way.
You furrowed your brows at him in confusion.
“Birdie?” You asked James softly. He smiled kindly as he turned to you. “A nickname, Y/N. The way Sirius just said it could be taken as a compliment.”
“Or an insult if you don’t appreciate such brazen flirting.” Dorcas added which earned her an elbow to the ribs from said flirt.
“Anyway,” James interjected, looking towards you somewhat awkwardly. “Y/N here was helping me study facts about thestrals when she told me she has befriended a wild herd not far from Hogwarts. She said she’d take me to meet them.”
“Meet thestrals? Can you even see thestrals, Prongsie?” Sirius asked inquisitively.
“There are other ways to enjoy the presence of beings without being able to see them.” You offered simply, your tone remaining nothing but kind even as you corrected him. Remus couldn’t help but smile at you.
Stop smiling, dumbass. He mentally berated himself.
“Quite right. I’d like to try feeding them and petting them.” James said with a level of finality. “If you think they’ll let me.” He added hastily as he turned to you.
You offered the git a soft smile and patted his arm placatingly. “I’m sure they will, James. In fact, I think your voice might be the perfect hertz; the thestrals will love your lower tones.”
The majority of the group just furrowed their brows at you, but Marlene began to cackle.
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s a good thing you’re pretty.” She said as she wiped a non-existent tear from below her eyes.
James’ eyes turned stormy as he locked his gaze on Marlene, but his voice remained somewhat relaxed as he addressed you. “Thanks again, Y/N. I’ll see you in class.”
You smiled politely at him before making your way over to your house table.
“How ironic is it that such a ditz was sorted into the house that values learning, wisdom, wit, and intellect.” She snorted, either missing James’ glare or ignoring it entirely.
“Marlene, I love you, you’re one of my best friends, we grew up together, you’re my sister from another mister, I would die for you.” he started, making sure she was looking at him before proceeding. “Do not make fun of my friends.”
Remus was certain his eyebrows had flown right off his forehead as he exchanged a look with his friends. Sirius and Peter seemed to be in agreement that they’d never seen James so stern as he sat down beside Sirius and started filling his plate. Unbeknownst to the boys, Lily was looking at James with a small smirk a look of respect from her end of the bench.
“So, boys,” James began, “I was thinking, for our next brilliant prank...”
And just like that, James was back to planning pranks with the Marauders as if he hadn’t just blown the entire Gryffindor table’s minds.
The rest of the month went about the same; you and James could be found around the castle together, which Sirius was more than happy to take the piss about, and none of James’ friends made fun of you anymore - genuinely fearing James’ wrath ever since he hexed some Hufflepuffs who made a passing comment about you one day.
Remus didn’t think you noticed any of it, however; at least it didn’t appear that way. He found that quite remarkable. He found you quite remarkable.
He hated that.
It’s not that Remus was a prude, but he didn’t like liking you. It made him feel icky – out of control, like he didn’t have a say in any of it. Casual hookups were much more easy and comfortable for him, it was easy to roll over the next morning, say thanks, and carry on like nothing.
But just sharing a small nod of acknowledgment with you made him giddy.
He hated that.
He certainly hadn’t agreed to liking you – he had rules. Rules like – having sex with someone was fine, having feelings for someone was not. And he didn’t want to have sex with you!
Okay, that’s not necessarily true.
He didn’t not want to have sex with you, but that’s not what drew him to you. You seemed ethereal; otherworldly; perhaps a touch too pure.
Certainly, too pure for a werewolf.
Which is why he had rules in the first place; he would not allow someone to get tangled up in his curse of a life, to suffer through loving someone as awful as him. It was painful enough being Remus, he wasn’t going to curse someone to loving him.
So, Remus made a plan: he would ignore this friendship between you and James and pretend like you didn’t exist, only being as polite as humanly possible to stay within James’ good graces.
That plan was fucked to shit in potions.
The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff 7th year class was finishing up as the Slytherin’s and Gryffindor’s entered for their own class. Remus inwardly sighed as he spotted you across the room heading for the ingredient supply cupboard. Remus sighed again when some of your fellow housemates chuckled watching you struggle to carry the many ingredients on your own, none of which offered to help.
“Oh! Are you headed to the supply closet? Mind taking these too?” A snarky little witch (Remus replaced that W with a B in his mind) said as she placed another vial on top of your load without waiting for your response.
Remus had to give you credit, however, as all you did was smile kindly as you reconfigured the many vials and jars in your arms.
Remus sighed outwardly, and loudly, as he made his way to follow you into the supply closet.
“Here, let me help you with that.” He muttered somewhat petulantly like he hadn't just volunteered his help unprompted as he relieved you of some vials and jars.
You looked at him with a face of surprise which quickly morphed into one of gratitude. Remus loved hated it.
“Thank you, Remus. That’s very kind of you.” You all but sung to him. Your voice sounded like angels. Fuck.
Remus scoffed. “Not quite as nice as you, cleaning up for everyone else.” He muttered somewhat darkly.
You bobbed your head back-and-forth noncommittally. “Oh, I don’t mind so much. They do plenty for me in return.”
He turned to you, genuinely interested to hear what exactly those knob heads ever did for you. “Like what?”
You smiled to yourself as you continued placing ingredients in their rightful homes. “Well, they’re always keeping me on my toes by hiding my things around the castle. They must know how much I enjoy a good treasure hunt.”
Remus’ hand stopped in midair as he watched you continue to work. Did he hear you right? Did you actually believe these people were being kind? Did you think of those people as your friends?
“Or perhaps they don’t know that. Then in that case, I suppose the joke would be on them.” You said plainly as you turned your attention back to Remus, offering him a slightly pursed smile – like you were trying to hide the full extent of your joy at the thought, though the dimple that appeared on your left cheek gave you away.
It actually surprised a bark of laughter from him as he forced his hand to resume its task. “I suppose so.” He concurred.
Remus heard a small tinkling sound and a gentle ‘oh’ escape your lips as a vial rolled into his foot. You both bent down to pick it up, but Remus was faster. As he went to hand you the offending vial, your fingers brushed gently.
For Remus, you may as well have set off a bomb.
Remus swore he felt every neuron in his body firing at the same time, his blood cells turned to lava and his veins turned to ice, his feet felt like they were fully rooted to the dungeon floor below him while his heart thrummed and took off in flight from his body.
And through all of this, Moony was going feral.
“Pack. Pack. Pack. Pack. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. MINE.”
Remus ripped his hand away from you like it burned – and in some ways it did – but the newfound space between your beings seemed to hurt even more.
Remus’ chest was heaving, and his heart was going a mile a minute while Moony continued howling inside of his head. He could barely hear the classroom behind him through the blood rushing in his ears.
Remus could count many worst parts about this whole experience, but at this very moment, the worst part was your face.
Your head was cocked to the side like a confused cocker spaniel as your brows furrowed ever so slightly. You peered at Remus with a concerned gaze and your entire being just oozed kindness and understanding.
As if you could understand the clamoring of the 13-year-old werewolf living inside his brain screaming at him to lunge at you, bow down to you, fold you up and put you in his pocket, to crack open his ribcage and place you inside of him for eternity. What the fuck was wrong with him!?
“Are you alright, Remus?” You asked, so, so, so softly. In fact, you said it so softly that Remus was sure if Moony hadn’t just decided to dial into the exact channel of your frequency, he would have missed it completely.
“Yes.” He breathed as he shook his head no. “No. I don’t know. I-”
You nodded sympathetically, as if Remus had said anything coherent at all. “That’s alright.”
Remus willed his lungs to take a deep breath. Because, was it really? Was it really alright? Because it sort of felt like Remus was dying; like his life was over as he knew it.
“Ah, Miss. L/N, you should be off to your next class now, quickly. Mr. Lupin, please take your seat.” Mr. Slughorn said, poking his head briefly into the supply cupboard before retreating in much the same way.
You nodded politely at the teacher before offering Remus a smile.
“Thank you again for your help, Remus.” You said gently as you moved past him to retrieve your bag before exiting the classroom. Remus Moony wanted to follow you, begged to follow you. He could still smell you – you were everywhere. Fuck, Remus needs to shower.
Remus leaned his head against the cool stone of the dungeon walls. “What’s happening to me?” He moaned miserably to himself.
If only he knew.
Continue to chapter two here.
Taglist: @hanniejji
#marauders era#marauders au#marauders fanfiction#reader insert#self insert#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin drabble#remus lupin fanfiction#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x you#remus lupin#werewolf mcswearwolf#werewolf soulmate#soulmate au#hp marauders#remus lupin ficlet#remus lupin blurb#werewolf#the lupins#james potter#sirius black#peter pettigrew#lily evans#ravenclaw#hufflepuff#gryffindor#slytherin#potions class#hogwarts#whimsical!reader
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You Have A Type, Don't You?
Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader
Based on this post
I wrote this instead of doing any of the work I need to do! I'm gonna go do that now lol
Warnings: innuendos, minor references to sex, the barest hints of jealousy
Word Count: 1,601
Masterlist
AO3
Tag List Form
Your pencil scratched across the paper, drawing Astarion over and over again on a single page. This wasn’t anything surprising; you drew all of your companions. Gale, Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart, Lae’zel - they all had pages of their own, but it was usually only one drawing. Some had even posed for it. It was just a way to relax, and their faces always lit up when you showed them, even if they tried not to show it.
Everyone needed a break from fighting and exploring day in day out, so you decided one more day here wouldn’t hurt. As such, you’ve spent the better half of the day just drawing. At first it was little doodles of Scratch, but then you realized you hadn’t drawn the vampire spawn yet.
Most of the expressions you captured came from memory. You’d occasionally sneak a glance for quick reference, pretending to stretch or get distracted by some birds. But at some point, he’d disappeared from camp. You just assumed he’d gone off hunting.
That assumption was proved quite wrong when a voice tsked over your shoulder, almost directly in your ear.
Startling away from the sound, you whipped around to see Astarion crouched down. He wore a self-satisfied smirk and settled down into a full sit on the ground.
“It seems someone is infatuated,” he teased. “So who is it? Someone we saved from peril, perhaps?”
Oh. Right. It had completely slipped your mind.
You cleared your throat as your cheeks warmed and smiled. “Y-Yeah, something like that.”
He chuckled. “Come on, darling, there’s nothing to be shy about. Spare none of the juicy details. What’s he like?”
“He’s, well,” you stammer, “he’s interesting.”
He scoffed. “That’s hardly juicy or a detail. Or is he just another pretty face?” He leaned forward, trying to get a better look at your drawings. You wanted to pull them away and hide them, but why? All the others had drawings done of them, and you loved showing it off when they were done. Why was this any different?
“No, he’s a lot more than that,” you admit quietly. You weren’t good at lying - usually Astarion took the lead any time you had to - but maybe if you didn’t tell a complete lie… “He’s funny, charming. His laugh lights up my world. He’s had a rough go of it, but he doesn’t like it to show.”
“He must like you if you know,” he hummed. Your heart leapt into your throat as he pointed to the pin pricks drawn on the neck. “Is he a vampire, too?” He chuckled, but it sounded strained. “You have a type, don’t you?”
You scoffed even as warmth flooded to your cheeks. “No! I do not have a type.”
“No, of course not,” he played along. “Certainly not for creatures of the night who bite into that pretty little neck of yours.” Despite his smile, there was a tension in his eyes. “I don’t mind, dear. I’d be more than happy to scrounge around some nights so you may indulge your new lover.”
You shook your head. “You don’t have to do that, Astarion,” you assured. “He’s not… We’re not together.”
“No?” You shook your head again. He opened his mouth to give you advice or console you, but you cut him off. It was better to end this fantasy now, before it began to hurt too much.
“It doesn’t matter. Besides, you shouldn’t be sneaking around so you can look over my shoulder. I could have been drawing something terrible.”
He laughed. “All the more reason to risk a peek. You’re so good, it would be nice to know you can be tempted.” Then he scowled. “Unless it’s something terribly dull. You deserve much more than missionary.”
If your cheeks weren’t already blazing hot…
“In any case, I was only wondering when you’d draw my portrait. You seemed more than happy to provide the others with a likeness. And…” He looked past you, seemingly far away. “I haven’t seen myself in two centuries. One gets curious, especially when you’re as vain as me.”
If he heard your heart start racing, he didn’t comment on it. Drawing him would make him realize it wasn’t some other vampire crush you were drawing. But, it had been a while since your adventure began, and you’d drawn everyone else. You swallowed down your anxiety. “Yeah! Of course! Did you wanna pose, or anything?”
He blinked and suddenly he was back in the present. A sly smirk covered up whatever emotions could be lingering on his face. “If your little vampire friend doesn’t get too jealous. I would actually like if you could draw me just,” he paused, “smiling. It would be nice to know what everyone else sees. Make sure I’m not off-putting, you know how it is.”
Once he was sitting comfortably, you turned to a fresh page and began drawing. The paper was hidden from his view, but he watched as your hand, wrist, and arm all moved in tandem like a clock’s gears to create an image. Your eyes moved between the sketch and him multiple times. Sometimes you’d glance up and draw for almost a minute. Then other times you kept going back and forth, constantly checking for reference.
Watching you work was fascinating. All your surroundings faded away. Karlach being her usual loud self, Wyll dancing, Gale cooking, Lae’zel sharpening weapons - nothing could turn your attention from him. He almost felt subconscious with the intensity of it. Your eyes studied him, taking in every single feature, and translated it to your journal. What did you see when you looked at him, he wondered. What did the world see? It had been so long, he couldn’t even remember his face. All he knew was he was attractive.
With a final few marks, brushed away to blend them into the rest, you looked down at your masterpiece. You were so caught up in the drawing you forgot why you were hesitant before, but now that Astarion stared at you from two different angles, your anxiety came back full force. There was no way out of this.
“All done, dear?”
You smiled shakily up at him and turned the journal around. His face scrunched up in confusion. When he met your eyes, he was decidedly unamused. “Darling, if you’re going to draw your fleeting fancy, don’t trick me first. I know it’s hard to see past the depraved bloodlust, but we don’t all look alike, you know.”
“No, Astarion, it’s not- I-”
While you fought to find words, Karlach picked up the slack. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted across the camp, “IT’S YOU, FANGS!”
Dread washed over you. You closed your eyes. If a merciful god was going to kill you and rid you of this embarrassment, now would be the time. A bolt of lightning, perhaps. You’d even welcome decapitation.
You risked a glance when you felt your book being tugged carefully from your hands. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open as he tried to comprehend what the fuck had just happened. Gods, now he was going to leave camp. You buried your face in your hands. He was going to pack everything up and leave before the sun even touched the horizon. And you’d never see him again. Maybe you’d go find Cazador yourself, just to kill the bastard.
“All these drawings… are me? Darling?”
You inhaled deeply and lowered your hands, but you couldn’t bear looking at him. He could stab you with his dagger and you’d apologize to him for it all. Hell, you’d let him drink you dry if it meant leaving this all behind you. “You’re very pretty,” you admitted quietly. “I didn’t know how to ask, and just- You can rip the pages out, burn them, whatever makes you feel better. And if you leave, I won’t blame you or chase after you or-”
“I’m not upset.” Your head never shot up so fast. “Well, a little. You’re not subtle when you stare, you know. I thought you were just uncomfortable being around a vampire, but this…” He turned back to the portrait you’d just finished. “This is really what I look like?”
You swallowed away a small portion of the shame. At least he wasn’t running away. “As best as I can capture you, anyway. Y-You’ve got these sharp eyes, and your hair curls around your ears, and you get little wrinkles around your eyes and mouth when you laugh - and I just like drawing you.”
The page flipped over again. The page of expressions, capturing everything you described. When he smiled full and bright his fangs were on full display, accented by the laugh lines on either side of his mouth. And the puncture wounds on his neck…
“Ah, so when I said you had a type…” He chuckled, but it didn’t hold as much warmth as usual.
“Your laugh does light up my world,” you admit. His red eyes were on you in an instant, flickering over your whole face. “Just, for the record.”
He glanced at the drawings once more, contemplative. Then, he held the book back out to you. “I wouldn’t be… opposed to trying this. Whatever this is.”
You reached out to take it, but he pulled it away. “But, no more sneaking glances across camp when you want to draw me. I would be delighted to model for you again, in any pose your sweet heart can concoct.” He held the book out again. “Deal?”
You grabbed onto the book, finally relaxing as you smiled. “Deal.”
---
Tag List:
@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @mjmygd @flsalazar @thedevilssinner @marina-and-the-memes @softempest @rebeccasship @pinkishredlemonade @faeoran
#fanfic#fanfiction#astarion#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#bg3#baldur's gate astarion#baldur's gate tav#baldurs gate astarion#baldurs gate tav#bg3 astarion#bg3 tav#gn reader#x gn reader#gender neutral reader#x gender neutral reader#fluff
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Calypso
pairing: azriel x reader
warning: swearing, mentions of being beaten, violence, murder, probably typos, based off a tiktok i saw (pretty sure this is based off a play or something along those lines)
summary: The sweetest member of the Inner Circle shows the Autumn Court the true extent of feminine rage.
—
“Something is wrong,” Azriel couldn’t stop pacing, heart thumping so hard in his chest he was sure there was an imprint beginning to etch its way onto his skin. A hand absently rubs at his chest, clothes feeling too tight and his brothers don’t miss the rigid raise of his wings. Shadows cloak his form, curling around his ears and tugging on his clothes in their own way of communicating the same thing he had. “Something is very, very wrong. She should be back by now.”
Rhysand try’s to remain reasonable—to regain control of the rapidly escalating situation but you were supposed to have been back nearly four hours ago.
At first, the High Lord had thought it was a good idea; that you’d be a pleasant change from Az’s domineering brood or Cassian’s incessant need to mouth off but the longer they waited the more Rhys considered that maybe he made the wrong call. “She’s gone on missions to Autumn alone many times before, Az.”
The shadowsinger nods in agreement but his stance doesn’t relax even a bit. “Sure but she’s never once been late getting back home. Never.” Saying the words seem to be confirmation enough, waiting one second—two before he’s retreating from Rhysand’s office and saying fuck it to any of the consequences that he would surely face if he got there and something had happened to you.
“Az,” Cass shouts from down the hall, bounding steps sounding against the polished floors as he falls in stride with him. “Just wait for one second.”
“If it was your mate, would you wait?”
“Of course not but we just need two minutes to assess the situation before just barging inside—this is Autumn we are talking about here.”
“I don’t care.”
Fingers rake through shoulder length hair, honey eyes clocking Azriel’s determined stride, the hard brow and strong set of his mouth. “I understand that but if it gets her killed—”
“Us waiting might get her killed,” Azriel snaps, nearly growling the words free; shadows stiffening at his shoulders in agitation. “I won’t risk it. I won’t lose her.”
There’s no room for fighting; not when Rhys and Cassian were too busy trying to keep up with Azriel’s brutal pace to cross the wards. Winnowing in a rush never did well on the stomach but the unease that churns in Azriel’s gut the moment they arrive at Autumns borders is anything but normal.
“This isn’t right,” Cassian insists, following behind with a watchful eye; every muscle in his body tense as awareness prickles to life. “Where are the guards? The hounds?” It’s too quiet, the sky too dark and yet Azriel continues on a path of his own making; following the pure string within to draw him back to his other half.
The spymaster rips through the trees, shoving aside offending branches with little regard for the noise being made. It works in his favor, stumbling at the right place at the wrong time judging by the frazzled guards and a High Lord soaked from the waist down. Complete silence fills the space; not even a bird chirps, no rustling of woodland creatures, no crackling cadence of crawling cicadas. “Where is she?” Azriel demands, voice dangerously low as he searched deeper within the bond; scrambling for further direction, desperate for the confirmation of your safety.
Beron Vanserra looks too smug, a devilish smirk crafting in the corner of his mouth. Auburn hair falls from its neat styling, clothes ruffled and Azriel knows he can’t be the only one who notices the petrified expressions plastered on the guards faces—the fact that none of them make a move to comment on Night Court breaching another’s borders without permission. “Where’s who?”
“You know who,” Rhysand says your name carefully, casually pressing forward until he stood before Azriel, serving as a barrier between a male withholding answers and another male willing to carve the world to pieces in order to obtain them. “Your meeting with her should’ve ended hours ago.”
“It never started,” Beron waves a hand dismissively, his clothes drying with the motion. Guards surround him, leaving a gap for visibility but their security is subdued; trembling with fear and eyes glistening with guilt. “She never arrived.”
Azriel’s grip tightens around the hilt of Truthteller, golden irises narrow to slits and his voice is but a hiss. “You’re lying.”
A brow raises, the overwhelming scent of whiskey and cinnamon muddled by sea salt and ocean spray; a confusing combination laced with a distress that did not belong to the High Lord of Autumn. “Do you have proof?”
Shadows creep up Azriel’s form, silently reminding its master of their presence and willingness to eliminate the threat no matter the outcome but before his lips can form words—an unnatural noise cuts through the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stands at attention, golden eyes surveilling every inch of dense foliage. “What was that?”
Its eerie and drawn out, almost like song but the melody held no comfort, no warmth.
“What did you do?” Azriel swallows thickly, shoulders uncomfortably tense as the humming continues, layered feminine voices piercing their ears like the sirens Cass always talked about around a crackling fire after too much to drink.
“I did nothing.” Beron shrugs, voice even and sure but the fear that settles behind his eyes isn’t equally well hidden. His body language betrays him, subconsciously shuffling closer to the readied guards that flank every side of their High Lord.
“Vanserra.” Your silhouette is barely noticeable when cloaked in the night and Azriel’s brow raises at the tears in your gown, the healing split of your lip—and where were your shoes?
Rhys calls your name, taking only a single step before Cassian’s iron grip curls around his arms, swiftly tugging him back and behind him. A general protecting the leader of his court as the scene before them became horribly apparent. “Impossible,” Beron whispers, not bothering to hide the disbelief—the horror. “You died.”
Azriel’s stance faulters, the stony expression unable to hide the unbridled pain that etches its way onto his features at the words.
But, you don’t seem phased.
In fact, you don’t seem much like yourself at all.
The soft glow of your light is replaced with a murky darkness; soiled by anger and the bubbling desire for vengeance and all of it is directed towards the copper haired male with a heart like coal and a soul filled to the brim with ash. “Get in the water.” You command.
“I am immune to your witchcraft, demon.” Beron scoffs your way, attempting to deflect the shake of his voice with the accusatory finger pointed to the High Lord of Night tucked safely behind his brothers. “Control your bitch or I will.”
Azriel pushes back the need to retaliate, golden eyes sliding from the male to the woman he loved; a woman who exuded unbridled feminine rage the longer you allowed such power to flow through you—power you always kept so bottled up, so contained. Soothed into submission by your kindness and grace, the love you shared with friend and stranger alike; all unleashed from the conclaves of their confinement. Az’s grip on Truthteller tightens and it’s a true test of will to tear his gaze away long enough to address Beron once more. “What did you do?”
The Autumn Courts High Lord goes still. The air seems to thin, the water bristling against the rocky shore; howling, shouting, demanding to rise—to bend at your will and follow out the revenge you seeked. “Tell them,” Your voice ebbs through the space between you, unnaturally controlled, unusually low and unbearably empty. “Tell them what you did to me and maybe I’ll show mercy.”
“I did nothing.”
A guard sucks in a shaky breath, sweat lacing his brow and it takes no more than a second before he’s released hold of his weapon and drops to the ground on his knees. “Forgive me.” He begs, hands pressed together as if he were praying. “I-I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.” Cassian regards Azriel with a sharp look, crimson Syphons brewing with power as every cell in his body screamed that something terrible was going to happen—that something terrible had happened and they were too late. Forced to stand by, frozen as you were molded into a woman they could hardly recognize. The pretty blue dress you’d left in is torn, ruined fabric sagging in ribbons, showing off collarbones covered in bruises shaped like fingerprints, in cuts that healed before their very eyes. Soaked hair hangs past your shoulders, dripping down your back as the wind whipped through what remained of your clothes. “I beg of you, please, have mercy.”
The apology does no good and before Cassian can work up a plan to get Rhysand as far away as possible, you’re already wrapping them in a dome of water so crystal clear it’s like glass; shielding them from your rage while providing a front row seat to the events long since forged in stone. “Rhys, can you get in her head?”
“I don’t have to,” Rhysand responds barely above a whisper, violet eyes so pale, pupils so pinpricked as the events were shoved at him at an upresendented speed. You, arriving as planned, joining the High Lord privately for dinner when the two sips of wine began to have your body feeling like a whole night of binging at Rita’s with the girls. The images project onto the other, Cass and Az watching with bated breath as they looked through your eyes, felt your disorientation, the fear, the disgust when hands roamed over your body. It took everything for Azriel not to break, to unleash horrors upon Beron Vanserra and every male involved as he watched you beg for them to let you go. Your shoes left in a hallway in your struggle, soft skin and prettily painted toes marred by the rough tugging, the crude remarks and sick promises to kill you quick.
Cassian’s stomach churns, food curdling from within when he feels you strain against the water, as they held you down and left you there long after your hands went limp.
They could feel the power within you, pumping back life into the tiny sliver of hope left, expelling the water from your lungs and replacing that beacon of light with something the High Lord of Autumn better understood. “Get in the water,” You say once more, stepping closer and the crashing waves seem to move with you, lapping at your bare feet, salving over aches and bruises.
“Or what?” He spits, struggling to grapple into whatever control he had left but his vile tone holds no weight in comparison to you and cold expression settling into your eyes.
“Or I’ll raise the tides so high, all of Autumn Court will die.” There’s no bite in your words, only pure promise; steps strong and filled with an uncapped power so strong it seemed to throb. The bustling waves behind you climb higher and higher, so high the skyline is blocked; so high that nothing else existed behind you but such torrential oceans filled with its creatures that thrashed and snapped their jaws to do as you pleased. “Say the words, Beron. Tell them what you did to me.” Azriel’s feels it before he sees it; the bubbling emotions, the swelling power inside of you coming to a head and begging to explode. “Say it!” You demand so furiously the same guard on his knees visibly flinches, thick streams of tears trailing down his aged face as his back bows in submission before their very eyes.
He sings like a canary, confessing to following their High Lords orders of sending the Night Court a message for foolishly in believing in peace. The male professes how one of the cooks were told to lace the wine to subdue her. He musters up the decency to spare the shadowsinger a pleading glance, spilling out useless apologies and promises to never do it again—how disgusted he felt harming a female; one who was so sweet and gentle but orders were orders.
No one speaks, the other guards eyes are as wide as saucers, mouths parted in utter shock as they await the repercussions of the confession; trembling like branches in the wind under the suffocating pressure of your power.
Beron doesn’t pay the sobbing male swathed in armor any mind. Instead, he’s trained on the fellow High Lord—borderline desperate in his command. “Control her. Please.”
“It’s all about control with you, isn’t it, Beron?” Each step closer has your nose curling in disgust, lip quirking in a snarl. “I should fix that.” Wind whistles around furiously, snatching through auburn hair and ripping the overly expensive cloak right from his shoulders. True terror sets root in cruel eyes and the hairs on the back of Beron’s neck raises; primal instincts warning him of impending danger—of inevitable doom. “I’ll make tidal waves so profound that both your wife and your sons will drown.”
“Seize her,” Beron spits, snapping out the words so fiercely that spittle shoots free but even his own protection detail realizes who’s really in control here and not one of them moves to appease the order. “Threatening a High Lord and his family is punishable by death.”
Birds screech their caws of great displeasure, wings fluttering furiously against the trees in such a frenzy that leaves fall free; taunting the end of one reign and the beginnings of another. You don’t feed into his poor attempts of deflecting, his words entering one ear and flying out the other. “You mistake my threats for bluff,” Swords clatter to the ground, Autumn soldiers sharply turning on the balls of their feet with full intent to run—to rush back to their wives and children for the false feeling of safety. You allow them a few strides as a kindness before unleashing the torrential downpour upon them; sweeping each one clean off their feet in their fancy armor. “You have lived more than enough.” Shades of deep red and burnt orange fight uselessly against the angry seas, rough tides swallowing up the soldiers garbled screams and washing them away.
Beron chokes on the salty water, legs pumping furiously against the current, his eyes burning and lungs filling with the catastrophic affects of your anger. “Stop!” His cheeks turn red, the veins in his neck straining against tanned skin and you find yourself fixating on the way his hands claw at his throat—fighting for the slightest gasp of oxygen.
“Did you stop when I begged?” The oceans cover land with ease, seeping past the borders with full intent to make good on your promises on destroying every inch of Autumn territory. “When I screamed for you to just please let me go?” Deep red shifts to an unusual shade of purple, water seeps from his nose and his eyes all but bulge out of the socket.
Choked noises sputter from Beron’s lips, an arm desperately clutching around the base of a tree to keep from being washed up. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” The water parts for you, allowing you a perfect path to the High Lord and you take your sweet time watching his struggle—his disarray. He looks so utterly boyish this way, his hair soaked over his forehead, lashes dark and clustered together under the force of ocean spray smacking at his cheeks like a million microscopic needles. “But, you will be.”
Eerie voices sing their song, layering over the other in a plethora of different pitches until Beron’s head snaps from side to side, eyes searching frantically for the source but he realizes too late.
Water wraiths and their siren sisters cut through the cool waters like a sword through the wind, their webbed fingers eager to grab at the deviant of a man responsible for savagely murdering countless of their brothers and sisters in cold blood just for sport. One of them pause, the features of her face rippling with the tide but there’s no mistaking the respectful nod of her head—one that you return.
You don’t linger to watch the rest, your anger fizzling out and all that’s left is the desire to go home and spend a whole week hidden in the sheets with your mate. If he’d still have you after all this. Bare feet trudge against the ground until you stand before your family, the barrier lowered. You can’t meet their eyes, the wounds too raw and their pity too palpable but the familiar comfort of cool shadows drape over you, evaluating and assessing before relaying their findings back to their master. “I—“
Azriel’s body collides with yours before the whole sentence can even form, strong arms wrapping you up and tugging you as close as he could. His hands go over every inch of you, muttering under his breath about how he’d never let you out of his sight again. “You’re okay,” His shoulders visibly relax, when he can’t find a hint of damage on you—not even a bruise. “Thank gods you’re okay.”
Your eyes slide past him, lips pursing as you prepared yourself for whatever came next. You’d killed a High Lord—there’s no chance anyone would just let that go. “Rhysand, I—“
“You didn’t do anything,” He swiftly cuts in, regarding you fondly even if his stomach swells with guilt at the thought of being the one who put you in harms way in the first place. “You’re safe and that’s all that matters.”
For now.
#acotar x reader#a court of thorns and roses#acotar x you#azriel#acotar azriel#high lord rhysand#azriel x reader#azriel x you#cassian#azriel fic#azriel spymaster#azriel fanfic#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#az x reader#azriel angst#az angst#acotar angst#acotar
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Distraction | Xavier T.
warnings ✩° : mutual pining, angry(?) confession, teasing, competition, cursing, rivals to lovers, both reader and xavier are 17-18 years old, fluff but also a tad spice.
pairing ✩° : xavier thorpe x fem!reader
premise ✩° : on the day of the annual poe cup, you're put against your academic rival, xavier thorpe, and you don't want to lose. however, he has other plans of getting the upper hand with you and knows exactly how to get his way. hes knocking out two birds with one stone, if you will.
word count ✩° : 3.4k
authors note ✩° : this was done in literally a few hours bc i’m obsessed and it needs to be addressed.
The rules were simple.
They always have been. Follow what the people in charge told you and don't disappoint. If you disappoint them then you disappoint the whole community and what good are you if you're a disappointment. It was hard not to see school, ground zero for being the best, as a competition. In fact, you thrived working towards a goal of being superior than everyone else; maybe it was due to the fact that no matter what was put in front of you, you could understand it and write it off as done as soon as you wrote your name. However, there were some things you didn't get at times and that frustrated you.
Over the time you’ve known him, it’s been test after test, assignment after assignment, obscure experiment after obscure experiment to prove to this seemingly effortlessly perfect creature that you’re better than him, only for you to miss his mark by one. point.
“Maybe you should think less about being better than me and more about the material, Y/n.” Xavier would say, “But don’t worry, you ALMOST got the same score as me.”
It wasn't his snarky comments or obviously stronger memory than you that made you over the top angry, no, it was the fact that you couldn't understand how he was doing it. Nothing made sense and the feeling of not knowing made looking into his stupid hazel eyes, gazing at his sharp and defined side profile, and wispy long hair all the more annoying. Everything has to have answers. So why did he make your throat tighten every time you spoke to him? Or your face flush with dark shades of pink and red? It had to be anger. There was no other explanation.
All of the rivalry would eventually lead you both up to the annual Poe Cup. A boat race amongst four teams, five members from each house all stuck together on their respective hand crafted boats each representing a different Edgar Allen Poe poem.
You're on The Black Cat team while Xavier’s on The Amontillado team. For a whole week you spend with your team, preparing for the race and to utterly destroy Xavier because this will finally prove to yourself that you’re good at him at something.
“You ready to beat the shit out of Xavier, Y/n?” Your friend who knows your rivalry with the guy smiles at you, “Once WE have that cup he has to realize that all he is to you, is dirt.” She was right.
“Relax, F/n, why ruin my chances with excitement when I can take all of that and shove it in his face at the very end.”
Your other team mate taps you both on your shoulders, “You guys ready? It’s almost time.” With that, you watch everyone file into their boats, Xavier included, and so you and your friend make your way into your own seats. However, just before you adjust your headband on your head, you decide to catch a glimpse of the destined losers on each side of you. Though no one else is important right now other than seeing him, so you give a side eyed glance in Xavier’s direction.
To your surprise, not only is he already looking at you, but, “Is he laughing at me?”
Your friend looks towards Xavier as well and scoffs, “Yeah,” She confirms, “Looks like they all are. Fucking clowns.”
As you chew on the inside of your cheek out of anger, a sudden whistle blows from Ms. Weems accompanied by a large megaphone that amplifies her voice as she speaks.
You can tell out of the corner of your eye that ever since your friend had rudely thrusted her middle finger into the sky for all the jesters to see, Xavier hadn't stopped looking at you. His eyes, laser focused, burned into the side of your head and it only made you more anxious for the race. You bite your lip ever so slightly and fight back the urge to look at him too.
Thankfully, you're saved by a gunshot that explodes into the air and suddenly your team gets pushed into the water.
Of all things, why should you be thinking about Xavier Thorpe and what he has to say or look at you for? All this time, you've convinced yourself that you could care less what he thinks of you. After all, the reason you're trying so hard to be better than him is the very reason that motivates you every day to get up and face him. Otherwise, you'd be locked away in your dorm with nothing to do but attend class and repeat the cycle. In a way, he was your reason to wake up.
“Y/N! Duck!” Your friend suddenly snaps you out of your mechanical like motions of rowing as hard as possible. Wasting no time, you dodge the flying axe coming your way by a hair. “What the hell?! Y/n, focus!”
“I am focused, F/n.”
“No, you're not. You got that lost look in your eyes. Stop thinking about Xavier and maybe pay attention to all the objects being thrown around at us? So you don't die, and most importantly, so we can win this for our hall?”
For the rest of the distance from the starting line to the other end of the lake, you try not to look behind you as looking behind you would only distract you from the prize. All of your team puts in their all in rowing as fast as they can together in sync, each arm pushing at the exact same second as everyone else to really glide through the water. Despite nets being tossed, siren students diving under boats and tipping them over, and very small fire crackers being thrown into other boats, three teams are left remaining to the next stage of the race. Getting the flag.
“Go go go!” F/n pushes you up, “Get the black flag. We’ll be waiting here to look out for anybody.”
Not wanting to waste anymore time, you nod and start sprinting directly into the old, creaky forest. Dry leaves crunch under your feet in threes, making their crinkles the only noise in the entire forest. That’s good, you think, that means no one else came yet. Quickly jumping over logs and rocks, you make your way to the flag destination, only to see that your black flag is missing.
“What the—”
“Hey,” a voice calls out from behind you, “Looking for something?”
The cheesy line doesn't go without an eye roll as you turn around, “Xavier.”
“You don't seem too happy to see me.” Your rival stands with a shit eating grin on his face, comically extenuated with crimson, drippy paint.
You're quick to reply, “I'm not. You took my flag which I need to win this. So hand it over, Thorpe.”
He raises his hands and allows you to charge up to him just close enough so that you're barely touching the tips of his pointed shoes with your jet black boots. “What? Who says I have your flag? I JUST got here in case you hadn't noticed.”
“I actually haven't noticed. Because why would I stop to care about where you are?”
“You seemed to care when we first started.” Xavier leans down and twists his head slightly, just enough for you to be caught off guard and step back, “I saw you looking at me.” His tone makes you shrink back.
Heat rushes to your face in a fleeting panic and almost immediately, your chest twists your rib cage hard enough to squeak out, “I WASN'T LOOKING AT YOU! YOU were looking at ME!”
Xavier raises his brows and chuckles, “I remember differently.”
Of course he has to be cocky now. “Look, Xavier. Just forget this and let me go. Your gross sweat is getting all over me.”
“Oh is that so?”
“YESNOWLETGO.”
He snickers at your flustered nature but decides to go the extra mile and tease you further, “You do realize that we all have to get back, Y/n, its kinda the whole reason why we made it here. Though it looks like its just the two of us.” He turns to both of his sides and then directs his attention back to you, “I’d say we have a little time.”
Again, you emphasize, “WE don't have time. Unlike you, I actually WANT to win. Xavier, I don't know what your deal is or why you're so obsessed with me and making me look like a complete and utter fool, but once I win this for my team, it ends. Do you understand me?”
Xavier exhales deeply, “You know, for someone who’s so high strung and smart, you're really dumb, aren't you?”
“What?”
He steps forward, causing you to back into a tree. You can feel the roughness of the tree bark as it etches its way across the backside of your suit, causing a mildly discomforting feeling that shivers throughout your skin. Before you can move forward, Xavier steps closer, basically eliminating any means of escaping.
“Why am I so obsessed with you? Is that what you think this is? Obsession?”
You look up at him to find his naturally tall stature hunched over to be at eye level with you. Surely, if anyone to walk into the scene, they’d think you two were stopping the competition just to make out. Even though Xavier’s hand is firmly pressed just between your ear and shoulder and he was just over an inch close to you so that your noses are barley touching, it’s not like that at all. Yet, at least.
“That’s what I just asked.” Your eyebrows stitch together bitterly, “Can you not hear, clown? You don’t understand how hard it is for me to watch my reputation die because of you and your perfect grades and your perfect art. What makes you think you can just parade yourself around to be better than me?!” The questions leave a burning sensation in your throat.
“Reputation? Grades? Is that what this is about?”
“YES! Are you DENSE?!”
Instead of matching your violent glower, you watch as the clown leans his head to the side in laughter. His lips parting just enough so you can see his sharp teeth laugh at you too, “Y/n, did you just call me dense? What is that? An insult? At least I’m not the one who always scores lower than me.”
Embarrassment? Anger? Nervousness? Why was his laugh the thing to make you feel weak now? Maybe the first two are theories, but the third is a definite fact. Your eyes are quickly drawn in by his hazel pupils, curious and dilated as they stare back at you. For a moment, the silence between you two isnt filled with hate or rivalry, but peace. That is until he lets out a breathy laugh after getting a good look at your calm face for once.
“Y/n, cat got your tongue? Or do you just not have anything else to say to me other than ‘I hate you’ and ‘stop being better than me’?” He points a finger to your feline head accessory.
"Shut up.” You bark, “Dumb isn’t really a good insult either. You are so full of shit—"
Xavier moves closer, now toe to toe with you and just a breath away from your face.
“God, Y/n, cant you see that I like you? All this time I thought it was so obvious. I mean, how are you going to tell people you're the smartest person in the room when you cant even pick up on subtle hints that basically spell it out for you?” He says, “Or are you too busy to notice anyone other than yourself?”
His words cause your heart to pound once, twice, and before you know it you can’t hear anything but the thumping in your chest and the soft winds surrounding you both. Xavier parts his lips again, determined to give you the answers you've been so desperately searching for.
“Do you know how fucking exhausting it is to pretend I hate you back, just to have the opportunity to talk to you?” His tone is exasperated and shallow, but he doesn't break eye contact with you, “You seriously thought all those times we got close was because I wanted to be ‘better’ than you in some subject?” Almost like he doesn't believe you, Xavier shakes his head in disapproval, “The only time Ive wanted to prove to you I'm worth something is now.”
His confession only fills your head with more questions, “That doesn't even make any sense! How can you say you didn't actually want to be better than me when that's all you did?” You feel the heat saturate into a dark pink that settles into your cheeks, “And why are you telling me all this now? Why are you so adamant on telling me that you—”
Xavier doesn't even acknowledge your questions, he just continues to hold a burning tension between you and him, focusing only on one thing.
Fuck.
Maybe its the fact hes so close, or that he told you hes liked you all this time, but right now it feels like nothings stopping you from telling him too. It just feels so right.
Before you know it, your mouth opens on its own, your bottom lip trembling for just a second. Xavier’s eyes trail down to your lips, then back into your eyes, and a small smirk pulls the corner of his ivory painted skin up.
Without another second to lose, Xavier tilts even closer than he thought he’d ever be to you and cups your cheek, finding the courage you both need to pull you into an unexpected kiss.
The pastiness of your rival’s white face paint rubs against your dewy skin as the taste of him spreads across your pallet, rough, warm, and agonizingly slow. With a gentle hand, you bunch the back of Xavier’s thin yet airy suit and fall into him, curving just enough so he can extend his hold on you.
Xavier knew that he wanted to touch you. It’s basically been his dream ever since he got close to you and seemingly hurdled himself into being your rival. But he’d never admit that. Or maybe, now he would. Gently, Xavier clasps onto your hips more carefully, securely rubbing his fingers against the skin tight latex uniform you were forced to wear which gives him enough grip to hook his desperate palms onto your body.
You break away for a second, just long enough to look at his face and how mesmerized he is by you and just how fucked you are in this downward spiral of messy feelings and requited love. Love you are much too afraid to commit to. But, Xavier pulls you back into his lips and makes you forget all of your worries, even the one you're supposed to be most worried about.
The kiss practically captures you for what seems like an eternity, erasing all memory of the Poe Cup and time spent hating Xavier's guts only to now realize that that hate may have been fueled by a painfully simple crush. But you wouldn't admit that either. Though, now there’s no other explanation to the methods behind your madness.
Soon enough, your hands find their rightful place in his long, messy hair, scooting his jester cap off easily. Had you known his hair was this soft before? You always told yourself you didn't care but now it was too hypnotizing not to twirl your fingers in. In fact, it’s practically asking you to grab it and play with it, screaming at you to touch it, touch him.
Xavier’s hips press into yours, giving you the go ahead to adjust your position so that your thigh is comfortably resting atop his hip. The stance feels too natural to be normal, and you're both caught off guard by it. Yet, you continue to taste him and feel him up close without another thought.
Nipping at your bottom lip, you can feel Xavier let out a sigh of relief, as if kissing you has been something on his mind for years. Only half of that could be true. Still, his victory cheer makes you do your own version with a quieter huff.
You give the roots of his hair a tight squeeze before your shoulders relax and another sigh escapes from your now open mouth. The force of his lips smashing against yours pushes you back successfully, leaving each part of your body to surrender to his. For once, you let it and as much as you hate to admit it, whatever he was doing was working.
When he finally pulls away, your breath is harsh and so is his. No matter how hard you could try, looking away from his hazy eyes was not an option. Just like the fog around you both, his gaze is inescapable and suffocating. You knew kissing your rival was a bad idea, but neither one of you want to move your hands from their proper places on each other.
Just then, a distant voice calls out to Xavier that snaps you out of your absentmindedness. “Shit,” Xavier curses softly against your lips, “Thanks for that Y/n,” he pulls away, much to your hidden displeasure, “But...I have a cup to win.”
Suddenly, it all comes hurdling back.
“FUCK! THE RACE!” You tear yourself away from Xavier, breaking the warmth between you both, and scramble to find your flag, “YOU CONNIVING SON OF A BITCH. YOU DISTRACTED ME!”
“I hope you don't mind but I actually sort of hid it.” He grins slyly at you, straightening his suit with a swift rub on his chest, “No rules, remember?” He pulls out a flag from behind him and snickers. Has he had that this entire time?
A flash of surging anger fumes inside of your chest, but Xavier just smiles. In his mind, it’s almost laughable how you fell for his devious yet successful confession slash plan. It was too good to pass up. And judging by the sour pout on your face, it worked!
“Y/n,” He chirps, “Was I a good distraction?” He can’t help but ask.
You avoid his gaze and turn your head to other possible directions your flag can be in, “You're the worst, Xavier.”
He runs a hand through his brown hair and smooths it down, “Right, right. You hate me. But I got you pretty good, didn’t I?” He picks up his jester cap and lazily smashes it onto the top of his head, “I'm gonna go, but, you should totally meet me in my dorm tonight? At 8?”
He makes his hasty exit before you can reply, leaving you breathless and weak in the knees—mostly tight fisted and furious, but still, weak in the knees.
“So, Y/n. Do you want to explain why you...left for so long..?” Your teammate asks, kind of scared to ask in the first place but confusion was eating her alive. How fitting.
Instead of answering, you reply with strong and swift robotic motions that quickly thunk your boat along the shore line, taking a good chunk out of the grass and soil. Unfortunately, half way through your synchronized rowing, some water kicked up into the boat and soaked your costume. You didn't care though. All you wanted was Xavier.
And his head on a stick.
Sounds of congratulatory cheers erupt from the crowd as Xavier and the rest of his jester-like teammates hold up the Poe Cup trophy together.
“Bitch.” Is all you can say when all your other teammates wash up next to you, sad, defeated, and soaked with murky lake water.
“Well get them next time, Y/n. Don’t be so hard on yourself!” Your friend smiles happily.
Yeah. Tonight.
#wednesday#wednesday addams#wednesday fanfic#wednesday series#wednesday fic#wednesday xavier#xavier thorpe#xavier thorpe x reader#xavier thorpe x y/n#xavier thorpe fanfic#wednesday netflix#kaicubus
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Frankenstein monster x Fem!reader
Uhhh, this is actually kinda sweet, but also horny.
NSFW, 18+, Minor Do Not Interact
Frankenstein's Monster/Creature x Fem Reader
Title: Home
Content: penetrative sex, masturbation.
+++
You find him in the forest. A man, but strange. He’s tall and broad. Covered with scars and stitches on the parts of him you can see under his dirty hooded cape. There are birds surrounding him that he is feeding with a piece of hardened bread, so he doesn’t notice you at first. When he does, he flinches and pulls his hood down.
He is huge and tall and hooded, but you are not afraid.
You coax him towards you with soft words. Promises of food and shelter. And he follows you home.
+++
He is gentle despite his size and hardly speaks.
When you ask his name, he doesn’t reply, so you call him Francis, after a statue of the saint you once saw with birds on his shoulders and little creatures at his feet.
Francis pulls pails of water from the well and chops firewood with an energy and strength that makes something turn over in your stomach. Sometimes, you see him looking at you from under his hood. His eyes are two different colours, and both are beautiful.
When you tell him that, Francis shakes his head, unbelieving, but you think you see a smile.
The next day, he leaves his hood down.
+++
One night, sat together in the glow of the fire, you ask Francis where he came from, where he was born.
“I was not born. My father, he made me. Out of many men.”
He looks at you then, as if waiting for your disgust and rejection.
“So, you are a miracle of science, then. How wonderful,” you reply.
The surprise on his face makes it light up. You think you would give him a thousand compliments if he would just look like that more often.
+++
It has been a long dirty day of planting in the fields, so you boil pans of water over the fire, empty them in the tub and sink into the water.
You can hear the rhythmic sound of wood being chopped. You think of Francis’s grating rusty voice, his muscular shoulders. You imagine what those shoulders would feel like under your hands. What your legs would feel like wrapped around his waist.
You are rubbing yourself dry when the door creaks. You turn automatically, and see Francis at the door, hand clenched on the handle.
You don’t cover yourself, just let him gaze at your nakedness.
You hear the crumple of metal as the door handle cracks in Francis’s hand and he bolts.
You dress quickly and run outside, wet hair running rivulets down the back of your neck.
You find Francis in the barn, on his knees. His eyes are closed, and he is biting down on one hand as he fucks his straining cock into the fist of the other. You watch: the heaviness of his cock, his clenched eyelids, the desperate twitches of his hips. He comes quickly, and cum spurts and dribbles over his hand. When he removes the other from his mouth, you see the marks of teeth there.
You must make a noise because Francis opens his eyes then and sees you.
His reaction is instantaneous, a pulling up of trousers as he leaps to his feet and pushes past you and out of the barn door.
You shout after him as he runs towards the forest, but he does not stop or turn to look at you.
+++
Francis does not come back that evening.
In the morning you go looking for him.
He’s in the clearing in the forest where you first saw him.
“Come home,” you say. “Come home with me.” You do not know how to tell him, and you do not know how to ask, so you rise on your toes, and pull him down by his cloak so you can kiss him.
Frencis’s kiss is uncertain, but when you coax your tongue into his mouth you can taste the berries that he must have eaten.
It starts to rain, and you grab his hand to run through the forest and across the fields back home.
Once inside your home, you notice that his cape has kept him dry, but your clothes are soaked. Your nipples are cold and hard.
You strip to nakedness under Francis’s gaze and place his mismatched hands - one broader, with callouses, the other with long fingers - on your breasts. He kneads at them roughly, and you watch him spread his legs to accommodate his filling cock.
You splay your legs and show him how to finger your already leaking cunt. His eyes flick from your wetness to your face, his two different coloured eyes hungry.
“The bed,” you say.
He ignores you and pushes you down to the floor.
He’s still clothed and your legs are spread wide. He looks like he wants to devour you. He pushes his trousers down and pulls off his shirt with a rip of seams. There’s a neatly stitched incision on his chest, in the shape of a Y.
Then he lines up his cock with your cunt and pushes deep inside you with a grunt. You cry out at the feeling of fullness and he begins to thrust into you, each ferocious push feeling deeper than the last.
Your legs lock as far as you can over his back, holding him deep and your hands roam his skin, touching the rough stitches that joint his arms to his shoulders. Proof that this man was made of many men. Now just one, who wants you, desperately. Who is showing you with each jolting push of his cock inside you.
His thrusts ruck up the rug beneath you, and you brace your arms against the floor. The resistance pushes him deeper into you. He comes with a howl: satisfied, animalistic. You feel his come, warm and sticky, flood into you.
He rears back then, and with his cock still seated inside you, Francis presses a finger around the stretched rim of your cunt and then inside, crooking up, hard. The impossible stretch makes your walls flutter, your thighs clench and your back arch with your orgasm.
Francis watches as his cock softens, and then slips out of your cunt, come leaking from your entrance. You sigh at the absence until he splays over you, a heavy comforting weight, and you sleep.
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