#not out of a disdain for those relationships themselves. out of disdain for what Feelings Do To You
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I have successfully boiled my problem with most of the izzy reads that i hate down to a sentence:
he's not sexually repressed, he's emotionally repressed.
#they are different and ihave paragraphs and paragraphs of thoughts on it#but dressing like a leather daddy and holding your hand over an open flame and literally everything else he does#is not the behavior of a man who doesn't know or realize what gets him going#he's not closeted. he's not homophobic. he thinks having Any Positive Emotion not related to violence makes you vulnerable#[and he's right for his experience and circumstance but i won't touch that now]#his conflict is emotional; ed's ability to captain isn't compromised by his being attracted to a man. it's compromised by Having Feelings.#their ability to survive a world that wants them dead isn't compromised by either of them being queer; it's compromised by being SOFT#by having WEAK SPOTS#pets are a weak spot. lovers are a weak spot. get rid of them to stay safe. not out of spite.#not out of a disdain for those relationships themselves. out of disdain for what Feelings Do To You#idk man maybe i am simply emphatic about this nuance because i get—more than I would like—the impulse to be SAFE#even at the cost of your self and some chances at being happier#he doesn't even care that lucius is gay in the deck scene and i'd go so far as to say he doesn't really care that lucius is slutty#insofar as. like. he doesn't know him and pete are open. from a monogamy-normative perspective it's a betrayal.#your partner being unfaithful when you expect them To Be is ALSO A THING THAT CAN GET YOU KILLED#like idk i just. i think people don't get how much of him is about safety?#and i know the show's created this atmosphere of 'homophobia isn't a real threat'#but they haven't removed the violence and danger crews other than stede face for Other Reasons#so. he's very security-driven. and that's why he speaks to me.#and it's annoying that people just make 'lol izzy's closeted' 'peak homophobic gay' jokes instead of. engaging. with the shit izzy AND ED#went through to make them emotionally closed off the way they are#THE SENTENCE IS A SENTENCE BUT THE EXPLANATION SURE ISNT
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So, I know people are really desperate for Sandra Lynn to have hooked up with Pamela Dawn instead of Bobby Dawn, and I completely understand that!* Bobby Dawn is slimy and awful and we don't know much about Pamela, so maybe she's better? But it is 100% Bobby Dawn for two very clear reasons:
Sklonda literally said it was him
Bobby Dawn has always been a predator
The first thing we learn about Sandra Lynn's affair during Spring Break Sophomore Year was that she had just left Aguefort (she dropped out her senior year and got a diploma later on) and she was very young. She was asked to join an established adventuring party of people who were older than her and that had lost one of its members. She fell in love with another member of the party that was already in a relationship, they had an affair, and then when the affair was discovered, Sandra Lynn was blamed, kicked out of the party, and her name was smeared as far and wide as possible by the person who had taken advantage of her so that person could absolve themselves, likely in the eyes of their partner and the party.
So what we can immediately deduce from this is that Sandra Lynn was an outsider to her new adventuring party, likely looked down on as "just a kid", maybe disdained for being a dropout, and most definitely resented for taking the place of the (presumably) dead party member. She was in actively dangerous and stressful situations while questing with the party and she probably had little support from the group during that time.
Sandra Lynn was very very vulnerable.
When he met Sandra Lynn, Bobby Dawn would have been about 20 years younger than he is now, likely in his late 30s/early 40s.** Probably still handsome, still a "dashing" active adventurer. He was married to Pamela already (not just in an established relationship), since he had a child by then that was close to grown and I don't think the Church of Sol would be very happy about a child out of wedlock. He would have been a cleric of Sol and probably still preaching "the good word of Sol" but it likely wouldn't have been constant. You can't give sermons while fighting monsters. I'm sure he even saved Sandra Lynn's life a few times!
The thing about Bobby Dawn being a televangelist now, but not then, is that when he was young, he was probably just as good at persuasion, at finding vulnerable people and exploiting their weaknesses to get what he wanted, and yet he hadn't made a name for himself as a televangelist, so people wouldn't know to be wary of him trying to convert or manipulate them.
The scene between Bobby and Kristen, when Kristen is pretending that Cassandra died shows exactly what kind of terrible person Bobby really is. He is happy to find Kristen devastated, that she is having "a real dark night of the soul" and needs guidance. He refuses to help Kristen stay at Aguefort (something that's within his power), despite knowing how beneficial that would be to her well-being, because that goes against his own goals. He is smug and condescending and cruel. He is preying on Kristen's devastation and vulnerability (not knowing it's an act), to draw her back into the fold of the Church of Helio/Sol.
The person who did that to Kristen, is the exact same person who took advantage of Sandra Lynn when she was still basically a kid, just out of high school. He took advantage of her feelings for him, her inexperience and isolation. And then, when they were discovered, he threw her away and made her the villain so he could get away with it.
He ruined Sandra Lynn's life. Yes, she's happy now with her daughter, her partner, and the beautiful home they've made at Mordred Manor with Adaine, Kristen, Lydia, Ragh, Tracker, Zayn, Aelwyn, Boggy, and 15 cats. But Sandra Lynn ended up with self-esteem and relationship issues that she is still dealing with to this day. Those issues ruined her marriage, could have ruined her relationship with Jawbone, and likely played a hand in the difficulties between her and Fig in Freshman Year, as Sandra Lynn saw her daughter take her first steps into the world of adventuring.
Because Sandra Lynn first wanted to be an adventurer and Bobby Dawn took that away from her, just like he tried to do to Kristen.
Bobby Dawn has shaped his career as a high priest of Sol and as a televangelist by portraying himself as the epitome of righteousness. He is rotten to the core, a predator in a job where he is meant to help people, and I CANNOT WAIT to see the Bad Kids take him down.
*I don't really understand it. Pamela Dawn is likely just as bad as Bobby. She's the chief paladin of the church of Sol, her husband is a televangelist and a High Priest of Sol, and she would have been around the same age as Bobby and having an affair with a vulnerable young girl who she then kicked out of the group and slandered. It being Pamela would still be awful!
**Even with the assumption that both Bobby Dawn and his child had their kids at a young age, the math still has to take into account that Sandra Lynn's daughter is the same age as Bobby Dawn's GRANDSON.
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Maomao's Dislike of Jinshi
So I've been watching Apothecary Diaries and I think people are missing out on the root cause of why Maomao doesn't like Jinshi's interactions with her. It's not because he's too pretty, of high standing, or because she thinks he's annoying/etc., as they're just parts that make up the actual root cause. It's because she knows he's being fake.
Jinshi, because of who he is, where he lives, and how he was raised, covers up his true intentions almost constantly. That was how he trapped Maomao and singled her out as the one who warned Concubine Gyokuyou, after all. The premise to get all the servants in the room, the note telling her to stay put, and making her come with him without telling her where they were going? He let her worry that she was in trouble, so to keep her off-balance when he introduced her to Gyokuyou and also had kept her note to keep her pinned in a corner so she would have to comply with what he and Gyokuyou wanted.
Maomao prefers working with honest people. It's why she never wanted to ascend into the ranks where court politics were a constant presence, because in court politics, you have to assume most people are lying to you on some level. That's why she likes Gyokuyou; Gyokuyou has a similar mentality about the importance of honesty in the people around her and she reciprocates that honesty with the select people she lets her walls down around. When Jinshi is flirting or being super sweet to someone, Maomao knows he's often not being sincere, so when he flirts or acts all sweet with her, she's not going to believe in the sincerity of it because it's dangerous for her if he's not being sincere.
In Maomao's world, a man who makes false promises will not have severe consequences for his actions, unlike the women who fall for them. Growing up where she did and doing the work she did, Maomao knows exactly what kind of damage someone else's lies can bring to someone else who got caught in them. Maomao is not blind to the ugly truths of the world around her, unlike many her age, so interacting with Jinshi, someone who is usually some level of false in almost every encounter with her, is frustrating to her and he won't leave her alone. Lies are a form of poison themselves as they deteriorate a person's life and relationships and if not caught, can lead someone to their death or a fate akin to death, but unlike physical toxins, Maomao can't fix any damage from that kind of societal poison. As someone who wants a lowkey and unremarkable life because it's more peaceful, Jinshi could damage her goals with his falsehoods if she falls for any of them.
And we see that when Jinshi is actually honest about himself and his feelings with her, she treats him better. When he gives her his hairpin, when he's hugging her and crying because of what happened with Ah-Duo, and when he's at the Verdigris House, drowning his sorrows over letting Maomao go from the Rear Palace, Maomao is kinder to him and doesn't look at him with the immediate disdain and suspicion she often throws his way. Maomao even states she prefers the Jinshi, who is more childlike and bratty, which is something we see Gaoshun constantly discourage when Jinshi has those moments where his mask breaks. But in those moments, he's being honest.
For the position of Maomao's love interest, Jinshi's already got one foot ahead of any other guy around Maomao, as he is willing to let Maomao have more freedom in her special interests and gives her things and access to areas that play into her interests, like her dad does, which is more than most men in her society would ever allow. The only reason he actively goes against her toying with poison is he knows exactly what she's going to do with the poisons. But his main hinderance to getting Maomao to like him back is the training of being two-faced that's been ingrained into him for his survival in court. If he was more honest with her, rather than hiding himself under the veneer of a pretty man who is sweet, gets along with everyone, and keeps his knowledge close to the chest, he'd do so much better in earning Maomao's respect and affection.
#the apothecary diaries#kusuriya no hitorigoto#maomao#jinshi#apothecary diaries#maomao x jinshi#mao mao#just be honest about your knowledge and feelings jinshi it would help
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I'm the powder, you’re the fuse
SUMMARY: Soap finds out that his girlfriend is a skilled mercenary. And that he likes it... a lot.
PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader
TAGS: Established relationship, Badass!Reader, Smitten!Soap.
WARNINGS: Canon violence, mention of: blood, death, kidnapping/hostage taking, torture, weapons, suggestive content (Soap is Horny), military inaccuracies, swearing.
WORD COUNT: 1.9k
A/N: yes I am still writing the civilian fic with Ghost and Soap... but then I had this idea and thought I could finish it ""quickly"". Written on mobile so if there are mistakes feel free to tell me!!
Soap let out a yawn big enough to dislocate his jaw, staring at his captain with mild resentment.
“This couldn’t hae waited til after breakfast, sir?”
“‘Fraid It could not, John. Actually in just a few minutes you'll be barking at me to know why we haven't gotten a move on already.”
Johnny looked back at his superior with perplexity, before glancing over at his teammates around the table, hoping for a scrap of information. Ghost remained imperturbable while Gaz shrugged.
“We received this video thirty minutes ago. Addressed to a certain Sergeant MacTavish.”
His captain turned on the projector and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall behind him. It was his teammates’ turn to glance at him questioningly, and to him to shrug with ignorance.
The Scottish soldier rubbed his face in an attempt to get rid of his lasting drowsiness as the video projected on the white screen facing them was starting.
A group of armed men in balaclavas were occupying a room. The one in the front spouted the classic ransom demand in exchange for a hostage. Nothing worth being summoned at the crack of dawn for.
Then the spokesman moved aside, revealing their detainee, bound to a chair and gagged, shooting daggers at her captors, and Soap almost knocked over the table with how brutally he stood up. Carried away by white-hot fury, he slammed his hands on the table.
“Fuckin’ - what the fuck is this!? When did this happen? Where are those fucking bastards? I -”
Rage had roughened his usually smooth voice, granting it a gravelly pitch, turning his shout into a growl.
“Control yourself, Sergeant”, interrupted Price, “It's not over yet.”
On the screen, the same man as before grabbed your hair, ignoring your murderous glare, forcing you to look at the camera, and coaxed you with disdain before taking off your gag:
“Come on doll, gonna have to beg real pretty for your man to get him to rescue you.”
The second your mouth was freed, you snarled at him, baring your teeth like you were about to bite.
“I'm gonna rip your throat out with my bare hands, you f-”
“Fuck, someone muzzle that rabid bitch”, swore your agressor, your belligerence clearly having thrown a wrench in his plans.
Soap could not help the flare of pride soaring in his chest at the view of your defiance and your grit.
After receiving their orders, the team left the room to prepare themselves for the assault.
“A friend of yours?” asked Gaz, while Ghost questioned “Ya know her?”
“That's mah girl”, admitted the Scotsman, a bit sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, looking away. The cat was out of the bag. For your own sake, you had been a well-kept secret, but it was blatant that it didn’t protect you.
“Been together for a year. Never meant to drag her into this, though.”
“She sounds like a bloody riot, mate.” teased Garrick.
“She doesn't seem fazed to be taken hostage. Mainly pissed.” pointed out Ghost, wary.
“She's fearless.” admitted Soap with an enamored little smile. “Doesn't mean we don’t have to get her out of this though.”
His expression shifted from fondness to cold determination.
“‘F course.”
“We've got your back.”
“Gaz? You copy?” called Ghost over coms.
The afornamed was tasked with overwatch. His response arrived, marked by hesitation.
“... I don't think she needs our help, guys.”
“The fuck s’that supposed to mean?” grumbled the Lieutenant.
“It'd be better if you'd see for yourselves. Third window on the right, second floor.”
Ghost took out a pair of binoculars and pointed them at the given position.
“Fooking hell…”
The expletive was mumbled with a mix of surprise and… awe?
“What? What! Lemme see L.T.!” pleaded Soap.
Ghost quickly passed him the tool, eager to make him shut up. The sergeant hastened to shove them against his face. His gaze took in the sight in front of him and he let out an appreciative whistle.
“Steamin’ jesus…”
He drank in the view that was your bloody display of fierce skill and deadly efficiency. You staggered between the enemies with fluidity, making them seem like clumsy amateurs. Slicing a throat there, shooting a head here, he watched with fascination as you used a dead attacker as a human shield.
“I think I'm hard.”
“TMI, Soap.”
Gaz coupled his comment with a gagging noise.
“Can ye blame me! Mah lass is oot there bein’ a bonafide badass ‘n’ that's the hottest shit a've ever seen.”
“M not blaming you for being a horny bastard, I'm blaming you for not keeping it to yourself.”
“If you two are done bickering, we could go pick her up.” groaned Ghost.
Letting Garrick past, he grabbed Soap by the shoulder as he was walking by him.
“You knew?”
“Knew what?”
“That you were going out with a killer.”
“Nae, but it turned out to be a good thing, didn’t it? Cannae imagine how badly this would have ended with a civilian. The wounds, the trauma…”
Ghost let out one of his grunts that Johnny knew meant “I disagree but it's not worth debating you about it.”
Positioning themselves near that final entrance, Soap nodded in response to Ghost's hand signal, waiting for him to break the door down. They were still on their gard in case some of the assailants survived.
In the ensuing silence, your voice reached his ears through the wall he was propped against.
“Come on doll”, you taunted, imitating your captor's scornful tone from earlier, sickly sweet then venomous. “Tell me who you work for and I won't gouge out your remaining eye.”
Johnny gulped. Eavesdropping on this definitely did not help with the… situation in his pants.
The racket produced by Ghost dealing with the door had the merit to make him focus once again.
His body moving automatically, his training taking over, Soap charged into the room, pointing his rifle at the only person left standing there. Like a reflection of himself, you were aiming your own firearm at him. Your eyebrows were frowned in concentration, your eyes glinting with cold determination. Then recognition dawned on your face, and you heaved a sigh of relief, lowering your weapon.
“It's you! You scared the shit out of me.”
Relief flooded through him at the sight of you, bruised, battered, and blood-spattered, but alive. He tossed his gun aside as you put down yours, ready to embrace you, but Ghost's voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Back off, Soap.”
An order. Johnny stared at him in shock.
“What the hell, L.T.?”, he hissed in his direction.
You docilely raised your hands in the air as the masked man lined up the end of his gun's barrel with your head.
“Worst rescue party ever”, you mumbled to yourself.
“Sorry, Johnny”, grumbled Skullface, not sounding sorry in the slightest, never taking his eyes off you. “But do your usual conquests take down a dozen armed men on their own?”
Illustrating his words, he gestured with his rifle to the ground littered with corpses. The man you had started to interrogate - the only one left alive - whined in pain.
“So what's your deal? Ya a mole? Shagging Johnny for intel?”
“Ghost!” Soap gasped, offended for himself as much as for you. “M not some clueless newbie!”
You made a face at the question. You understood where he was coming from, hell you’d do the same if the roles were reversed, but that didn’t mean you enjoyed sharing details of your sordid past, especially with a stranger. The less people knew about it, the better.
“I used to be a mercenary for a family who did organized crime. Been clean for years though.”
“Oh yeah? They let you leave just like that?”
“The boss’ daughter had a soft spot for me.”
The lieutenant stared at you for a few more seconds, as if judging the veracity of your statements through sight alone, before lowering his weapon.
A resounding “Bonnie!” rang out. Next thing you knew, your boyfriend's muscular arms closed around you, causing you to yelp, pain running through you at the overeager contact. Soap cursed and apologized profusely.
“Bloody hell, a'm sorry, didnae mean tae hurt ye. Are ye alright? Show me where it hurts. If those bastards leid a hand on ye, I swear-”
There was something both flattering and arousing with how the more Soap lost his cool, the more pronounced his accent became, and the rougher his voice sounded. You placed a finger across his mouth to put an end to his verbal onslaught, an endeared smile on your own.
“At ease, soldier. I'm OK, just some bruised ribs and a busted eyebrow.” you summarized while pointing to the trickle of dried blood on the side of your face.
He leaned his forehead against yours, a gesture that felt terribly intimate, an adoring grin adorning his lips.
“Cannae believe ye wiped out those sorry fuckers all on yer own. Fuck, that's hot.” he confessed in a subdued tone.
You threw your head back in laughter, only to wince when your sore ribs manifested themselves.
“Never heard that one before. Could get used to it, though.”
You laced your fingers behind his neck, nonchalantly leaning against him, not fighting back an impish smile. Soap's hands grabbed your hips in response. Your roguish expression must have gotten the better of his restraint, because one breath later, he was hungrily pressing his mouth against yours. You replied in kind, swiftly deciding you did not care for his colleagues’ presence, and he moaned in appreciation.
After a minute or two, you broke the kiss against your will, remembering an issue that needed to be solved. You smiled, amused by the vision that was Soap chasing your lips blindly, then pouting when you refused him.
“So you guys are gonna take care of the bodies, right…? I can deal with one or two, but this is a bit much.”
The last soldier, the one you didn’t hear from yet, a pretty man with dark skin that Soap would later introduce as Gaz, assured you that they would handle it.
Transferring your attention back to Johnny, you noticed a trace of guilt in those ocean eyes of his, as he was staring at you.
“Something wrong?”
“Ye not mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you?” you frowned.
“It's mah fault if those bastards took ye.”
“Oh, Johnny…” you sighed wistfully, cupping his face. “I knew what the risks were when I chose to date a soldier. Plus, there will always be a chance that my past catches up to me. I was pretty fucking mad when I got a hood shoved on my head and my arms twisted behind my back before getting hauled away in the middle of the fucking night, but not at you.”
Once they gathered all the intel they needed and dragged away the only survivor, the team and you left the building. Your testimony was required for the mission report, so you accompanied them without protest, longing for the care that would be provided by their medical facility.
As you were walking to their vehicule, hand in hand with Soap, you noted how he couldn’t take his eyes off you.
His cerulean eyes kept greedily roaming all over you, like you were a vision so dream-like it was making him doubt your reality, like you would vanish the second he stopped contemplating you.
“Yer one badass lass, y'know that? ‘M so proud o’ ye. Proud tae be yers.”
A/N: Ghost's "grunts that Johnny knew meant “I disagree but it's not worth debating you about it.” " is based on my grandma 💀
#mine#cod x reader#soap x reader#soap squad#john soap mctavish x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#call of duty x reader#cod mw2#cod mw3#johnny soap mactavish#john soap mactavish#soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish#soap cod#soap mw2#cod fanfic#fanfiction#cod x you#johnny soap mctavish x you#john soap mctavish x you#cod fic#soap x you#call of duty x you#call of duty fanfic#writers on tumblr
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hii can i request pls something like reader hears someone in the hallways saying that she is too clingy that jordan must hate it and then she try change her demeanor and jordan be like ?????? wtf ?????? come back to me ???????
this is really adorable, ask n u shall receive (sorry this was so late n if it’s bad) no warnings & not proofread! feedback appreciated but not obligated
Jordan and you were a force to be reckoned with at Godlkin University. Everyone and their momma knew about the two of you. There was never coming in between you two, as Jordan would say. They never liked it when someone made comments about their relationship because they will just be on the receiving end of their fists.
You were walking from class one sunny day, the campus bustling with lively students as it was the end of the week. Parties were going to be attended, drugs were most likely going to be consumed and you were all for it, minus the drugs. Probably. You didn’t know yet ‘cause you swore to yourself you were going to try anything once. Maybe twice if it was really good.
Jordan had texted you to meet them at their dorm since classes were pretty much over for the day. It was routine for the both of you to meet up on Friday’s. If you lot were attending a party, you would get ready at their dorm to save time and the trouble of meeting up with one another. You guys were always attached at the hip.
On the other end, though, if there was nothing going on or you both just wanted a night in after being bombarded with assignment after assignment, that was arranged too. Nevertheless, you guys were never not seen without each other and Cait even made a comment once that you both were literally intertwined by brain matter. Jordan was just your soulmate and you to them.
But you always had your fair share of disdain from those who wanted Jordan for themselves. You tried to ignore it because Jordan’s actions would always prove otherwise, but you couldn’t help that small voice at the back of your head telling you that it was all just a farce and that Jordan was waiting for the other shoe to drop to finally let you go.
The voice was mean.
The trek to Jordan’s dorm was a walk. Your last class on Friday’s usually had you thrown on the other side of campus so you were always grateful to reach Jordan’s room and they were ready to take care of you. Especially after walking so long, “My baby’s gotta relax somehow,” they’d say with a cheesy smile. On hot days, you worshipped the ground they walked on.
That’s why it was so hard to believe that Jordan did not feel any other way about you besides being absolutely enamoured with you. So there were days where you felt like you both were unbreakable, but there are times where it feels the opposite.
You had just crossed the middle area of the campus, halfway to Jordan’s bed when you were sucked into a conversation you preferred not to hear. It was a couple students just straggling by. They hadn’t noticed your presence, but that was common whenever you weren’t with Jordan and honestly? You preferred it that way. The attention was never a necessity to you. Not even the rankings; you didn’t judge others for caring too much, though. Jordan found that refreshing about you.
“I don’t even know what Jordan sees in them. It’s strange. Very low ranking and they’re always on their arm!” One of the girls said. Her voice was laced with such venom, it made you want to curl up into a ball and die.
“Pathetic. It seems controlling, clingy. Like if Jordan wasn’t in their line of vision someone’s going to whisk him away.” Another said; you peered over without turning your head to see the disdain on their features. It made your heart hurt to know that this is how they thought of you.
It was Jordan who always made sure you didn’t hear these types of things because they hear them. And it’s never pretty for the person who says it. You pulled out your phone as soon as you were out of earshot from them. You were so close to Jordan’s place, but decided to take a detour instead towards the library. You had an overdue assignment anyway.
Is that how Jordan feels?
Jordan has received your text of cancellation and was bewildered by the fact that you even had the nerve to cancel on her. She was actually offended by the nature of the text as well, the tone throwing her through a loop.
can’t make it today, stuff to do. rain check?
Rain check, my ass! Jordan thought as she pulled up your location to see that it was turned off. “What the fuck?” She was furious. Dialling and redialling your number, but it going straight to voicemail. How rude!Nothing came between Friday tradition. Absolutely nothing. You never cancelled. For God’s sake if you were sick you made sure to keep your distance, but never cancelled! So to think that you were quick to muster up that text when you were just minutes from their place was suspicious to Jordan.
They knew you all too well.
Instead of moping about it, Jordan decided to track you down. Your location was always on for her, so it kind of alarmed her that you turned that off after texting her. It’s Friday so that meant it was going to be pretty busy this weekend on campus. You would want to avoid all that. Crowds weren’t your forte, Jordan denounced so the options were: the campus café, your dorm or the library. They were going to check all three.
Since your dorm was closer, that was the first stop. Your floor wasn’t all that busy since, again, it’s Friday so no one was going to really be hanging out in isolation. The number five ranking student racked her fists against your door in a rhythm only you would know, but there was no answer. She pressed her ear to the door, hearing absolutely nothing but the wind that was coming through your open window. Dorm, check but you’re not there. Campus café it is.
Okay, you weren’t there either, but that’s fine! Jordan will find you and when he does he’s most definitely going to dig your ear in for cancelling. Like that’s just not okay!
The library was across campus so it was going to be a trek. Why the fuck is this campus so ginormous? Whatever! The mission is you! And to get to the bottom of what’s bothering you. So on the Supe went.
Jordan never frequented the library because he didn’t need to. He was smart as a bottlenose dolphin, studying was for chumps. But not you, no, you’re not a chump he would tell you whenever you asked if he was going to study and he would reply with that. Your dynamic with the Supe was so different, it’s why you were so drawn to each other.
The building was right ahead as he quickened his pace. Jordan’s heart was beating out of his chest, so much so he didn’t realise he shifted to his female form. The only focus they had was to find you and ask why’d you cancel. It couldn’t be that bad, right?
“Babe!”
“Shhh!!!” The librarian tossed at the bob haired girl. Jordan waved her off as she spotted the head of hair peeking from behind the couches. You were so engrossed in your reading that you hadn’t realised the Supe had sat next to you, stern expression shooting daggers at you. She moved the book from your vision finally gaining your attention.
You were shocked to see her that’s for sure. “What are you doing here? You never come into the library?”
“That’s besides the point. Why’d you cancel on our Friday hangout?” The pout that adorned the upperclassmen’s face was sure to melt an entire freezer full of ice cream. It was the one weakness you had against Jordan and you never appreciated it when they used it (almost never, anyway). “Not here, Jordan.”
“Jordan?! My government name, baby? Something’s wrong. Did I do something wrong?” Her beady, brown eyes flickered between yours as she tried to gouge out exactly what was going on in that pretty head of yours. You couldn’t stand seeing them so distraught, but you couldn’t help but remember that you didn’t want to come off as clingy. ‘Cause that’s definitely something that bothers Jordan…right?
Taking too long to answer, Jordan gathered your study tools, shoving them into your bag despite your protests. The two of you were making too much noise to even stay in the library. Defeated, you followed your lover out with sunken shoulders. Why were they so hell bent on finding out what’s wrong? You were a nuisance! Jordan wasn’t in the wrong, it was you! Right?
“Now I can talk as loudly as I want. What the fuck is going on, babe? You never cancel our plans. That’s like the one rule is that we don’t cancel.”
You didn’t really know what to say. Didn’t know how to address what was bothering you. Honesty was something that you both valued in your relationship, but you couldn’t help but feel like a burden sometimes because of your status. You were nothing compared to Jordan. The star pupil of the school. The most valued member of the upcoming Supe society. It was hard not to compare yourself to them.
Jordan will never know that, though. At least not until today. “Don’t go quiet on me, please. I hate that something’s bothering you. I just wanna fix it.” Slinging your backpack on to their shoulder, she pulled you towards a bench that was on the walkway of the library. Her touch brought you some ease, it almost made you forget how you were feeling. Almost.
“So help me, I will get Cait if you don’t speak.”
“Okay! Okay. Just, don’t get upset okay?” You made her promise she wouldn’t. And to ease your anxiousness, she agreed.
“You didn’t do anything. I…I was on my way to you. And then I heard a couple of girls talking about us and I kinda got insecure.”
Jordan tried to hold back whatever outburst that was threatening to peak out. They absolutely hated it when people spoke about their relationship, but she hated it even more when you managed to hear it. She tried her best to shield you from those remarks and she was successful for a bit, but when you’re not together it was hard to avoid that.
Jordan sighed, calming down a bit as she heard what you had to say. Her anger was simmering, waiting to be ignited by the very person who said those cruel things. She wanted nothing more than to rid of them of this Earth because they made you feel insecure. About your own relationship! A relationship they knew nothing about.
“C’mere…” she said softly, reaching out to you. She didn’t care if you guys were in public, she wanted the whole world to know that you and her are not to be messed with.
“Don’t listen to those assholes. I love it when you’re clingy. It makes me feel wanted and needed. You don’t know how much it does to me, babe.”
You let her words sink in, any thought of those girls’ words completely erased from your mind and in replacement was Jordan. Just thoughts of Jordan. Her arms being around you and your head tucked cutely into her neck, all she wanted to do was teleport you both back to her dorm. “I don’t want you to ever believe a word that comes out of someone’s mouth about us okay? If it’s not from me, it’s not true.
“You hear me?”
“Yeah…Jordy, I hear you.” Jordan couldn’t hold back the smile that graced her lips, cheeks plumped and red. “There’s my baby. You calling me by my government name is…it feels like the start of an apocalypse.”
“Okay, miss dramatic.”
“It’s true!”
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So I've got a request that may be odd but interesting. Reader/Husk where things start off with Husk being an Overlord and Reader a lowly sinner down on their luck, but after a long period of separation (things going sour, Alastor's doing, or whatever sounds best to you) they reunite and rekindle their relationship when Husk has lost everything and is working at the hotel, and Reader has risen the ranks to become an Overlord themselves. GN Reader is fine, thanks for your time!
Oh god help me I made this one angsty. I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted!
3.2k words (help), angst with a happy ending, SFW besides the usual swearing you expect from Hazbin fics. Reader finds Husk again after a decade apart, a tearful reunion is had, oh god help me
---
You stand in the middle of a grand ballroom, with a live band playing acoustic music and food and drink as far as the eye can see. Dozens of demons fill the hall, the most influential Sinners in the Pride Ring joined by their associates and servants.
It’s not the first time you’ve been to one of these gatherings, but it’s your first time here while on the other end of the leash.
You have to admit, it’s somewhat lonely here at the top. You’re not completely alone; like everyone else here, you’ve brought along your favorite contracted soul, who has just brought you a glass of champagne and earned a pat on his head for his troubles. But as you sip your drink, you can’t help but remember something with a smile.
He’d spit this out and ask where the scotch was…
It’s so strange not having his strong arm pinning you to his side. You can still see the charming expression on his face as he speaks with another Overlord, even as his tail waves as a warning to everyone who speaks to him. You know what that tail is saying without him needing to open his mouth.
“I’ll respect you if you respect me, but if you even think about trying anything with my pet, you’re dead.”
A lot of servants here are openly fearful or disdainful of their owners, but Overlord Husk never made you feel anything less than cared for. Sure, he had needs from you, but you enjoyed fulfilling those needs, especially knowing that he’d back down if you asked. He was cocky, spoiled, and reckless, but he adored you and always made sure to show it, both to you and to anyone who dared suspect that you were only a trophy he’d happily gamble away.
Then one day, he was just… gone. You woke up in his bed in the mansion like so many other mornings, and immediately you noticed that you couldn’t feel the faint bindings of his leash around your neck. You searched the mansion for him, but instead, you found Alastor reclining in Husk’s favorite lounge chair, sipping rye from one of Husk’s own glasses.
“Husker is no longer in need of your services, my dear. You’d best be on your way.”
He wouldn’t explain things any further than that, and you never heard from Husk again. What happened to him? Why would he just leave you like that, after years of calling you his most precious treasure…?
You need to shake those thoughts from your head before you have a breakdown in the middle of the party, so you join a nearby group of Overlords you can’t identify by name, intending to nod along and pretend to participate in their conversation. They appear to be discussing that rehabilitation hotel that Lucifer’s daughter started up. You continue sipping your drink and listening, hoping they don’t notice your silence.
“I still think it’s a foolish idea…”
“They did a wonderful job fighting off those exorcists, though. Imagine, we may never have to worry about another extermination thanks to that hotel!”
“Did you see any of the battle?”
“Oh, heavens, no, I never dare leave my shelter during an extermination, and I certainly don’t want to watch such a thing on TV!”
“Well, I caught some of it on the news, and would you believe, I could have sworn I saw the Gambling Demon fighting with the rest of Charlie’s crew!”
You try your damnedest to hide your shock at that news. At the very least, you manage to avoid dropping your glass.
“The Gambling Demon! Staying at Charlie’s hotel?! Surely you’re mistaken! And here I thought Alastor had him killed!”
“Oh, he looks different to be sure. He’s gotten a lot thinner, a lot scruffier. But how many tuxedo cats with giant wings do we have flying around in Hell? It had to have been him!”
“What do you suppose he’s doing in that place? Surely that old drunk doesn’t think Heaven would ever take him?”
“What kind of people does Heaven take, anyway…?”
As the discussion drifts away from the Gambling Demon, your attention drifts away from the discussion.
You’ll need to drop by that hotel sometime soon.
—
It takes you a few days to get away for long enough to stop by the hotel. Who knew Overlord business could be so exhausting? No wonder Husk needed your help with stress relief so often. But finally, after days of wondering, you find yourself standing outside the doors of the recently rebuilt Hazbin Hotel.
Surely it was all rumors, a cruel game of telephone meant to get your hopes up before harshly striking them down. You wouldn’t find him here. Not here, of all places. As far as you know, he’s dead.
But still, you have to know…
With a deep breath, you steel your nerves and push the door open. You’ve barely stepped into the lobby when a cheerful voice starts calling out to you.
“Oh! Hey there!” A group of demons are sitting in a circle of chairs, and all of them are now staring at you. Most of them are strangers, but you do recognize the one who’s enthusiastically waving at you as Princess Charlie herself.
You also recognize the winged cat who is currently staring at you with wide eyes and mouthing something inaudible. He’s much thinner, unhealthily so, and he doesn’t appear to be taking nearly as much care of his fur as he used to… but it can’t be anyone else, can it?
“You’re just in time!” Charlie says as she launches out of her seat and runs up to you. “We were just starting today’s trust exercise! Would you like to join us? It’s a perfect way to see what the Hazbin Hotel is all about!”
She’s speaking so quickly you can barely follow her.
“Oh, right, introductions! My name’s Charlie! What’s your name?”
You tell her your name, and she squeals with glee as she takes your hand. “Come on, come sit with us! Let me introduce you to everyone! This is Angel Dust, and Niffty, and Husk…”
You don’t remember any of the names she says after Husk’s. It really is him. The instant you lock eyes with him, you can’t look away. He’s frozen stiff, only the slight twitches of his tail showing that he hasn’t turned to stone.
“...and we have plenty of open rooms! What size bed do you like? Do you smoke? I know it’s hard to quit, and we’ll help you with that, but before then I can make sure you get a room with a balcony-”
“Charlie!” A girl with long white hair laughs and grabs Charlie’s hand to pull her back down into her seat. “Calm down! I think you’re freaking them out!”
“Sorry, Vaggie, sorry!” Charlie says. “It’s just always so exciting to see a new guest!”
“I don’t think it’s Charlie’s fault,” says the pink spider sitting on Charlie’s other side. “Seems like they just got distracted by our bartender. You like him, don’tcha? I know he’s cute, but don’t try pettin’ him, he bites.”
Husk must be stunned if he’s not reacting to a joke about his cat form. You’ve seen him punch other Overlords for that.
A bartender, though… that part doesn’t surprise you at all. But why here?
“Did you want to get a room set up first?” Charlie asks you. “I can help you pick one out, then we can come do the trust exercise! Oh, I can’t wait to get to know you!”
“I’ll take care of ‘em,” Husk says as he rises to his feet with a grunt.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, Husk! I can-”
“I’m the concierge here, ain’t I? Takin’ people to their room is part of my job.”
“Normally you complain when we ask you to check people in,” Vaggie says.
Husk shrugs at Vaggie’s observation as he heads toward the hotel’s bar. He grabs a box from beneath the bar and shakes it. “So, what size bed? You want a balcony?”
“Um… king?” you say, not sure if it’s an option. “Balcony is fine.”
“Mmm…” he stirs the contents of the box around with his claws for a moment, then takes out a key card and reads it. “Right, here’s one. Fifth floor.” He puts the box back where he found it, then pulls out a book and a pencil. He flips through the book for a specific page, then scribbles something inside it.
He writes your full name perfectly, despite you not saying it directly to him.
Once that’s taken care of, the book also returns to where it came from. “C’mon.” He heads to the stairwell, and you follow.
What should you say to him? Should you say anything? Should you give him the first word? He doesn’t appear to be taking it as the two of you silently climb the stairs.
You reach the fifth floor, and your hotel room, without either of you saying a thing. “This is it.” He swipes the card and opens the door for you. “Look good?”
It’s a fully decorated room, with potted plants and wall art and a comfortable looking bed. It’s not entirely to your taste, but you can tell whoever designed it took great care with it.
“Don’t mind the art, you can replace that if you want. You might be staying for a while, so make it yours.”
“All right… thank you.”
Over a decade, and that’s all you can say to him?
You expect him to leave you to get settled in, but he keeps standing there, propping the door open. “Hey, uh… do I… know you, from somewhere?”
Your heart gives a single, heavy thud. “I think so… if you’re who I think you are.”
“Can I come in?” he asks. “Talk to you for a minute?”
“What about Charlie?” you ask.
“She’s patient,” is all he says before walking into the room. You follow him in and shut the door behind you. He’s standing in the middle of the room now, not looking at you. He seems to be at a loss of what to do with himself.
“...it’s really you,” he finally says, still facing away. “Before you said your name to Charlie, I thought… it couldn’t be…”
“Husk…” is all you can say. How long has it been since you’ve said that name? It feels so wonderful rolling off your tongue. At the sound of his name, he finally turns around to face you.
“...I missed hearing that…”
Your head is in conflict over what you should do now. Hug him and promise not to lose him again? Slap him and ask where the hell he’s been all this time? Break down crying, overwhelmed with thoughts of how you just spent the last ten years assuming he was dead?
“What happened…?” is all you can manage to say, without moving an inch.
His ears tilt down and he grumbles to himself as he grips his arms. “I didn’t want… didn’t mean… I’m sorry. He wouldn’t… I couldn’t…” he takes a deep breath. “...a lot’s happened since the last time I saw you.”
“Can you tell me about any of it?” you ask.
“Can we sit?” he asks in return. You nod in agreement, and the two of you sit on the edge of the hotel bed.
“How much do you know already?” Husk asks.
“Not much,” you say. “I went to sleep by your side one night, and then I never saw you again. That’s all.”
“Do you remember what I told you that night?” he continues.
“That you had a big meeting the next morning, but that I shouldn’t worry about it and you’d be home soon…” The gears start turning in your head. “What happened at that meeting…?”
“I lost,” Husk says. “I lost everything to Alastor. The money, the casinos, the mansion, the staff… even my own soul. A few bad hands, and that was it.”
You once again remember seeing Alastor that day, and your hand goes up to your throat. “Did you lose me to…?”
“I didn’t lose you to anyone!” Husk insists. “I promised I’d never bet your soul, didn’t I? I didn’t bet it then, either. He didn’t want me keeping you, said a pet didn’t need a pet of his own… but there was no fucking way I was letting him have you. Letting you go before he took everything from me was the best thing I could do for you.”
“And you couldn’t tell me?” Tears are welling in your eyes. Are you relieved? Angry? Where has he been?
“He wouldn’t let me!” Husk says, defensive. “Wouldn’t even let me near any of the property I used to own! I couldn’t tell anyone from those days what happened! He wanted everyone to think he’d killed me!” He needs a few breaths to calm himself down. You barely recognize your old Overlord in his current face; he looks so lost and tired. “Believe me, I didn’t just give up. I looked for you when I could, but I didn’t know where to begin, especially when I couldn’t even get into my own casinos anymore. If I had any idea where you were, I swear I would have found you…”
If he still doesn’t know where you’ve been, then clearly he forgot to check somewhere vital. “Have you been keeping an eye on the Overlords recently?”
“Like I want anything to do with that fucking group ever again,” he spits out. “I still hate how I lost everything, but I know it’s for the best that I got out of there with some dignity intact… wait.” He sits up and stares at you. “Is that where you’ve been?”
You smile and nod. He chuckles in response and leans back on his hands.
“Heh… should’ve known you’d find another Overlord to take care of you. I just hope they’re good to you… I may not be as powerful as I once was, but I’ll still kill anyone who tries messing with you. I ain’t breaking my promises to you, not even now.”
“Husk…” you say with a shake of your head. “I’m not on anyone’s leash anymore. Not since I lost you.”
“Eh?” He raises a large, red eyebrow. “Then what are you doing, hanging around with Overlords?”
“Well… I am one now,” you said. “After you left, I had to fend for myself. I started a business, made connections with the people you used to know, and now… here I am.”
“No shit… you as an Overlord,” he says. “Not surprised you managed to climb that high, if that’s what you wanted. I just hope you’re playing fair. Not like some of the other scumbags with that title.”
You can’t help but wonder if he’s including himself in “scumbags”.
“Of course I play fair,” you say. “I learned a lot from you. It’s ruthless work, but it doesn’t mean I have to mistreat people for it.”
“Good to hear,” he says. “Good to know some people down here don’t let power completely fuck ‘em up. What kinda souls you own?”
“I try to make fair deals,” you say. “Hiring people to work in factories, using contracts to protect company secrets, that sort of thing. I think my people are happy where they are. I try to make it less awful than it could be, at least.”
“Got any pets?” Husk continues.
“Pets…? Oh.” It takes a moment for you to catch his meaning. “No, no! I’m not interested in that sort of thing. Everyone just works for the company. No personal relationships.”
“Huh… shame. Having a pet is a lot of fun. Getting to spoil ‘em, seeing ‘em smile when you’re around… pissing off other Overlords who don’t understand why their souls hate them so damn much, but your pet can’t keep their paws off of you…” He sighs and closes his eyes. “It was nice, having you by my side. I regret a lot of shit from back then… but I don’t regret having you. …at least, as long as you don’t regret it. Was I good to you back then…?”
“You were amazing,” you assure him as you lean against him. “Amazing enough that… that I can’t see myself with a pet of my own. I don’t belong on that side of the leash… and I don’t belong on anyone else’s leash, either.”
“...you know I’m washed up,” he says. “I ain’t got shit left. No money, no influence, just a damn chain around my neck forcing’ me to do the bidding of a sadistic freak who thinks I’m an animal.”
“Husk…” You can’t help but hug him tight as you hear just what he’s been going through in your time apart.
“I can’t spoil you anymore. I can’t take you to parties, I can’t buy you expensive gifts… that shit’s over now. You’re staring at… well, you’re staring at a withered old husk.”
“Can you still sing to me?” you ask. “And dance with me? Perform tricks for me?”
“I… maybe?” he says. “I’m out of practice. Haven’t had a reason to do any of that for years.”
“But could you?” you repeat.
“I mean… I’d like to… I’ve missed it.” He smiles again, his eyes staring off into the distance. “I still remember how you’d smile when I sang your favorite love songs…”
“I always loved your voice,” you say. “I still remember what you sound like when you sing. I think about it sometimes…”
“Yeah?” he says. “...I think about it too. You smiling as I’d sing to you, and… and hold you…” You’ve been waiting ever since you leaned in, but finally, his arms are wrapped around you. “And tell you that… no matter how much I lost… I’d never lose you…”
You never saw Overlord Husk cry before. Such a prideful man surely couldn’t cry. But as he rests his chin atop your head, you can hear his breathing start to hitch.
“I’m sorry…”
“It wasn’t your fault,” you assure him as you nuzzle his neck, just the way he loved all those years ago. A purr assures you that it hasn’t changed.
“If I knew that day… that when I left, I wouldn’t be coming back… I would have stayed in just a little longer.” He rests his claw on your chin and tilts it up to look in your eyes. Now you can clearly see the tears pricking the corners of his own. “Would have at least kissed you goodbye…”
“You did kiss me goodbye,” you say. “That night, before we went to sleep, the last thing you did was kiss me…”
“...and I promised I’d be back,” he finishes. “I kissed you goodbye for a day. Not a decade.” His claws run down your face, just as gentle as ever. “Could I… do that now?”
“Don’t kiss me goodbye,” you say. “Just kiss me.”
He grants your wish, lightly placing his lips against yours. He finally lets his tears fall, but the way they stain your cheeks doesn’t make you pull away. If anything, they’re just another reminder for you that he’s here, along with his warmth in your arms and the sound of his soft moans vibrating against your lips as he keeps kissing you.
“Charlie…” you murmur. “Charlie’s waiting for us-”
“She’s patient,” he repeats as he pushes you down to the bed. “I’m sure she’ll understand me wanting some quiet time with an old friend.” He offers no further argument before resuming his kisses, and you have no further reason to protest.
“I love you, Husk,” you manage to whisper between kisses.
“I love you too, doll. Always have.”
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel husk x reader#hazbin husk x reader#irk blubbers about nothing#irk got asked a thing#irk talks to strangers#irk huskposts
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Kiss With a Fist
Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x Reader
Summary: Normally, Dream is above mortals and their petty quarrels, but when one decides that he wants to play with fire, Dream is more than prepared to burn him. That is, until you have something to say about it.
Word Count: 4.1k
Notes: I've wanted to write something about you pulling a Hob Gadling and fighting off someone wanting to attack Dream for a while now. Here it is. Basically you're a badass and you fight a drunk guy trying to pick a fight with Dream. Let me know your thoughts!
(Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns)
We begin…in the Waking World, which is not, in his opinion, an ideal place to be.
Though the Burgess lineage has been snuffed out and Dream of the Endless is far too powerful to ever find himself captured by a mortal again, he still feels a touch of trepidation upon his trips outside of his realm. How could he not, after one such visit went so spectacularly wrong and ended up with him trapped for over a century?
Having reminders of the good of humanity certainly helps ease his apprehension, which is why he typically finds himself with some sort of companion when he leaves the safety of the Dreaming. Most of the time, Matthew is a mere stone’s throw away at all times. If not Matthew, then Dream has increasingly found himself seeking the company of his friend, Hob Gadling.
You’re the most “human” of them all; though both Matthew and Hob were, at one point, completely and utterly mortal, that is no longer the case. You, however, are. He would argue that’s perhaps what makes you so fascinating, but he knows that’s not entirely true. There are a great many things that make you fascinating to him, and your mortality is probably the least of those.
It’s his predilection towards you that has landed him here in the first place, at what you called an “upscale bar” for a friend’s birthday party. To be fair to you, it’s not as if you hadn’t given Dream multiple opportunities to decline your invitation. You even bluntly told him, among other things, that it was almost certain he would not enjoy himself at a mortal event such as this and you were perfectly fine going by yourself.
But no, he had to insist that he would play the role of doting “boyfriend” (which he was, though he preferred terms to describe your relationship that sounded much less juvenile) and accompany you to this celebration. After two grueling hours, he can honestly say that he does not understand why anybody would torture themselves by willingly stepping foot into such an establishment. Between the bone-shaking bass of the music that is unnecessarily loud, the patrons whose wildly inappropriate, alcohol-steeped daydreams stick to Dream like molasses, and the harsh lighting that continues to change depending on the beat of whatever garish song is playing, he’s seen enough to last him five human lifetimes.
He tries to hide his disdain, knowing that you’re enjoying yourself and your night. ‘Tries’ being the key word here: after the fifth person who visibly jumps in fear when they see Dream’s piercing glower, it’s evident that this attempt is not working in the slightest. Whether you’ve finally noticed this or you just decide to take pity on him, he’s not sure.
Regardless, you lean into him and ask, “Are you doing okay?”
“I would like to get some air,” he says, being heard clearly by you despite not having to raise his voice above the music. He’s relieved when you nod; Dream was never a particularly social creature, but that desire for solace increased tenfold after he freed himself from his glass cage.
“We can head out, actually. I’ve socialized long enough.”
Dream could actually cheer at this. Since it would be entirely uncouth of him to do so, he continues to look nonchalant. “Do not feel that you need to end your night early on my account.”
“I’m not! I’m tired and I’d rather go home with you now. I’m gonna close my tab, if you wanna go wait outside for me!”
He very much wants to go wait outside for you, and with one last squeeze of your hand, he separates from you and leaves you to finish paying for your drinks.
There’s something inherently calming to Dream about the evening hours. It may be that the world seems to become more peaceful after the sun sets, or that the majority of dreamers enter his realm at this time. It could even be the fact that this is Mother Night’s domain, complicated as their relationship may be. Whatever the reason, Dream is particularly fond of this time of day, and he enjoys the sudden tranquility after such a hectic environment.
Unfortunately, said tranquility lasts only momentarily before a shadow crosses over towards Dream and he meets the bloodshot eyes of a mortal man. He’s average in every way, from the backwards cap to the scuffed shoes stained with unidentified liquids. A ‘frat boy,’ you would call him. Though the shadows warp behind him as he attempts to scare him off as he did to the others inside the bar, this man remains uncowed by his expression.
“Hey, I saw you earlier at the bar.” Dream scowls, for he did have an encounter with this particular human inside the establishment, and he did not enjoy one second of it. “Yeah, I offered to buy your girl a drink, didn’t I? Then you shoved your way in between us, which was rude. I was just trying to be friendly!”
“Silence, mortal.” He’s had enough of this conversation, if it can even be called that, and glances in the direction of the entrance to see if you’re making your exit. In the process, he sees the man’s expression morph into something ugly, something vengeful. He’s not sure why, considering he has not been insulted; after all, Dream simply called him what he is, which is a mortal.
“The fuck did you just call me?”
Instead of actually bothering with a response, Dream attempts to move away from the wall in order to find you, having had enough of playing this game. The mortal man’s hand lands on his shoulder and stops him from achieving that goal. Dream simply glances at it, deciding that, actually, it has been a good while since he properly frightened a mortal in any realm.
“Why ya tryin’ to leave? I just wanted to have a friendly chat.” The man’s breath reeks of cheap alcohol, and Dream’s lip curls in disgust.
“No, I think not.”
“Hey!” Both heads snap towards the bar’s entrance, where you’re emerging from the door and marching closer towards them. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The mortal man smirks, finding amusement in the fact that you’re now involved. “Get outta here, bitch. This doesn’t concern you.”
Dream has half a mind to incite his nightmares on this boor of a man just for the crude insult (how dare he even think to disrespect the future consort of the Dreaming in such a way), but you’re speaking before he can properly make a decision. “Yeah it does. Leave him alone.”
The man smirks and rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to Dream. “What, you need your girlfriend to fight your battles for you?”
“I’m trying to protect you here,” you say with a laugh, knowing that Dream doesn’t need anyone to do anything for him. “Take your hand off of him and go.”
As you walk past him, you knock your shoulder against the man’s, who goes stumbling back with his arms pinwheeling at his sides as he attempts to keep his balance. Either you’re stronger than you look, or the man is drunker than he lets on; Dream is willing to bet that it’s a combination of both.
“I’m not gonna tell you again, dude.”
Gently, you grab Dream’s hand and pull him away from the wall. He allows you to do so–though he can deny it all he wants, he certainly doesn’t mind when you fuss over him. Sure enough, he watches as you scan him up and down for any sign of injury, seeming to forget that he cannot exactly be injured by a mere mortal.
“Are you okay?”
Were they in private, Dream would laugh (he’s found himself doing a lot more of that lately–laughing) and assure you that nothing so paltry as a mortal attempting to provoke him had caused him any harm or upset. As it is, he simply nods, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it.
Unfortunately, mortal men seem to love violence. This should not be surprising, considering his brother is—was—Destruction, but it’s something that tends to slip his mind due to how little time he actually spends among them. When they are robbed of the opportunity to inflict said violence on their intended target, they become enraged.
This is no different for this mortal man, whose face turns a surprising shade of red in anger. As Dream turns with you to leave, he allows his natural eyes to appear through the blue ones that he wears when in the Waking. Black pits appear in their place, the stars that are normally there completely snuffed out. Petty, but he cannot resist making the last move.
This works against his favor, however, when the mortal man takes a swing at Dream.
For an immortal, anthropomorphic personification, Dream has not found himself in many fights through his long life. He should rephrase that: he has not found himself in many street fights through his long life. Battles, he’s had his fair share. Glorious battles, either those like the Oldest Game where wit is the weapon or those where he was fighting for a purpose, be it love or honor or his realm.
But battles are skilled; there’s an art to them, an understanding on each side of the formalities and the pomp and circumstance that goes into it all. Though they may be enemies, the foes carry with them a certain integrity that extends to the conflict. In fact, as far as Dream is aware, mortal military campaigns are fought a lot like this as well. Alleyway brawls most certainly do not carry any of this.
Humanity changed, as humanity is wont to do, in the century plus that Dream found himself a prisoner in an English countryside basement. However, the century of imprisonment had to align with one of the centuries that underwent the most societal change. Though Dream very much enjoys watching as humanity evolves, he enjoys watching it as it happens, not learning about it in retrospect. As a result, he has felt woefully behind when it comes to modern standards; a fact which the few mortals or former mortals he knows love to focus on. Not that he wants to sound every bit as old as he is, but before his imprisonment, ladies most certainly did not fight.
All of this is important knowledge to keep in mind for the coming events.
The man’s hit, meant for Dream, connects against your cheek as a result of you shoving Dream out of the way before he can truly process what’s about to happen. He wants to tell you to stop, wants to blow sand in the face of this man and follow through on his silent threat to give him his worst nightmares, but…something stops him. A not-unpleasant warmth in his stomach that begins to bloom as he watches you ball your hands into fists, obviously preparing to fight back against this man.
A few bystanders audibly wince when you punch your adversary’s jaw, making his head snap back. Curses fall from his lips as he swings again, but you manage to grab a fistful of his shirt collar when you duck and his fist hits your forehead. This advantage means that this will be the last hit he gets on you.
With a yank of the fabric, the shirt goes up over his head and serves both to blind him as well as to make it difficult for him to move away from you. He’s more focused on attempting to free himself from your hold than he is hitting you again, and when he finally does regain his sight, he sees your fist hurtling towards his face.
The last punch is a direct hit to the mortal’s nose, blood immediately beginning to drip down his face and onto the ground. Both the pain and the shock of it send him falling backwards onto the ground, where he groans pathetically and clutches at his wounded face. From above, you breathe heavily and shake out your dominant hand, a look of disgust on your face as you stare down at the enemy you’ve taken down with ease.
In all, the actual fight lasts less than half a minute. Dream, however, believes that he shall think of said fight for the rest of his eternal fight.
“Bitch,” the mortal spits out again, the insult the only weapon he has left in his arsenal.
“Don’t forget it, either.” You grab Dream’s hand again, this time pulling him away from the small crowd that’s beginning to form on the sidewalk. “C’mon, we gotta get outta here before someone calls the cops.”
Dream demeans himself and actually runs alongside you, but only until there are no more humans in sight. He pulls you to a stop then, taking his sand out of his coat and tossing a handful in the air. Between one blink and the next, he’s safely inside your Waking apartment with you. Shaking your head a couple of times to clear the double vision in your eyes, you finally look over at him.
“I’m so sorry, I really didn’t think you’d get stuck dealing with some drunk idiot who–oof!”
Dream cuts off your rambling by shoving you against the wall of your bedroom and proceeding to kiss you as though it’s been years since he last laid his lips against yours. You stiffen under him for a moment before your body goes lax, hands curling around the lapels of his coat as you lean into him and attempt to eliminate any modicum of space between your bodies. It’s only when he can hear you beginning to try and take desperate little pants in an attempt to get air into your lungs that he pulls his lips from you, though this doesn’t last for long.
“Do you have any idea,” he pauses to press another series of heated kisses to you, “what seeing you fight that man did to me?”
“...I’m confused. Are you mad?”
“Mad?” Dream scoffs. “How could I be mad, when you defended my honor in such a way. Me, who could have sent the mortal to the Nightmare Realm with barely a glance. I am more powerful than the gods themselves, yet you fought for me without so much as a second thought. No, I am not mad at you. I find myself rather infatuated with you at this moment, in fact.”
“As if you’re not infatuated with me all the time?” He silences your snark with more kissing, which you gladly accept for another few moments.
“Dream,” you finally mumble against his lips.
When he doesn’t answer, you try again.
“Morpheus.”
He still doesn’t answer, nor does he make any movement to let you know he even heard you. Finally, you push at his chest to get his attention.
“While I’d love to continue doing this, my lip is split and it really hurts to kiss you right now.”
Dream steps away from you sheepishly. It’s not often that his control falters in such a way, and it only ever does so when he’s in your presence.
“I apologize,” he says remorsefully. If there’s one thing that Dream hates, it’s causing pain to those dearest to him, of which you are the most dear.
“You don’t have to apologize for anything, you couldn’t have known it hurts. I should probably clean myself up, though.” He follows you into your bathroom, where you turn on the faucet and grab a clean cloth off of the towel rack.
“Allow me to help you with your wounds?” Dream asks.
Healing others is not one of his many powers, and you know that. Still, he wants to be of assistance, and so you point to the closet in the corner. “There’s a first aid kit on the bottom shelf of the closet, if you wouldn’t mind grabbing that?”
Dream hasn’t the faintest idea what a first aid kit actually is, but since he’s trying to be helpful, he simply goes off in the direction that you pointed him towards. When he comes back with the bright red bag (he knows enough from dreams to know that the white cross on the front means medical aid), you’re dabbing blood off of the back of your hand with a damp cloth.
“I did not realize that your hand was injured, as well,” Dream says.
“What can I say? Fucker had a hard head.”
He frowns. “I really wish that you would not use such crass language. It’s very unbecoming.”
“You love it and you know you do.”
Dream’s hands skim over the different medical supplies, unsure of what will help or hurt, or even what each item’s intended use is. This confusion must be rather obvious, for you simply have him hold the kit open as you grab whatever is needed and set it out on the counter next to you. He watches, silently and with utter fascination, while you grab a small cotton round and dab some sort of antibiotic on it before you begin to carefully apply it to your knuckles.
He takes this time to actually catalog the injuries you had sustained while fighting for him. In addition to the webbing of surface-level cuts on your knuckles, two wide bruises are already beginning to discolor your skin, one stretching along your cheekbone and the skin below your right eye and the other on your forehead up into your hairline. The ‘split lip’ as you called it, does look rather painful, and he feels bad to have exacerbated that pain. The skin is quite literally split down both your upper and lower lip, dark red blood pooling on the surface. It’s swollen, and another bruise forms on top of the swelling.
Again, Dream feels his heart, which does not work like that of a human’s, clench painfully. You’ve bled to protect him, injured yourself just to keep him safe. He does not know how he could ever repay you for such a kindness, though you’ll assuredly attempt to convince him that you don’t need any sort of repayment.
For Dream, this repayment starts by being the one to take care of you. Now that he’s watched you care for one wound, he can easily mimic your movements as he takes the washcloth you’re running under the tap water and gently presses it to your lip. You wince under his touch, but allow his hand to remain there.
“Where did you learn to fight in such a way?” Dream asks after you’ve nodded that enough time has passed for him to remove the cloth from your mouth.
You shrug. “I was bullied in middle school and it started to get kind of physical–nothing too bad, just mean girls shoving me around or stepping on my heels so that I’d trip and fall.” It sounds far worse than ‘nothing too bad,’ and Dream almost wants to ask you for the names of your childhood tormentors so that he may give them a taste of their own medicine. “Still, my dad wanted to teach me to defend myself, just in case it got any worse.”
“He taught a child to fight?” Dream scoffs in disbelief, one hand gently holding your chin in place while he uses the other to apply the antibiotic to your lips.
“I was twelve, first of all, and it’s not like he was encouraging me to go up to these girls and knock them out. It was a last-resort sort of thing,” you say when he’s finished tending to that cut.
His hand gently skims along the bruise on your cheek, and you can’t stop your reflexes as your hand darts out to grab at his wrist and stop him. He aborts what he was doing, instead grasping your own hand and pulling you to him as he just barely lays his lips on top of the bruise and lets them linger there. He can hear your breath catch in your lungs as he does so, and it makes him smirk just slightly.
When Dream finally pulls away, your body unconsciously tries to follow him as you mourn the loss of his closeness. He asks, “Might I continue to attend to you, my protector? My warrior?”
“Uh, um,” you stutter, trying desperately to remember how to speak. Dream finds it incredibly endearing. “The, uh, I have ice packs in the–in the freezer. For my face? They’re blue, and they should be stacked on top of each other.”
“Go lay down so that you may rest,” he commands. “I shall be back momentarily.”
You describe items well enough that finding whatever it is you request is an easy task, the ice packs being no different. Perhaps Hob Gadling was right to marvel over human inventions at most of the pair’s early meetings. There is something rather fascinating about the resourcefulness of creating something that can be kept cold specifically to help with injuries.
When Dream returns to you, you’ve done as he asked as are laying against the pillows of your bed to rest. He’s unsure of how you apply said ice packs, and hands them to you instead and watches as you lay one on each bruise. Though you recoil from the cold at first, you soon sigh and relax under it.
“Will you lay with me?” you ask.
Dream is not one to turn you down for most things, and he especially will not deny you of this request. He wraps himself around you, black coat billowing out and covering both of you. He knows that it’s only your face that has sustained the brunt of your injuries, but he still tries to be cautious with you just in case.
It’s not exactly resting when you’re on your phone watching the videos that, while they make no sense to Dream, make you laugh, but you’re safe and in his arms, so he won’t say anything to you about the importance of proper rest. Instead, he allows himself to simply think. About you, about him, about this night.
“You need not have come to my defense,” he says suddenly upon remembering what it is he had wanted to say to you earlier, before he was overcome with the need to kiss you. Distantly, he’s reminded of the last time he said such a phrase, and his lips tilt up at the memory.
“Hmm?” You don’t quite know what he means, his statement coming from out of nowhere.
“I was in no danger, yet you so valiantly defended me from the mortal. Why?”
“Because he was going to hurt you.” You say it as if it’s the most obvious conclusion in the world. The sky is blue, water is wet, you fought the man because he was going to hurt Dream.
“He would not have gotten the chance.”
You sigh. “I know that you’re all-powerful and whatnot, but…when you love someone, sometimes that doesn’t matter. Someone was attempting to attack you, and so I decided that I wasn’t going to let them. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”
“I very much would. However, it’s a little different for me than it is for you.”
“Why? Because I’m a woman?”
He begins to uncharacteristically stammer in an attempt to explain himself. “No, that’s not–I would never–you–”
You cut him off with a laugh before he can make an even bigger fool of himself. “I’m just teasing you.”
“You are cruel to your monarch, my love.”
“Not my monarch, I’m afraid,” you say cheekily, a smile on your face. “Last I checked, I’m not one of your subjects.”
It will never cease to amaze Dream just how at peace he feels when in your presence. On the rare occasion that conversations start out serious, they devolve into something quaint and full of soft touches and teasing jokes at your hands. Even after he sees you into the Dreaming and has returned the now-melting ice packs to your freezer, he feels this way.
Suddenly, he’s struck with the ‘why’ of it all. He feels at home here. No, he feels at home with you. Being with you is like coming home after a long journey and getting to sleep in your bed again for the first time in months. You’re his comfort, his safe place.
Perhaps, in some cases, the Waking World is an ideal place to be.
#dream of the endless#dream of the endless x reader#dream of the endless imagine#morpheus#morpheus imagine#morpheus x reader#the sandman#the sandman imagine
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please please please, jealous Larissa x teacher!reader
Mine
Warnings: S M U T 18+, minors dni!! Filth with little plot, possessive behavior, jealous behavior, slapping, man handling, (lots of) dirty talk, bulge kink, breeding kink, spit kink, praise kink, degrading kink mixed with a little verbal abuse, slight brainwash, punishment/spanking, tears, kinda toxic, Dark Dom Daddy Larissa (Larissa is a bit mean), Bottom Puppy Reader.
Reader and Larissa have a non established relationship
Authors notes: I’m so sorry anon!!!! I wrote this whole snippet thinking the request was possessiveness then saw it was jealousy and had to work it in there so I’m so sorry if it seems rushed if you don’t like it anon just let me know and I will write something else.
You watched Larissa with a mixture of love and disdain as she shot the fake gun in the air commencing the Poe Cup. For a moment, you question yourself, were you not partner material? Was there a reason this goddess of a woman had only been using you as a sexual rouse for the past six months and not made any move towards progressing you're relationship. In the beginning it was fine you might of even said it was all you wanted at the time but now you longed for a loving embrace, a sweet kiss goodnight, the feeling of your fingers wonderfully tangled in another and while you did sometimes get those from Larissa it wasn’t the same. You wanted more than a fuck buddy wanted more than someone who just took out their frustrations on you and as you sit here and think to yourself you realize that's all Larissa wanted to be. Finally ripping your burning gaze from the woman you settle with yourself in the decision to move on with your life. Walking to the right of the stage to get a better view, your gaze turns to one of adoration as you watch Ophelia halls boat pull into first. Becoming the dorm mom of the hall was like a puzzle piece slipping into place and you couldn't be more proud of your girls. Smiling wide as the group of four run across the finish line you feel a strong beat in your chest when Larissa announces Ophelia hall has won for a second year in a row. Making your way forward you only slightly grimace as mud covers your black boots, luckily the extra height from the shoes saving your black pants from the same fate. Black sweater protecting you from the cold biting wind you carry over four towels to keep the girls from catching cold.
"I must say I'm impressed."
Your voice breaks through Enid's excited squeals and in a second you are surrounded by the rowing team.
"Did you see us Ms. (Y/L/N)?"
Enid says quickly and you can't help the light chuckle you let forth.
"No, I was watching the other Poe Cup across the lake."
You say with sarcasm causing an almost nonexistent smirk to cross Wednesday's face.
"You all were wonderful, what do you say I treat you all to a night of gravedigging."
Your smile was bright as three of the four grimaced at the offer.
"Sounds absolutely dreadful. Let's meet at nine."
Wednesday says trying not to sound overly excited before she walks away towards the dorm hall. Enid and the others trying to hide their disgust as they follow the girl. You let go of a content sigh before turning to make your own way back towards the school building. Your students' essays wouldn't read themselves. Well.......
“Ms. (Y/L/N).”
Your head turned in response to the near yell of your name another head also turning in the crowd behind you.
“I couldn’t help but overhear your going out with your hall tonight need a second chaperon?”
A smile graced your features as one of the new assistant teachers spoke, you didn’t remember the woman’s name but you recognized her face as she had seemed to be bumping into you a lot recently.
“Oh I don’t need one those girls always behave with me but you are more than welcome to join in the activity it can be very invigorating.”
Your smile was returned as well as a small blush that ghosted the younger woman’s cheeks.
“I can’t wait.”
The young teacher made her way into the crowd leaving you to your thoughts as you began to walk towards the school. Lifting off the floor as you begin to walk on air you get lost within your own mind your abilities now being second nature to you. Steps end as you eventually just propel yourself forward reaching the school in seconds before lowering yourself in the middle of the quad. The walk from there to your classroom is short stepping into the dark room filled with beakers of different organs and body parts a smile graces your lips as you stare at the essays stacked on your desk. This job was a dream teaching monster anatomy coincided with your interests and it allowed you to cause a grimace on most of the students faces on a daily basis.
.......
An unpleasant feeling settled in Larissa’s stomach as she watched Ms. Kathryn Yeil become a blushing mess while speaking to you for the third day in a row. You were to naïve never found yourself pretty so you never assumed anyone else did either but Larissa saw you. The goddess she possessed and she knew your worth so it didn’t surprise her when one of the newbies took a liking to you. What did surprise her was the feeling it brought over her body. Kathryn was young much younger than Larissa pretty, smart, and she seemed to have a few things in common with you. Larissa was your polar opposite there was not a single interest you shared besides coffee and honestly that didn’t even count. So as she hears the end of your conversation your invitation and her acceptance she can’t help but feel that uncomfortable tingle of jealousy course through her as thoughts of you with anyone else fills her mind. Possessiveness takes over her body in waves and as she watches you set off towards the school a pinch of hurt hits her too, if nothing else Larissa owned you she had told you many times before and you always moaned out in agreement..... who even knows what you two have but Larissa was done tiptoeing around it. Toe of her heels digging in the ground as she set off towards the school to find you and put you in your place.
.......
Sitting down at your desk with a content sigh you barely pick up the third essay on the six different stomachs in a giant before there's a knock on your door. Humming out a distracted ‘come in’ you don’t look up when the person on the other side of the door entered opting to continue reading the essay before you. Familiar heels click against the floor of your classroom and you ready yourself to say what needed to be said standing and dusting off your pants you raise your eyes to sharp blues. Voice nearly dying in your throat you get your courage back with a few fake coughs.
EHM ehm “Larissa... we need to talk.”
Your voice came out softer than you intended but you brushed it off deciding to stay strong. Larissa still somewhat scared you even after all this time and her domineering personality often made her lash out. A perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in question before her sadistic smile she only seemed to shine your way made its path across her face.
“What does my little puppy need to talk to me about hmm?”
Her words dripped with an unspoken promise. The promise of what you didn’t know and honestly weren’t sure if you wanted to find out. Eyes never leaving Larissa’s you speak.
“Larissa... I can’t... I don’t want to do this anymore. You’re a great woman and it was fun sneaking around at first but I’m tired of cat and mouse I want something real. So what ever this arrangement is that we have it stops now.”
A look of surprise and something else graced Larissa’s features before she merely chuckled and shook her head while moving into your space.
“Oh my darling girl have I not been clear or have you been to fucked out to remember?”
Starting off sweet before ending harsh Larissa bends to say the next words in your ear.
“When I have you screaming about how your daddy’s little plaything those words are not to arouse you in the heat of passion, though they do seem to get a rise out of you.."
Larissa’s eyes sparkle with mischief as a pink hue starts at your cheeks your strong demeanor slowly starting to fade as she reminds you exactly whose in charge.
“Those words are a decree a collar you wear around your neck that only I can see. Would you prefer I kept you on my lap so that everyone can see just how much of a slut you are for me? You want real? Lets be real you belong to me puppy; body, mind, and soul. My thing to play with, my bitch to command, you are mine and mine alone but clearly you’ve forgotten that hmm?”
The last four words are sweet even as she grips you harshly and man handles you over your desk.
“How fogged your little mind gets when daddy doesn’t abuse this pussy for a few days.”
You put up no resistance as Larissa strips your body, as much as you wanted to deny it you couldn’t hide the way your heart thumped in excitement, the way your core pulsed in anticipation your mind began to slip back and forth you felt torn, you needed to fight this you wanted something real and the only thing this situation seemed to be was real toxic but as Larissa got you naked slid a hand up your abdomen over your chest and around your throat commanding you to open your mouth and you did so without question accepting her spit happily before swallowing she only proved her words to be true. She owned you.
“There we go puppy, you always take anything daddy gives you.”
Just as the praise registers so does Larissa hand harshly smacking across your face.
“Don’t think that changes anything whore, leave me? I’m the only one that loves you silly puppy is so dumb without daddy you wouldn’t make it a day.”
You bite your lip as the sting of the rough contact tingles on your skin and the words crash through your brain.
“Roll onto your stomach bitch and show me that pretty ass of yours I think you deserve punishment.”
Your body moved quickly as venom laced words continued to fall from Larissa’s mouth.
“I’m very disappointed puppy I thought you always wanted to please daddy. Instead you want to whore yourself out."
Tears build up as your mind begins to slip further.
“You’re going to count each hit slut miss one, we start over, and you’re going to take everything I give you forget your safe word tonight puppy, daddy’s mad and nothing’s gonna stop me tonight.”
crack
You lean a bit further onto your desk as the hard slap connects but don’t miss a beat.
“1.”
smack
“2.”
creak
whimper
“3.”
crack
“4.”
snap
Tears hit the desk in front of your eyes but you barely register them.
“5.”
whack
“6.”
smack
A sob escapes your throat yet you continue.
“7.”
whip
“8.”
wham
“9.”
By now your openly sobbing but it all means nothing to you, you disappointed daddy and you have to make it right.
crack
“10.”
By nineteen your backside screamed at Larissa, red and welping but Larissa only cooed as she ran a light hand up your back.
“Such a good girl, taking your punishment so well, one more puppy just one more.”
A pathetic whimper escaped your throat at the thought but you nodded none the less bracing yourself for another harsh slap. Larissa didn’t hold back her hand connecting with your skin just as harsh as it had the last nineteen times a slight scream escaped your mouth as you crumbled forward falling completely on top of your desk the strength in your arms long gone.
“20.”
A pleased hum left Larissa as she ran a soothing hand up your back.
“Such a good puppy for daddy, you did so well, I’m so proud of you.”
Rolling you onto your back Larissa easily keeps your backside lifted off the wood before sliding her jacket between your skin and the surface. You can’t help but grimace as she lowers you, your cheeks still plenty raw from her rough treatment but your mind focuses on the white haired enchantress as she makes her way between your legs.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry daddy.”
Tears still stream down your face as you speak but Larissa ignores you spreading your legs wide in order to get a good look at you.
“Would you look at that.... it doesn’t matter how rough daddy is with you, you’ll still be a slutty mess between your legs.”
Larissa slips out of her own dress and undergarments easily, unpinning her hair before towering over you.
“I think you secretly like it when daddy’s rough with you....”
Larissa whispers to you as she begins to tease at your swollen clit causing you to gasp.
“Because you know how hard I’ll fuck you after.”
Long fingers easily slide into familiar territory as her thumb continues to play with your clit. Moaning you lift your hands to tangle in white locks.
“Daddy.
You moan out softly as you pull at Larissa willing her to be closer.
“Because you know I’ll fuck you deep and hard with my cock till I fill you with my seed.”
A loud moan slips through at the combination of Larissa’s words and fingers. The familiar tightness beginning in your stomach.
“You like that don’t you bitch, when I fuck you dumb then fill your little cunt with my babies.”
Whimpers begin as a sloshing sound starts between your legs while you respond.
“Yes daddy, I love when you fuck a baby in me, I’m gonna cum daddy, can I cum?”
Removing her fingers, Larissa stands to her full height before sucking your wetness off her digits.
“Oh sweetheart, you think you deserve to cum after the stunt you tried to pull? No puppy tonight is all about daddy, I plan to use you like a fleshlight till I cum, maybe if you behave tomorrow I’ll let you have your release.”
In that moment you see the transformation between her legs begin her vagina being replaced with a penis of her own, her warm thick tip brushing through your folds a few times before she began to push into your entrance. Moans leave your lips as your center still is recovering from the orgasm denial mere moments ago. When Larissa’s hips meet your own you almost quake with need.
“So full daddy.”
The smug look on Larissa’s face sent tingles through you as soft hands ran over your stomach that now bulged with Larissa’s presence.
“Your taking me so well puppy, feel so good inside.”
Your stomach clenches at the words squeezing Larissa and causing her to let out a pleased huff. Moving her hips slowly in and out for a moment you relish in your small adjustment period before Larissa’s left hand grips your throat, her right hand pushes on your bulge and her hips slam against yours. Your eyes rolled back as Larissa began to fuck you within an inch of your sanity, you felt every vein on her length, felt every brush of her tip against your g spot, felt every stretch at your entrance and the pleasure was to good. Tears never stopped flowing though they no longer came from pain now pleasure.
“Oh daddy.”
You moaned out voice a little scruffy from the hand around your neck.
“Fuck this pussy daddy, yessssss, fuck.”
Your pleasure was blinding, the pressure was building and before you could even open your mouth to ask Larissa pulled out. Your whine was audible a natural response to your second denial but your body remained unmoving. Allowing Larissa to basically manhandle you onto your side, she lifts a leg allowing it to run up her body while the other was pushed out of the way. The first thing you noticed when she entered you in this position was how deep you felt her. You felt like one, her member hitting you in deep spots only she knew, grabbing your legs as leverage Larissa begins to drill you again, loud moans poured out of your mouth as your juices splashed all over Larissa’s jacket.
“Who owns you?”
“Daddy.”
The words seemed to please Larissa one of her hands leaving your leg to play with your clit as she fucked into you.
“Who does this pussy belong to?”
“Daddy.”
The word came out as a sob as your body begins to slightly shake.
“I can’t daddy I’m gonna...”
In an instant Larissa’s warmth leaves your walls clenching around nothing desperately. Crossing your legs together Larissa slides between your wet thighs fucking them just as hard and fast as she’d fuck you its merely another minute before she pulls away from your thighs squirting on your punished backside. A whine leaves your lips as you suddenly feel the deep intrusion of Larissa's cock again.
“Such a good puppy, you took me so well.”
Larissa’s words where like a pillow as your drop takes full force, your body shaking with sobs.
“Always such a good puppy for daddy, I’m so proud of you.”
Larissa’s words continued as she wrapped her body around yours becoming the blanket you didn’t know you needed and suddenly you were the safest you’d ever been.
“I’m so sorry daddy, so sorry, I love you daddy I don’t want to upset you.”
The words struck Larissa and she was happy you couldn’t see the small blush on her face.
“And I love you puppy you are mine as much as I am yours and I don’t like to share. What we have is real.”
You ran fingers through soft locks and suddenly your heart started to beat out of your chest wrapped in the warm embrace of your lover still full and connected you felt pure bliss.
“Stop talking to Kathryn it makes me uncomfortable.”
Confusion quickly took hold of your face as you searched your mind before you responded.
“Who?”
#larissa#larissa weems#larissa weems x reader#Wednesday#wednesday netflix#principal weems#bottom reader
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feel free to ignore because i know you get one million asks per day but if you have the chance i would welcome any + all thoughts on lolita 👀
no please im dying to talk about lolita
so, i feel like i have to start with the critique of psychiatry, specifically psychoanalysis, that runs through the entire book. humbert tells us that he revels in making himself obscure to psychiatrists by lying to them; the extent of the actual deceit is ofc unclear because he's an unreliable narrator, but certainly it's true that psychoanalysis fails to 'fix' humbert or to save dolores, most obviously when the beardsley teachers believe she's psychosexually underdeveloped and approach humbert to discuss it. humbert delights in pointing out that the patterns the analyst seeks in human behaviour and desires simply fail, again and again, to correct or prevent his preying on children; also, obviously, psychiatry operates within / continuous to the institution of the family, and so is often categorically incapable of preventing or even perceiving violence that occurs as a result of a familial relationship, as in humbert's use of the father role to enable his rape of dolores.
and like, sure, humbert has plenty of self-interested reason to disdain psychoanalysis, as a science that positions itself as potentially aiming to prevent his sexual abuse. but the reasons he generally gives for his criticism are clustered around the idea that psychoanalysis seeks patterns where there are none to be found, and makes meaning out of nothing (eg, "the scholastic rigamarole and standardised symbols of the psychoanalytic racket"). of course, in truth humbert himself seeks patterns and order constantly, from his emphasis on his european morals and the contrast to the unruly america (particularly the western states), to his supposed talent in seeing the stratagems of chess laid out neatly on the board in contrast to gaston perceiving "all ooze and squidcloud," to his use of tennis as a kind of disciplinary measure with dolores, aimed at making the "symmetry" of the court bring out the "harmonies latent in her." and, nabokov goes out of his way to tell us that humbert also retains belief in those two other viennese sciences of pattern-seeking par excellence: phrenology (historically more inclusive a science than how we think of it today, and very much growing from and encompassing physiognomy, to which humbert makes at least one explicit reference and on which he implicitly relies constantly throughout the book) and mesmerism (encountered in this time period as the 'hypnotism' humbert speaks highly of numerous times, along with the fact that at the very end of the book he tells us that one pseudonym he considered using was "mesmer mesmer", a reference to franz mesmer).
this got me thinking about what nabokov was trying to convey by giving us this very clear picture of humbert as someone who, though hostile to psychoanalysis in particular, is generally not only amenable to this type of pattern-seeking and narrativising but often actually dependent on it. and then i thought, well, it's not really about order or patterns in themselves at all. what's at stake for humbert, and for us as readers, is the power relations underlying various discourses of social order, and the pattern of control thus enabled. humbert's problem with psychoanalysis is that it positions itself, however ineffectually, as trying to create subjects who are sexually 'developed' and 'healthy', which he encounters as being directly oppositional to his own interest in preying on girls, and his attempts to make dolores into lolita, whom he wants to be cultured and mannered rather than unruly—but the sense of rule and order needs to come from himself, not from the abstract and distant authority that the analyst speaks on behalf of. so, the critique of psychoanalysis is twofold. 1) analysts fail to see the danger of humbert or the rape of dolores even when it's occurring almost in front of them; but, 2) even if they were to perceive these things, what the analyst can offer is really just an alternate version of the same sort of disciplinary ordering that humbert tries to subject dolores to, only with the definition of order or normality or health coming from a whole social matrix rather than from one man. analogously, humbert can wield the threat of child protective services against dolores, because although it would remove her from his control, she would be at the mercy of a different source of violence, namely the state. in this way, of course, humbert's abuse and rape of dolores is not actually oppositional to but metonymic of these broader structures of violence, control, and coercion, which fits also with the way we can read his use of the father role as pointing to the violence inherent to the patriarchal family structure and specifically the father-daughter relationship.
this sort of interrogation of the relationship between institutional violence and coercion and humbert's rape of dolores is pushed even further, i think, when we consider psychiatry as a subset of medical practice, and medicine's role in the book. most obviously, there is humbert's use of psychotropic drugs in his attempt to rape dolores the first time; drugging her is something he previously fantasised about and practiced by administering sleeping pills to charlotte. but the book is also littered with medical intervention that humbert perceives as akin to, or symbolic of, sexual violation. when humbert visits quilty's dentist uncle, for example, he says that the uncle perceived his mouth as "a splendid cave full of priceless treasures", but that humbert "denied him access". his arrest he describes as "surrendering like a patient". describing the moments of "paradise" he experienced sometimes after raping dolores, he compares her to "a little patient still in the confusion of a drug after a major operation". this obviously recalls humbert's own willingness to drug dolores in order to rape her; however, it also suggests that there is a very real way in which medical intervention—frequently coercive, invasive, authoritarian, &c—is itself already a site of bodily violation and violence. once again, the institution or the social ordering of a relationship—doctor–patient, father–daughter—is an obfuscatory device. the relation creates and enables violence, then defines it out of existence. in 'lolita', humbert's ultimate use of this process is through the re-naming of dolores and his continuous efforts to force her to become the 'nymphet', a figure that replaces 'child' and re-defines her as seductive, otherworldly, &c.
i think this is also something nabokov plays with in humbert's and dolores's travels westward. humbert sees america generally as coarser, less well-mannered, and more unruly than the continent. thus, he perceives their travels as taking them outside the bounds of the social limitations and norms that could prevent or frown upon his rape of dolores: the school, the neighbours, and so forth. but this is clearly at odds with both his continued reliance on the father–daughter relationship in order to abuse dolores, and the fact that westward expansion never simply meant encountering a 'wilderness', but overruling whatever did exist before and installing the very social forms and institutions that, in the novel, enable humbert's rape and abuse of dolores: the state, the family, and so forth. in other words, humbert perceives his movement west as escaping some strictures of modern sexual mores and interference; in his mind, then, the 'conquering' of land is continuous with the sexual abuse of a girl. what nabokov points out is that, although humbert is not in fact 'escaping' into a wilder world, he is in some ways correct to perceive this broader project of expansion west as enabling rape, situated in the context of the broader violence of such expansion. for nabokov this can all be contextualised, i think, as part of the overarching centuries-long post-enlightenment discourses of ordering, controlling, and disciplining nature (which itself is often spoken of in the feminine), where humbert embraces and extolls such acts of discipline and control so long as he is their director, and opposes them only insofar as he perceives them as challenging his own authority—as in the case of his fear and disdain of psychoanalysis.
also: since you are the person who introduced me to tlt–lolita readings, i'm not sure if you've written about this, but it did seem to me like the narrative use of swordfighting in 'gideon the ninth' is expanding on how nabokov uses tennis in 'lolita'. i'm thinking of tennis as a measure by which humbert tries to discipline dolores, hence the emphasis on symmetry and, eg, his pride at having apparently taught her the "continental method" of retrieving a tennis ball with her racket/foot: again, trying to instill refined and ordered european manners over what he sees as her unruly american nature. in comparison, for gideon, refining her swordfighting and learning new techniques is essentially training her body to be first a soldier in the cohort, then a cavalier destined for the 'cannibalistic' death of harrow's lyctorhood. so, the way that humbert is trying to destroy dolores and replace her with lolita, gideon is being trained to become a weapon and a tool of empire (also re-named), with muir again suggesting that these forms of violence are continuous, can represent one another in a narrative, and exist in a causal relation where imperial expansion creates sexual violence. i also suspect there's a close read to be done here comparing the passages that describe dolores's movements on the tennis court to the ones in gtn focussing on gideon's and the other cavaliers' exact fighting techniques; i'm not sure what a person would find exactly lol, but i suspect there's something interesting there.
#ok sometimes when i post i feel like that pascal quote where he's like sorry i wrote you a long letter i didn't have time to shorten it lol#lolita
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A lot of stuff from @oldworldpoolhall, so settle in. Sorry this took so long.
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"Also your takes on Marika and several art and some… not so safe for work portrayal (ONE nsfw portrayal but it was so good i consider it close to canon) is making me want to make my own in regards to her relationship with the reader. I think like some of the earlier takes she was curious about you, you as a way to further cement her already founded rule over the lands between. A mysterious power, that’s what you were at first. But she did eventually grow to love you, especially if you interacted with her often and possibly called her out for her prejudice if you’ve witnessed it And like Idk it sounds better in my head but the thought that she grew to see you as endearing, someone who she is fond of instead of just an otherworldly guest. And well, she’s hurt by your accusations but she knows it’s true, she’s buried her omen children for being the way they were under the city she calls holy, under the city she built. My thoughts are a bit scattered atm but the main thought of this is that she eventually sort of inserts herself as a motherly figure. Because that’s what she was, a mother. A ruler first, a mother second. But a mother regardless. Marika subconsciously doing all she can to try and adopt you to the culture, to the way of the Erdtree, to the belief of fundamentalism. Is it a way to try and atone for what she did to her twins? For her children she could not help and keep because the tree and the age she herself ushered did not permit her to? Who knows? Again it’s a bit scattered in my head, but basically you’re the outlier. You’re like her, you’re not even from the lands between or anywhere else she knows, you’re no empyrean. She eventually realizes you are not under the will of the fingers at some point, maybe she sees you as her freedom, her only ticket to it when she begins to question the order she built throughout the ages. Even more bonus points if you’re capable of feats that no one there can do, maybe you’ve even subdued Malenia’s rot— though not freeing her entirely from it, you’ve helped save her from falling apart when her beliefs could not"
I do see Marika using reader as a way of making herself feel better for not being the best mother. I do think a small part of her loves her twins, but she has a duty as a god, and image to uphold, and I think with reader and Godwyn it's easier to uphold that image. When she realizes that reader isn't actually from the Lands Between she views reader as a way to reject the Golden Order without doing so outright, if that makes sense.
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"The only way I see it that the reader gets affiliated with the omens is by basically exploring too much of Leyndell, maybe they’d gotten too curious, this place couldn’t be all that sunshine and rainbows right? From the snobby nobles running amok the place, surely there must be something out there. And they do explore And they don’t like what they’ve come to find, they keep it to themselves for some time, hanging with possibly Mohg and Morgott— maybe just one of them if not both, and perhaps the other omens in the sewers they’d bring some food from the surface to. They keep their mouth shut, not really quite understanding why they all would be down here til the Fundamentalists or the believers of the Erdtree speak of Omens as curses. They begin to piece together things, that it was really just bad, and left a quite /sour/ taste in the mouth. Maybe Marika got a little too ahead of herself, a goddess she may be, but she’s not perfect. Not in the eyes of the reader at least. I feel like the admission to seeing all those horrible things are quiet. There is no yelling to be had, only cold disdain, and Marika’s cold glare against theirs as they try not to tremble under her gaze when they ask her how she could just do that to them, to the omens, to the children who did nothing wrong but simply be born with horns. It takes a while to shake her, and in those moments the greater will too began to dislike you. Not enough to kill you, not yet. Marika doesn’t really correct her way, doesn’t let the omen children out— what was she going to do? She was a woman of pride at the same time, she was a queen, and a puppet of the greater will. She does let you do things, let’s you help, let’s you go around and turn away from her beliefs maybe but not too much— maybe even warns you, digs her nails too deep into your shoulders as she hisses you a warning if you’re openly opposing to the prejudice. You have to understand that it’s how things simply work here. But eventually it sounds like she’s convincing herself more than she’s convincing you. You do end up gaining recognition as one of her children— it’s nothing new, she’s taken the others from the Carian lineage after all. You wouldn’t be too different. You’re recognized by her people anyways, but not the Greater will maybe."
Marika becoming defensive about the way she raises her children is very on brand not gonna lie. She doesn't need reader speaking out on why she does things the way she does. If reader does question her, it's probably the only moment when she wishes reader was a part of the Golden Order, maybe then it would be easier to raise you. Marika reminds reader that she is a god, and that she can do as she pleases, even if that really isn't the case.
Marika would be elated if people started viewing reader as her actual child, as apart of her lineage. I think she uses it as an opportunity to control reader a bit more, now that reader is in the public eye.
#yandere x reader#soft yandere#platonic yandere#elden ring x reader#elden ring#yandere elden ring#platonic yandere elden ring
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The Shadow of Khansar (Salaar Fic)
Part 8 - Dawn of a New Empire
Part 7 | Part 9
Note: Slight NSFW I think?
If Varadha was being honest with himself, he didn’t really know how they’d gotten to this point. The last vivid memory he had was of Deva being worshiped like a god in Mahit’s garden. Then the space cleared, leaving him and Deva behind as silence surrounded them like a blanket, unable to voice the emotions bubbling beneath the surface. The stillness continued to unfurl, shrinking and expanding in its journey, till finally they found themselves navigating an unexpected terrain, together yet alone.
Then came the days of battle, where they had gained and lost so much in the span of so little time. There were many moments of glory that brought the men together in celebration and fewer moments of loss. Those are what stood out the most at the end of it all, where soldiers mourned for their fallen comrades, their will to fight vanishing just as fast as it would reappear when the unquenchable desire for vengeance was reignited by Varadha’s rousing speeches.
Through many of those moments, Deva was physically next to Varadha, refusing to let any harm come his way. Yet, there was a fragile distance between them that he wasn’t able to give name to. Maybe he could’ve if he tried hard enough, but it scared him beyond measure to even consider it. Not when it had been days since they’ve felt each other… since they’ve held each other.
So, their army continued to fight. Varadha and Deva continued to stay at a loss for words.
Now they are here, in his father’s throne room: Deva holding his sword to Raja Mannar’s neck.
Varadha considers if he should be feeling more anger after their earlier interaction where his father expressed his disdain towards Varadha, how he regretted having him as a son, how he was a shame to the Mannar clan. Even now, Varadha knows he should be irritated as Raja Mannar refuses to dignify his presence by keeping his gaze firmly on the fuming outline of Radha Rama, his pride and joy, who stands by the entrance of the hall, unable to act. But at the moment, he feels nothing. So he gives the order and his father’s head rolls to a stop at his feet.
A few days later, the scene would appear in his sleep. He would startle awake and cry as regret consumed him. He would wish that he could somehow rewrite the past. He would wish he could’ve stopped his father from killing the Shouryanagas and that he could’ve preserved the loving relationship they had during the first ten years of his life.
That was to come in a few days' time.
Then it would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life.
For now, Deva removes the large bracelet from Raja Mannar’s arm and throws the husk of his father’s body across the room. Varadha doesn’t look, but he hears the corpse thud loudly against the wall. Deva steps to the side, gesturing for Varadha to take a seat on the throne marred by blood. He tries not to think too hard about the squishing sound that envelops him as he takes a seat… or about the barbaric scene in front of him, where so few people were alive to witness this hoax of a coronation.
“All hail to Khansar’s rightful heir!” Deva’s voice booms through the room as he holds up the thick bracelet. “Your Kartha– Varadha Rajamannar!”
Varadha hears shouts of joy from his soldiers and friends as they go down to their knees. The only emotion he feels in that moment is relief when he sees that his family is okay, bowing towards him with large smiles on their faces. Then his hand is lifted from its position on the throne and Deva slips the heavy band on his arm. Their gazes catch for a moment, grasping on with steadfast determination, forcing time to stand still. Varadha isn’t sure what Deva sees in him though, because within seconds, he’s also kneeling by the foot of the throne.
The only person who remains standing is Radha Rama, pure hatred oozing from her striking eyes, clouding the room in a dark fog that jostles Varadha to his core. He knows at that moment that he should let his guard execute her. That it would be the only way to quell the tempest that would approach in his future. Except, he’s sickened by the massacre and tired of how alone he feels in a position he firmly believed he wanted just a few days ago.
So, he continues to stare at her, unfeeling and uncaring as he waits for the inevitable consequences that will follow.
~*~
He doesn’t know how it happens, but within the next few days, the palace is cleaned up so well that there isn’t a trace of blood to be found. Even the streets are spotless, soon filling with the chatter of people milling about in their daily lives, the gore of turmoil forgotten easily. The change in atmosphere is enough to give Varadha whiplash, but there’s no time to ponder it for too long.
Preparations are made promptly for his official coronation. Amidst that and all the meetings with delegates to figure out the logistics of his court and new policy implementations, Varadha doesn’t have time to breathe, much less relax. Even the evenings, where he should technically be free, are spent holed up in a room with Baba and Mahit as they draw up plans for the future of Khansar.
When he does have time to let his thoughts wander, he thinks about Deva. Deva who he hasn’t seen or talked to in weeks. Not properly anyway. They would see each other during certain weekly meetings, where they would be situated on two different ends of the room, speaking no more to each other than was necessary. Then, Varadha would leave with his team to handle his duties as Kartha, and Deva with his own team to handle matters of national security.
With how much their army and people admired him, it was a no-brainer to appoint Deva as the Commander in Chief. At least it was to Varadha. The look of disapproval on Mahit’s face made it obvious he believed otherwise. He later approached Varadha telling him it was a bad idea to let Deva hold so much power over the whole of Khansar. His opinions on that particular matter were never brought up again after Varadha’s angry rebuke.
Finally, a few days after his coronation, Varadha catches sight of Deva wandering in the palace gardens and gives up on maintaining any semblance of aloofness. He pulls on a thin, black robe and makes his way through the wing, a single destination in mind.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” Varadha believed the question would come out sounding a lot harsher and a lot more annoyed than it did. He just sounds tired.
“You’ve been the one keeping me at a distance for weeks now,” Deva doesn’t even seem surprised by Varadha’s appearance, turning to face him slowly. “So maybe I should be asking you.”
“I haven’t been-”
“Don’t.” It’s the first time Deva has ever spoken to Varadha harshly, and it’s enough to stop him in his tracks when he hears bitterness layered beneath the word. “Don’t lie to me. You haven’t talked to me or looked at me the same way since that morning.” He runs his hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. “I was hoping we could fix it, but you gave me nothing. What was the point of trying after it became obvious that what we had was over? You made it obvious that it was time to move on.”
“Over?” Varadha flinches harshly beneath the moonlight, the pleasant breeze suddenly unbearable against his skin. Deva doesn’t say anything, staring blankly at Varadha and it infuriates him that he can’t read the thoughts running behind those charcoal eyes.
Still, the phrase is enough for a sudden barrage of memories to dance across Varadha’s vision. Every moment since that morning, seen in a different light than before.
Nausea begins to set when he thinks vividly of his coronation ball. It was nothing more than an event Baachi insisted he throw to celebrate their victory and build his network within the inner circles of Khansar. Yet, every time he would jump from conversation to conversation, he would catch a glimpse of Deva sitting in the furthest corner of the room. At first, he was alone more often than not, a relaxed set to his shoulders that signified to Varadha that he was happy not being bothered.
Then, at some point of the night, there was someone else. They were draped elegantly in a smokey, silver sari, thick hair plaited together in a braid that dropped over their shoulder, a bright red rose tucked into the top. They were introduced to him at some point as Ila, a journalist there to cover the event. Varadha didn’t think much of it then, mind filled with a checklist of duties to complete. But now, he remembered the way the two of them sat together the entire night. The way that Ila waited with Deva till the very end of the party, following him out the door…
“Moving on as in, you’ve been seeing someone else?” Varadha whispers into the darkness. Deva’s brows pull together.
“What?”
“That journalist from the party? Ila.” Varadha can’t control the sharp edge to his voice, his eyes narrowing accusingly in Deva’s direction. “Or if not them, other people? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“That’s not what–” Deva suddenly sucks in a sharp breath. “Hilarious coming from you when you’ve been attached to Mahit’s hip for weeks now. What right do you have to be mad at me?”
“Stop it,” Varadha takes a step forward, hands fisting at his sides. “I would never do that. I would never insult what we have by moving on the second there’s a bump in the road. I wouldn’t do that to you because I’m not capable of forgetting you as easily as you did me!”
They glare at each other, bodies wound tight with frustration as the sounds of night surround them. From far away, an owl hoots into the night, its melodious cry carrying gently in the breeze. Every so often, bats pass overhead, the strong beat of their wings echoing in waves around them. As the crickets chirp, uncaring for the plight of humanity, the fresh, green smell of the garden inhabits the space between them, imploring them to break their silence and join the conversations of night.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Deva starts, hands tucking into his pockets. “It would kill me, but I wouldn’t stop you from being with someone you deserve. Not when I’ve been a monster… and I don’t regret it for a second, Varadha. When I found out Rudra was the reason you got hurt, I couldn't think beyond that. I told you before and I’ll tell you again– no one is allowed to touch you, to harm you. If they try, they won’t make it a step past me. They both had to die that day.
“Then you came down that morning, and you didn’t know how to react. You didn’t know what to do. I never meant to put you in a position where you couldn't recognize who I was. Where you were scared of me. And I tried, I tried to come talk to you… but you looked at me differently than before and it broke me. I thought it’d be best to give you space, to let you approach me.” Deva shrugs. “You don’t owe me anything Varadha. I have no right to be mad. Regardless, I’m still on your side, I always will be. In whatever capacity you want me.”
The words ring strongly just as they did that first night between them. It takes all of Varadha’s strength not to drop to the ground. Instead he moves closer to Deva, coming to stand chest to chest, his hand gripping the arm with the tattoo.
“What made you think I was scared of you?” The incredulity rings strong. “I was taken aback because it’s always been too much for me Deva. Every time I start to believe I know who you are, that I know what your limits are, you do something I never could’ve expected. Every moment from the electrical shock, to Naarang’s head, to Rudra’s death… you go so far for me, and I can’t even begin to fathom why.”
“You know why.” Deva turns his face up to the sky, begging for strength. “There’s no one else for me but you, Varadha. Your name is carved into every inch of my being.” He brings his hand up to Varadha’s neck, pulling him so close that their bodies finally align, slotting together perfectly. “You are my sun and I am your shadow… I simply don’t exist without you, ra.”
“Deva, I–” Varadha gives in, finally understanding the extent of Deva’s devotion, and reaches up to press their lips together. The feeling of being able to do so after so many days makes his knees quake and within seconds, Deva’s arms are wrapped around his waist, supporting him. “I love you.” He allows himself to say it, to voice the emotion that has consumed him since he was a child.
Deva’s grip around him turns to vice, a strangled sound leaving his lips as he really looks at Varadha. Then he’s back to where he was before, devouring the taste of Varadha in the cold of night. He refuses to break, hands moving across the planes of Varadha’s body, re-exploring the length of him in fervor, and attempting to melt into him. By the time Deva pulls away, his thumb rubbing gently against his pulse point, Varadha’s pleasantly light headed, choosing to support himself by grabbing onto Deva’s bulging biceps.
“I love you too, Varadha. So damn much…”
~*~
“There’s a swing in your step today.” Mahit raises a brow at Varadha when he steps out onto the balcony for their meeting.
“What?” Varadha questions, blinking at the man through his sunglasses. “No there isn’t.”
“Mhm, could’ve fooled me.” Mahit doesn’t push him too much though, nodding at the seat across from him. “Anyway, I was going through the Nibandana and am worried that some of these regulations clash against a few of the laws we’re trying to implement. I wanted to discuss a couple of thoughts and concerns I had with you before my meeting with Krishnakanth and the legal team.”
They spend the next hour diligently looking over any and all issues, cross referencing them with the pages of notes they had taken down, before putting together a file of information for Mahit’s meeting with the legal team. Anand approaches right on time, bringing with him a tray of coffee that Varadha downs all too happily.
“Okay come on, now that we’re done with this, what’s with the sudden burst of energy?” Mahit’s lips quirk up into a teasing grin.
“Is it a crime to be happy, Mahi?” Varadha shrugs, looking away as he feels himself flushing lightly.
“No, not at all. Not when you look like this.” His eyes sweep up and down Varadha’s form approvingly.
“Okay, that’s enough of that.” Varadha rolls his eyes and sits up a little, fixing his posture to be less casual.
“Fine, your wish. But I hope you know I’m just telling it how it is. Happiness is a good look on you.” Mahit shrugs casually. Then he notices something behind Varadha and his face brightens even more. “Devaratha! Come, join us!”
“Baba’s calling you Mahit,” He responds dryly, coming to stand being Varadha’s chair. “Something about drafting the trade agreement with the Russian Bratva.”
“We did that already, I thought?” Mahit frowns, pulling out his notes and flipping through them. “Did he say what exactly about them?”
“No, just that he needed you.” Deva rests his hand on the back of Varadha’s chair and leans casually to the side. Mahit groans, standing up and grabbing the necessary files.
“Fine, feel free to make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done with Baba.” Once he leaves, Varadha turns to look at Deva, skepticism written on his face.
“I thought Baba was supposed to have a meeting with the Ghaniyaars today?”
“He does.” Deva shrugs, coming to stand in front of Varadha.
“Then what was that about?” He flicks his chin to the side, staring up at Deva in amusement.
“He was getting a little too comfortable with you,” Deva steps forward, leaning down to pull Varadha’s sunglasses off his face. “It was getting on my nerves.”
“Oh?” Varadha observes with open interest as Deva straddles him in the chair, placing the sunglasses off to the side, wrapping his arms around Varadha’s neck.
“Yeah…” Deva leans in, kissing him with teasing nips and licking between his lips. Varadha’s fingers dig themselves into the flesh of Deva’s hips, a low rumble forming in his throat.
“Not that I don’t appreciate this, but he’s going to catch us when he walks back in.” Even as he says it, he doesn’t really make an effort to nudge Deva off.
“So? Maybe he’ll finally get it into that thick skull of his that you’re mine.” Deva gently bites into the flesh of Varadha’s bottom lip, pulling it out slightly before releasing it. He watches greedily as the skin begins to swell, sensitive to the assault, particularly after the events of the previous night. Varadha meanwhile, swallows hard.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep Deva.” His hands lift higher, making their way to rest under Deva’s shirt, coming into contact with his warm skin. “If you’re going to show him I’m yours, I expect you to do it properly.”
Deva’s pupils darken and without further prompting, he tugs at the gray scarf wrapped around Varadha’s neck, peeling it away to reveal the love bites he had peppered on his skin earlier. He places soft kisses across the length of his neck, coming to nibble gently at his earlobe as he brings his hands under Varadha’s shirt to run his nails over the muscles of his abs. Varadha lets out a sigh of pleasure, tilting his head back against the chair and allowing for Deva to explore his body as he sees fit.
Deva slips himself out of the chair, getting to his knees in front of Varadha, who acknowledges the action by gazing hungrily at him from hooded eyes. Deva wastes no time in reaching under Varadha’s black dhoti, wrapping his fingers around his hardening cock to pull it out. He runs his thumb over the tip of Varadha’s head, leaning down to blow at it softly and bites back a smile when Varadha twitches with anticipation.
Deva begins to lick at the tip while his hands pump the length of his cock leisurely. He tightens his lips, inching his way down Varadha’s shaft, pulling back up before going back deeper each time. Soon, he’s bobbing his head at a rapid pace, his tongue exploring every inch of sensitive skin, lapping up pre-cum as the hairs of his beard scratch teasingly across the surface of Varadha’s dick.
Varadha moans at the feeling, fingers twisting themselves into Deva’s hair as he begins to thrust up into his mouth, impatient and desperate to chase his pleasure. Deva hollows out his cheeks immediately, allowing Varadha to take control and to use him for his own gratification. Deva begins to play with Varadha’s balls, tugging and squeezing, while running his other hand across the skin of his inner thigh.
“Fuck,” Varadha whimpers, his cock twitching between Deva’s glistening lips as he continues to shove his dick into the warm cavity. “God, Bangaram. You’re the only one who does this to me. You’re the only one who drives me crazy with need.”
Deva watches from below as the Varadha’s face twists with pleasure. His eyes are closed, lips forming a small O, and chest heaving with aroused breaths. Deva slowly swallows around his cock, savoring the salty taste of him against his tongue as he manages to pull another groan from between Varadha’s lips.
That’s when he catches sight of Mahit frozen in the room overlooking the balcony, shock painted across his features at the unexpected sight. Their eyes meet and Deva feels a burst of possessiveness overtake him. Instantly, he hollows out his cheeks further, taking Varadha so deep into his throat that his nose touches against his stomach. Two more thrusts is all it takes for Varadha to come crying in his mouth, falling back against the chair and swallowing heavily as he tries to control his breathing.
Deva meanwhile, keeps his gaze fixated on Mahit, swallowing the musky taste of Varadha, his tongue darting out to swipe away at any excess lingering on his lips. Mahit’s eyes snap to capture the gesture, his eyebrows furrowing for a second before he turns to leave the room, the door closing quietly behind him.
“Come here,” Varadha grabs Deva by the collar, pulling him back into his lap to steal eager kisses. He then buries his face into the crook of Deva’s neck, laughing to himself. “God, I love you. Do I tell you that enough? That I love you so fucking much?”
“I think you could stand to tell me a little bit more, actually.” Deva replies, a burst of happiness exploding within him upon hearing the words from Varadha’s mouth.
“I’m glad I have your permission, because I’m going to spoil you rotten with those words. I love you, Bangaram.”
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Kazui T1 Cover - Yowamushi Montblanc
How many of these until you're all tired of it? Well, we still have twelve to go after this one, so. Today's cover analysis focuses on Kazui's Yowamushi Montblanc! Very pretty souding song!
I can't bring myself to hope for it to be true
As I'm still not strong enough
In our contract meeting
Once again I will fall into you
Each and every of my pondering
Translates into only so many words
I loved you, but it's become too ponderous
Is that all there is to it?
(Translation)
The singer of this song has romantic feelings towards another person, but they struggle to confess to them. They don't think they're strong or brave enough to do it, so they 'can't bring themselves to hope.' Every time they meet, the singer falls in love all over again, but their thoughts (ponderings) aren't fully expressed (only so many words), so their love becomes too heavy to bear (ponderous = heavy). In particular, they're afraid of the other person's reaction to those feelings, imagining that they will react with disdain.
"You should just die this very moment"
Thus, Yowamushi Montblanc is about a person who is too afraid to reveal their own feelings, with 'yowamushi' meaning 'coward.'
...
Yep! That's Kazui! Alright, end post everyone, take care!
...
Okay fine I'll talk about it a bit more.
[Cat]
All those things I wanna do that I can’t say out loud
I gotta keep it inside and act
The beating of this heart… see… it’s no longer about good and bad… it isn’t
I realize the futility, but I still can’t help but dream
Yeah, honestly, if you had told me Yowamushi Montblanc was Kazui's Trial 3 song I would not have batted an eye. The theme of being too afraid to reveal his own feelings is extremely prevalent in Kazui's story, regardless of what those feelings exactly are.
(gay gay homosexual gay)
Hell, the guy even straight up calls himself a coward in half.
[half]
So many things I wish I hadn't known, I'm just a coward
In the song, the singer hides their feelings until they start drifting away from their love interest.
Who was it that I loved?
I can't remember despite all that time I spent
Now it's just fading away, out of my sight
Although I'm sure it's still somewhere right here
I can just forget about it it will disappear my own reflection
[...]
Yes, you are in my thoughts hanging in the air but you are slowly fading away, completely
And I can no longer tell you anything
This vaguely fits the lyrics of half, which commonly reference drifting away due to indecision and fear. Who Kazui is talking to in half is honestly a pretty good question, but for our purposes, it works particularly well if we assume he's singing to the bartender.
[half]
Only if your heart would change but that’s not possible
Please tell me what I should do, my heart will float away and disappear
Finally, the titular Montblanc is referenced in this lyric:
It's fine for it to be true since I can't go back
Or I will get scared again
This mont blanc is so sweet
I want to drown in its sweetness with my bare feet
The 'sweetness' likely refers to the idea of a relationship with the love interest, since the video has a lot of sweets as imagery of the singer's desires. And the snow of the mont blanc would be the sugar.
So 'scaling up the sweet montblanc with bare feet' would be revealing their feelings to enter a relationship and thereby taking in the sweetness unfiltered. The imagery of scaling a mountain makes it clear it would be demanding, but since the singer enjoys touching the snow with bare feet (touching the 'sweetness'), they would enjoy the process of putting effort into the relationship. Does that make sense? Again, it's not too hard to relate this to Kazui wanting to reveal his true feelings as well.
However, there's a bit more symbolism if you want to go into 'is this even intentional' territory, which I do. The mountain known as Montblanc is the highest mountain in the Alps and in all of western Europe, which again shows how demanding it would be to enter the relationship. However, the most common route up the mountain, the Goûter Route, is "simple and requires few technical abilities, but [...] it is also physically demanding, and may be totally exhausting to those with limited athletic ability." It's ranked PD, which I'm sure we're all aware is the second lowest difficulty for climbing mountains; not effortless, but very doable. Therefore, it is something most people can do without much difficulty, though naturally some people will struggle more due to physical limitations.
This makes sense in the context of the song, where scaling the mountain means engaging in a relationship. Society says being in a relationship is something most people should be able to do without much difficulty, but the protagonist does struggle with. There are several societal issues that converge in that point, but that's the main idea; the singer might feel insecure that they can't fulfill societal expectations.
...
Yep! That's him!
(T1) Q3: If you were allowed to do anything, what would you want to do?
K: I'd like to live righteously.
(T1) Q4: Do you think that your family is proud of you?
K: No. They must find me embarrassing.
Plus other stuff like this. Again, doubt I have to explain much further, Kazui's struggles to conform to expectations is another of his main character themes. One he shares with his prisoner pair partner, 08, who shall not be named lest I accidentally derail the entire post talking about her.
Anyways, that was that for Yowamushi Montblanc! Take care!
#milgram#kazui mukuhara#yowamushi montblanc cover#whole tag's burning talking about double#and here i am#vibing with my boy kazui
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Learning to Live Part 3
summary: You’re having a wonderful time on your second date with Javier when his ex interrupts, revealing details of his past in order to put a strain on your new relationship.
rating: E (18+!!! Smut in this chapter. Phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation (f and m), talks of creampies, heavy make out session, lots of kissing, hurt/comfort, a little angst (but we make Javi feel better), feelings, not Lorraine friendly.)
pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader
word count: 6500+
A/N: This takes place post-Colombia and S3, summer of 1998 in Laredo. As many of you guessed, Lorraine is going to make an appearance and she’s not kind. But do not worry, Javi will feel much better by the end of the chapter! I know this is so quick after I posted the last update but I had most of it written. Expect feelings and as a treat some smut 😏😏😏, because let’s be honest, Javi and Cielito can’t help themselves. I’ve got a minimum one more chapter and epilogue planned! Thank you for reading and commenting, I am loving the response to this series! As always, this is dedicated to my love and inspiration, @juletheghoul and shoutout to my beta, @invisibleismyname, who makes me a better writer and is the best. ❤️❤️❤️
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“Hey, Javi,” a woman said, Texas drawl strong as she stood beside the table.
You watched as the happy, genuine, smile on his face vanished, eyes closing for a second as he took in a deep breath, readying himself for the interaction, breathing out a whispered fuck. You saw the mask come over his face—the clearly forced smile, the tightness around his eyes, the crinkle between his eyebrows a little more prominent. His hands were clenched on the table as he turned his head towards her.
“Hi, Lorraine,” he said, tone a bit tight.
You wondered who she was and why she was making Javi so uncomfortable. You looked at her, noticing the nice clothes, designer bag, and big diamond on her freshly manicured fingers. You thought there was the possibility she was an ex, with the way he’d gone stiff—definitely not someone he’d want to run into while on a date.
“I’m picking up dinner for the family and wanted to say hi and introduce myself to your… lady friend.” She said the last bit with disdain as she turned to look at you, and your eyes narrowed slightly before you schooled your features. Definitely an ex, you decided. “Hi, I’m Lorraine.” She stuck her hand out to you, and you gave it a friendly shake. “I’m sure Javi’s told you all about me if he brought you here,” she chuckled.
You didn’t know what the implication of him bringing you to this restaurant meant, but you could tell from her demeanor that she wasn’t being kind.
“I’m sorry,” you said, putting on a polite smile. “I have no idea who you are.”
Lorraine looked like she’d sucked on a lemon.
“You must not be that serious if he didn’t tell you about me. I’m his ex-fianceé, the woman he left at the altar seventeen years ago before he ran off to whore around Colombia—Or wait,” her eyes turned towards him. “Is it whoring if you’re paying for it, Javier?”
You saw his eyes widen, and throat bob, panic clear on his face, and many things suddenly made sense—him not thinking he was good enough, the reputation, him constantly doubting himself, guilt. Anger was roaring in your belly that this woman would be so spiteful, putting him on the spot and trying to humiliate him all because he was on a date. You were having none of it, and Javi looked like he’d just been punched in the gut.
“It’s been gr—” he started.
“Wow, Lorraine,” you interrupted, and the other woman’s attention turned back to you. “I’m sorry about what happened to you, but it’s been seventeen years, you said? And now you’ve got a family and have clearly moved on, so I don’t get why you felt it was necessary to bring up those things in front of a stranger. It was a bit vindictive, you know? Makes you seem bitter and a bit jealous, which honestly aren’t great looks. But thanks for the information I didn’t ask for! Happy to say I’m an adult who understands that Javier is human, and makes mistakes like everybody else in the world.” You put on a fake, cheery smile. “It was so nice meeting you, and this has been such a great first impression! I’d like to get back to my date with this really great guy, who it looks like has been dodging bullets since before the DEA. Hope you enjoy your dinner!” And then you looked at Javi, your smile shifting into something real as Lorraine stood in your peripheral, her mouth opening and shutting like a fish, eyes wide, and face glowing red through the layers of makeup.
He was looking at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, and you could see him processing what had just happened, and then you watched his face soften, and a look of adoration taking over his features, and you felt yourself melt at being the recipient of such a look.
“It was nice catching up, Lorraine,” he said, not even bothering to look at her. “Like she said,” he paused for a second. And that made you smile even bigger. “Hope you enjoy your dinner.”
Lorraine turned on him, huffing.
“Fuck you, Javier Peña,” she seethed, turning on her heel and leaving, grabbing her bags of food from the front counter.
“She was delightful,” you said.
“That’s one way of describing her.”
You leaned forward conspiratorially, a look of mischief in your eyes as you smiled slyly. “Thought it was nicer than just outright saying she was a bitch.”
He laughed, a full belly laugh, that took him a good thirty seconds to calm down from.
“That’s a better descriptor,” he replied.
You put your hand back onto the table, offering it to him, and it didn’t surprise you when he took it. What did surprise you was how he leaned forward and brought your hand up, kissing the back of it, his eyes never leaving yours.
You gulped.
“Thank you,” he said as he sat back in his seat, laying your hands back down. His thumb was rubbing circles in your skin, and the look was back—the look he saved just for you. His eyes had softened, and the little smile he had on was genuine and sweet, making your heart pound in your chest.
“It was nothing,” you shrugged. “What she did was a real dick move. Honestly, I don’t blame you for leaving her at the altar. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with someone like that for the rest of my life.” He grimaced. “Sorry!” You said quickly. “That was insensitive.”
His free hand ran through his hair, messing it up slightly, as he sighed.
“There’s more to the story,” he said.
“You don’t have to tell me if it’s not something you want to talk about,” you reassured. “I can tell you beat yourself up about it—I mean for goodness sake, Javi, you hardly believe me when I try to tell you you're good. I know you’ve got a chip on your shoulder and some baggage, and Lorraine,” you spit out her name, making a face. “Just opened the suitcases and threw around all the contents.”
He huffed out a breath.
“She did. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. Sometimes there’s an ex that you avoid like the plague.”
He nodded.
“True. I want to tell you the whole story.”
“Only if you want to. I’m a great listener.”
He smiled. “I know you are, Cielito.”
And he told you about her.
Everything.
Spilled his guts, like he was confessing his sins.
They had dated in their early twenties, getting together in college, and when he had tried to break things off, she had told him she was pregnant—told everyone she was pregnant.
Her family is prominent in Laredo, having ties to local government, their fingers in many different pies, and when they heard the news, they pressured Javier into proposing. He did it because of the pressure and the way he’d convinced himself that it was the right thing to do. He was terrified. Scared shitless over the prospect of being a father and tying himself to a woman he didn’t love. The wedding was planned soon after the engagement, a big spectacle of an event her family had put together, and the biggest wedding of the year in Laredo. Everybody in town had heard about it, the guest list was astronomical, and then the night before it was all to go down, Javier was drunk off his ass, chain-smoking in his underwear, when he’d gotten a call from Lorraine: She’d gotten her period, she wasn’t pregnant. The moment he was sober enough to drive, he’d packed a bag, jumped in his car, and started driving, only stopping once he was a state away to call her and tell her it was over. He got a job with the DEA, and she met some guy in finance, got married, and started a family.
He had the chance to apologize to her years later, the first time he'd come back from Colombia. He thought they'd buried the hatchet, put it all behind them, and moved on. What had once felt like a huge chapter in his life, gradually became smaller—from a chapter to pages, pages to paragraphs, until now, it felt more like a word or two in the book that was his life. But that word still haunted Javier. It would always haunt him, showing up in new chapters, no matter how hard he tried to erase or forget it.
You felt for him, understanding he’d made a mistake, but at the time, he felt that he’d had no other choice—he had been put between a rock and a hard place, and the second he had a shot at freedom, he took it. You understood that there were better options to handle the situation than just disappearing in the dead of night, but he’d acted in desperation, and as you told Lorraine, he’s human, and he made a mistake that you know has eaten away at him since the day it happened. So, yes, it was a shitty thing to do, but it was also a really shitty situation where no one was going to come out on top.
He laughed humorlessly, hand running through his hair for the sixth time in the last hour that he’d been talking, his once nicely styled hair now a mess atop his head, he looked away head slightly ducked, almost in shame.
“After I’d apologized and she’d told me about how grateful she was for what happened, that we ended up where we were meant to, she said, ‘Can you imagine if we were actually married?’ And I… couldn’t,” his eyes met yours, a sadness shining through. “Hit me like a fucking truck that I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to marry me. I’m a grade-A fuck up.”
Javier felt like he’d revealed too much as he watched her face fall.
“Oh, Javi,” Cielito whispered. She got out from her side of the booth, coming over to his seat and sliding in next to him. He watched, taken aback as she moved under his arm to wrap her own around his middle and rest her head against his chest, hugging him tightly. He was surprised for a second, then found himself wrapping his own arms around her, resting his head atop hers, as he melted into the embrace. He had to admit it was nice after revealing so much, and he should’ve expected her to do something like this.
She moved her head to look at him, eyebrows knitted together. “Did someone say that to you? Why would you ever think those things?” She asked.
He sighed. His throat a bit tight as he spoke. “I could see the look on Lorraine’s face when she’d asked—saw she thought it was a fucking crazy idea. If the person who agreed to marry me before Colombia couldn’t see me as husband material, what fucking chance do I have now?”
His hand rubbed circles on her back, finding her being in his arms comforting. He hadn’t intended to bring up his past just yet, figured that was more of something that would come up a little later than the second date. Fuck, his stomach was in knots over everything he’d told her. He’d expected her to be disgusted by what he’d done to Lorraine. Worst case scenario, she’d just up and leave, never talking to him again. Instead, she’d listened intently, letting him get it all off his chest, and by the end, he’d felt like a weight had been lifted off him. There was no look of disgust, not even judgment, just curiosity, her eyes widening in surprise at certain things, and it made him comfortable to explain it all.
“Who cares what she thinks,” Cielito said.
“It’s not only that. Look at me.” His free hand ran through his hair, knowing it was a mess. “I’ll be forty in no time, I haven’t dated in over seventeen years, and I’ve done some really fucked up shit. Who would want to be with someone like that?”
She was frowning, her eyebrows furrowing even more. She made sure he was looking at her, her eyes boring into his with such an intensity he gulped.
“You’ve made mistakes,” her voice was even. “Everybody makes mistakes, and you can’t keep beating yourself up over your past. You told me what happened, and yeah, you could’ve done things differently, but it’s been seventeen years. She’s moved on, has a husband and kids, and yeah, she’s still a bit bitter, but what can you do about it? Nothing. You just have to live your life and let it all go.”
He frowned.
“But—”
“No buts,” she interrupted. “The only thing I agree with Lorraine about, is that you both ended up where you were meant to. You did so much good—took down cartels, for fuck’s sake. Javi, you’re a good man.” His face must have shown his disbelief. “Don’t give me that look. You are, and I’ll keep telling you until you believe it. She did a real number on you, and you feel like you need to atone for everything you’ve done, but you really don’t. You’ve done enough, more than enough. The past hurts, but you can either run from it or learn from it, and you’ve learned. A lot.”
He was processing her words.
“That’s very… inspirational?”
“The last bit I stole from a children’s movie, but I felt like it really fit the situation.”
He found himself laughing, and she smiled big.
“A children’s movie?” He asked.
“Yes. Lion King tackles a lot of very serious topics, and the music is so good.”
“The talking lion movie from what, five years ago?”
“Four, and yes.”
He shook his head, still smiling.
“I’ve never seen it. But I might have to.”
“It’s good! The moral of the story is to learn from your past, grow, and then move on. The past is in the past.” She shrugged. “We could watch it together sometime.”
She’d want to watch a movie with him? See him again after everything that had happened tonight? His eyes widened, heart speeding up—all the things she’d said finally hit him.
You can’t keep beating yourself up.
Live your life and let it all go.
You’re a good man.
You’re a good man.
You’re a good man.
He was stunned, mouth falling open. She was an outside perspective—had heard about his failed wedding, the informants, and the stuff he’d told her about Colombia, and still, with complete conviction, thought he was good. She thought he was worthy of her time—worthy to take a chance on when his past should be a glaring red flag, and yet, she chose to see the goodness in him.
Was he a good man?
He had a hard time believing that when the memories of all he’d done the past seventeen years rolled through his brain like a fucked up greatest hits reel.
The past is in the past.
It was time for him to move forward with his life and not dwell. If she truly believed he was good after hearing so much about him, maybe it was true in some way he had a hard time seeing. All that really mattered was she still liked him after learning about all of the mistakes. Fuck, she was too good for him—too perfect. How in the hell had he lucked out?
Without a second thought, his free hand cupped the back of her head, and he leaned in, pressing his lips against hers. She made a surprised sound, and he smiled, kissing her harder, his eyes closing as he lost himself to the feeling of her mouth against his. She swiped her tongue against his lips, and he let her in, moaning as their tongues moved against each other.
When they parted, they were both panting, Javi resting his forehead against hers.
“I’m not complaining,” she whispered. “But what was that for?”
He chuckled.
“You’re just… Fuck, you’re incredible, and I needed to kiss you.”
She giggled, and the sound warmed him.
“You’re adorable.” She leaned back, and he opened his eyes to see her looking at him. “I think we’ve put on enough of a show for Maria,” she said with a smile.
He looked past her at the teen still standing behind the counter, clearly pretending to do homework, when she chanced a glance at their table and met Javi’s eyes, her cheeks reddening at being caught. He looked back at Cielito, still in his arms.
“Yeah, it’s been very eventful.” He checked his watch. “And it’s close to closing. Let’s get you home.”
He pressed a quick kiss to her lips before moving to grab his wallet from his back pocket, thumbing through the bills before pulling out three twenties that would be more than enough to cover their food and leave a generous tip.
They got up, wished Maria a nice night, let her know how great the food was, and left the restaurant the same way they’d arrived: Cielito pressed to his side, holding his hand and hugging his arm as they walked down the street.
The sun had gone down, the street lights were glowing, washing everything in an orangish-yellow glow, and it was still warm out, typical for a June night. Many of the businesses they walked by had closed hours ago, the places dark and void of life.
Javier felt lighter, and that lightness brought an easy smile to his face; he was genuinely happy to be in the company of the woman on his arm, leaning down to press a kiss against the top of her head as they walked. The dread he’d felt upon seeing Lorraine, the horror of her spiteful words, and the anxiety of telling that tale had vanished with the squeeze of Cielito’s arms around him, and her words—calming, reassuring, thoughtful; a sweet balm to all of his worries.
He opened the truck door for her and couldn’t help himself when he stole a kiss after she got into her seat.
And before they knew it, they were driving down the road heading back to her apartment, his hand holding hers atop her thigh.
“I had a really good time,” she said.
He glanced over, seeing her smiling.
“Even with all of the shit that happened? I still feel bad. I know I haven’t dated in a while, but even I know that was a lot.”
She laughed, and Javi smiled, turning his eyes back towards the road.
“You would’ve told me at some point, be it the second date or the tenth; I know you would’ve eventually told me the story.” She squeezed his hand. “It was shitty of her to air all of your dirty laundry like that. I’m happy you felt comfortable telling me, though.” She brought his hand up to her mouth, kissing the back of it, and he looked over again, smiling.
“I would have told you. Wouldn’t have kept something like that from you,” he reassured.
She set their hands back down.
“I have zero doubts.”
His eyes were back on the road.
“So, you picture a tenth date?” He asked.
“Definitely. Preferably, without clothes.”
“Cielito,” he groaned, hand squeezing the steering wheel tight. “Torturing me.”
“Hey, I was on my best behavior while we were out.”
“You were…” He looked over at her. “You busy tomorrow night?”
Her eyes brightened as she shook her head.
“Nope.”
He focused back on the road.
“Would you like to be?”
“Yes,” she said quickly.
Javi chuckled.
“I’ll pick you up at six.” He was turning into her apartment parking lot. “Does dinner and a movie sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
He parked in the same space as the night before, and the memory of what they’d done had his jeans feeling tighter. Did the cab of the truck get hotter? He was beginning to regret wearing the leather jacket as he swallowed thickly. He knew her eyes were on him, and when their gazes met, he could see that her mind had wandered to last night, too—her pupils blown wide and biting her lip. He licked his own, and her eyes went to his mouth. He could feel the pull, wanted to crash his mouth against hers, touch her, fingers itching to feel her.
She must have seen the want, quickly undoing her seatbelt, Javi doing the same.
“Come here,” his voice came out deeper, raspier as he lightly tugged on her hand, and she came to him, mouth landing on his as she straddled his thighs. He groaned, hands running along her back, feeling her warmth through her dress, pulling her closer to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his tongue slipped between her soft lips, drinking in the moan that escaped her throat. She was all his brain could think about—the smell of her perfume, her body against his, her mouth on his—almost overwhelming him as they drank in each other, moaning and groaning, his hands wandering until they were under her dress, grabbing handfuls of her ass.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he said, voice muffled.
She ground her core against his straining cock, a groan rumbling from his chest.
“Fuck, baby.” He guided her hips against him. “Feel how hard you make me?”
He kissed along her jaw as they caught their breaths.
“If you keep this up,” she gasped, with another roll of her hips. “You’re going to make me come in your lap.”
His cock twitched.
“Fuck,” he groaned, holding her still against him. “Okay.” He kissed her hard, her hands tangling in his hair.
She lightly tugged to pull him back to look at her.
She had a knowing smirk on her face that made him gulp. “You’re positive you don’t want to come in?” She asked before leaning down to suck at the skin of his neck. He knew he’d find a mark there later. His fingers dug hard into the flesh of her ass.
“Fuck, Cielito,” he gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “One more date.”
She came off his neck, kissing his lips.
“I’m very excited for our next date.” She nipped at his chin, and he shuddered.
He looked at her.
“Me too. Hopefully, it goes well.”
“It will be great!” She said with a smile. “And do you want to know a secret?”
He nodded.
She moved her head to the side of his, her lips at his ear, her breath tickling it.
“When it’s over,” her voice was husky. “I know for a fact you’re going to get lucky. However you want me.”
His eyes closed as he gasped out, “Fuck,” his mind whirling with all the different things he wanted to do. His dick was uncomfortably hard in his pants, and he knew he would need to take care of himself when he got home.
His hands moved up her back before cupping her face, pulling her in for a searing kiss that had her moaning into his mouth.
He looked her in the eye.
“It will be worth the wait. It will be so fucking good.”
She was smiling.
“I know. Now, I think it’s time I head to my place before we get worked up again.”
He chuckled.
“God, yeah. Our self-control…”
“Is really bad,” she laughed.
Javi joined in on her mirth, and before they knew it, he was walking her to her door, the two of them pausing just outside.
She looked at him, a knowing smile on her face.
“I won’t ask if you want to come in again, because I know you’ll say no.” He smiled, ducking his head. “The only thing keeping me from begging is the fact I know what tomorrow means.”
He looked at her, smirking as he spoke.
“Yeah? You’d beg?” He stepped a little closer, and he saw her suck in a breath.
“Yes,” she nodded.
He cupped her cheeks leaning in until his mouth was hovering over hers.
“Then I’ll give you everything you want… tomorrow.” His lips met hers, soft and pliant under his own, her body shuddering when he deepened it. His hands moved down her back, over the soft fabric of her dress, wanting to touch more of her—to be closer, pulling her into him, devouring her soft whimpers and moans.
The kisses turned less fervent, becoming tender brushes of their lips against one another, just enjoying themselves, before finally pulling apart.
“And you say I torture you,” she said with a chuckle. “You kiss me like that and then leave?”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” He squeezed her ass, making her squeak. “And I’m just making sure you don’t forget me.”
“You’re a tease.” She leaned up on her toes to quickly kiss him. “I’d never forget about you, Javier Peña.”
He smiled.
“Good. Tomorrow at six?”
“Yes. I’m looking forward to it. Really, looking forward to it.”
“I am too. And thank you again for tonight. For everything.”
“Nothing to thank me for,” she said with a shrug.
“The fact you didn’t run, is something….” He looked away.
“Still not something to thank me for. Unless you’d done something truly unforgivable, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t have a chance.”
It was his turn to steal a kiss.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Cielito.”
“Will you call me when you get home? I just want to know you made it.”
He felt warmth radiating in his chest as his face softened, nodding.
“Of course.”
“One more kiss.”
“You’re asking a lot,” he chuckled but leaned in to kiss her, this time holding her face as he kissed her lips, forehead, both cheeks, and finally her nose. “Is that enough?” He whispered.
“Maybe just one more.”
“Anything for you,” he said, giving her one last kiss on the lips.
They parted, her turning towards her door and unlocking it. It was taking everything in him not to go to her and give in, follow her inside and not leave till morning. But, he’d told himself after the third date. She looked so beautiful in her dress, her lips kiss swollen, and happiness showing on her face. He felt like he was floating, because the look she had was because of him, even after all that occurred—after all she found out, she was still happy to see him.
She looked at him before going inside, and he could see her desire for him to join her, which made him bite his lip.
“Goodnight, Javi. I’ll talk to you in a bit,” she said.
“Goodnight, Cielito. I promise I’ll call.”
He could see she wanted another kiss, her eyes lowering to his own kiss swollen lips, and he licked them without realizing.
Fuck.
“One more for the road,” he said, closing the distance for one kiss that he tried not to linger for, but couldn’t help himself when it lasted over thirty seconds.
“Goodnight,” he said.
“Goodnight.”
They both had beaming smiles as they went their separate ways, Javi waiting to leave until after he heard her door lock.
The night hadn’t gone how you thought it would. You had a great time, of course, and had expected to learn more about Javi; you just hadn’t thought you’d learn that much about him on the second date. It wasn’t a bad thing, and your feelings towards him hadn’t changed. It had honestly explained a lot about him; you just felt bad he was put on the spot to share so much. Aside from the Lorraine hiccup, the night had been wonderful, and he wanted to see you again.
You did your nighttime routine with a smile on your face and your body feeling warm with the memory of being with him and his kisses? They were like an electric spark igniting a wildfire in your body, and you couldn’t get enough. Your panties had been drenched when you’d changed into your bedclothes—an oversized shirt and clean pair of undies—he just had an effect on you that was so exhilarating and exciting. He was wonderful company, a great guy, and he was sexy as hell. You sighed as you crawled into bed, waiting for the phone on your bedside table to ring.
Not even five minutes later, it was ringing, your heart feeling like it would beat out of your chest as you picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” You answered.
“Hey, Cielito, it’s me,” his raspy baritone made a tingle go down your spine, biting your lip. “Javi.” He added. “The guy you went out with tonight.”
You giggled. “You make it sound like I’ve got a roster of men. You’re the only one I’m seeing, Javi.”
“Yeah? Just me?” You could hear him smiling.
“Yes,” you nodded. “I don’t need anyone else.” A thought came to you, worrying your lip between your teeth, eyebrows furrowing. “Um, am I the only person you’re seeing? I mean, I know we’ve only been out twice,” you said quickly. “And you’ve said you haven’t dated anyone since, you know,” you didn’t want to say his ex’s name. “And I’d understand if you didn’t want to be exclusive—“
“Cielito,” Javi said, cutting you off. “There’s only you. I don’t need anyone else, either.” He sighed. “I haven’t been with anyone,” he paused like he was thinking. “Since before I came back to Laredo. Yeah, since before, and with the shit Lorraine said about Colombia? That was years ago.”
“You don’t need to explain anything….” You said slowly.
“I know, but I want you to know that I was careful back then, and I got tested before returning to the states. Clean bill of health.”
“So, theoretically,” you started, a smile turning up on your lips. “You’ve got a clean bill of health, and I had my annual exam two months ago, which also came back clean, you could, and again this is theoretical—you could fuck me raw? If you were comfortable with it….”
“Fuck,” Javi groaned. “Cielito, baby, do you want it like that? Want me to fuck you bare?”
You rubbed your thighs together to ease the sudden ache between your legs, feeling yourself dripping into your underwear. You were so turned on by his words.
“God, yes,” you moaned. Your mind whirled at the thought, imagining him inside of you, feeling him. The hand not holding the phone moved to your chest, teasing your hardened nipple through your shirt. “Want to feel you, Javi.”
“Fuck yes, baby. You can have me any way you want.”
His voice was doing things to you, the sound of it sending pleasure straight to your cunt, making you clench.
“Oh God,” you gasped. “I want you so bad,” you admitted. “Your voice, fuck, I could get off from the sound of it.” Your hand went from your breast, down your stomach, to your underwear, toying with the elastic band. This call was going in a different direction, and excitement was pooling in your belly.
His voice dropped a bit lower. “Are you wet, Hermosa?”
“So wet—been wet since you arrived at my apartment.”
“I need to take care of you, then,” he rasped. “You want me to help you come, baby? Want me to talk you through touching that pretty pussy?”
“Please,” you moaned. “Want you to touch yourself.”
“Fuck,” he groaned. You heard movement on his side of the phone, the clear sound of a belt being undone, and a soft gasp coming over the line after a moment. “I’ve got my dick in my hand. Loved how you got me off last night—can’t stop thinking about it. What are you wearing, baby?”
“A shirt and panties.”
“Take them off. Want you naked.”
“Okay. One sec.” You set the phone down and quickly stripped, tossing the garments haphazardly onto the floor before laying back down, head comfortably resting on the pillow with your legs spread. You picked the receiver back up. “I’m naked.” You ran your free hand down the front of your body until it rested on your mound, waiting for the next instruction.
“Bet you look fucking gorgeous. Can’t wait to spread you out and eat your pussy, make you come all over my face.”
“Fuck,” you gasped, the image of him between your legs making arousal spill and your cunt clench.
“You want that, don’t you, baby? Want me to eat you out until your legs shake. Rub your fingers through your pussy, feel how wet I make you.” You did as he told, running two fingers along your slit, making you gasp at the contact. You could hear the sound of wet strokes over the phone, and it lit a fire in you, knowing he was enjoying himself just as much as you.
“I’m so fucking wet,” you said.
“Circle your clit, just how you like it.”
You followed his order, fingers easily circling with the help of your wetness. You felt the coil building in your belly, eyes closed, as you let the pleasure build.
“It feels so good,” you said. “Are you stroking your cock? Are you hard for me?”
“Been fucking hard all night. I’m imagining it’s your hand on my dick. It felt so good when you touched it.”
“Yeah? I’m imagining it’s your fingers on me. So thick, making me come so hard.”
“Bet you’re thinking about how they felt inside of you. Do you need to be filled, Hermosa? Need something inside your aching cunt?”
“Fuck, yes,” you moaned.
“Push in two fingers, keep your thumb on your clit.”
You did as he said, gasping as your fingers entered you. It wasn’t like when he’d done it, not filling you the same way, but it took the edge off of your ache. You pumped your fingers, working your thumb against your clit. The coil was winding tighter, feeling yourself getting closer.
“I miss your fingers,” you said.
“I know, baby. Wait until my cock is inside you. Gonna stretch open that tight pussy. How do you want it? Soft? Hard? You’re going to feel me for days.” He was breathing harder, grunting.
You were getting worked up from his words and your fingers. “Want it hard. Want you to rail me so hard with that big cock it ruins me for anyone else.” Javi groaned.
“I’ll give it to you.” His voice was so deep, sending tingles through your body. “You want me to have you face down, ass up, making you scream my name?”
“Fuck,” you gasped, cunt clenching around your fingers. There was wet squelching as you pumped your digits, so close to coming. The images in your head and his voice were pushing you closer. He was grunting, the sounds of his stroking louder. “Want it like that,” you said. “Want you to make me come all over your cock, and then I want you to fill me up. Want to feel you paint my insides, make me drip for days.”
“Shit, fuck,” Javi groaned. “Are you close? Fuck, I’m close.”
“Yes,” you moaned.
“You can have my come. I’ll fuck it deep inside you. You want that? Want me to fuck you hard, wreck that tight, little pussy, and come inside? Leave a reminder of me?”
“God, yes,” you panted.
“Come for me, come on your fingers,” he grunted.
His order had you falling over the edge, coming with a wail of his name on your lips. You were floating in a state of euphoria, hearing him speak.
“I’m coming,” he gasped before groaning deeply.
It was quiet for a minute as you came down from your highs, both panting on the phone, your body tingling.
“Fuck,” he finally said. “That was…”
“Good,” you finished with a giggle. “So good.”
“It was,” he answered, chuckling. “We really get carried away, don’t we?”
“We do. Our self-control…”
“Is really bad,” Javi said, and you both sputtered into laughter, enjoying your orgasmic bliss and each other’s company.
You spoke after you calmed down.
“First time I’ve ever actually come from phone sex,” you mused.
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I’m happy I could get you there.” The way he said it, you imagined his chest was puffed up a little, and it made you giggle.
“I’m happy I could help you out, too.”
“I, uh, planned on thinking about you in the shower, but this was a lot better.”
“I was going to star in your spank bank material? Javi, I’m honored,” you said with an amused tone.
“Of course. Can’t get you out of my head. The truck still smelled like you on my drive home—kept thinking about tonight and last night, and fuck, how beautiful and amazing you are. Fucking perfect. Couldn’t wait to jerk off thinking about burying myself in your tight pussy.”
“Damn, Javi. You want to know a secret?”
“Yeah.”
“I was going to get off thinking about you, too. But let me just say, talking to you got me off quicker than anything I could’ve imagined.”
Javi chuckled. “It’s the same for me. What, uh, what would you have imagined?”
“This seems like a very dangerous choice of topic.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, looking at our track record, we’ll end up riling ourselves up again, and you’re only so strong, Javi. I don’t want you driving all the way back here at,” you looked at the clock on your bedside table. “Midnight, because you couldn’t wait any longer. Plus, little ol’ Mrs. Hernandez next door probably would not appreciate me screaming your name at this hour.”
“She’ll have to deal with it tomorrow,” he said matter-of-factly.
You grinned, arousal stirring in your belly.
“Yes, she will, and I’m going to make her an apology pie.”
“Apology pie?”
“Yeah, you know, a, ‘Sorry the walls are thin and you heard me getting fucked within an inch of my life’ pie. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
Javi laughed.
“Fuck, I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
“I can’t either. Some promises were made that I hope you’ll keep.” You bit your lip.
“You really want it without protection? I’m okay with it, but I don’t want to risk—”
“I’m on birth control,” you said quickly. “Take it religiously and would never want to pressure you into something you didn’t want to do.”
“It’s something I want to do… badly,” Javi said. “Half-hard just thinking about it. I’ll give it to you how you want—how I want. Fuck, I haven’t fucked without a condom since.” He paused. “I can’t even remember. God, Cielito, you’re going to be the death of me.”
You laughed.
“We probably won’t go outside for days. Just locked away in my apartment fucking our brains out.”
“Need to have food delivered.”
“I can cook.”
“Not sure if I’ll be able to leave you alone long enough.”
You giggled. “I won’t even be able to walk. We’re getting ahead of ourselves. We still have a third date. Dinner and a movie?”
“Yeah…” He seemed to weigh the word for a second, like he was thinking about the plan. “Dinner and a movie. I’ll pick you up at six.”
You snorted. “Each night, we’ve gone out earlier and earlier.”
“I just can’t wait to see you.”
Your heart stuttered, feeling your face warm at the sincerity in his tone.
“That’s sweet. I can’t wait to see you too. Tomorrow at six?”
“Yes, Cielito. I’ll be at your door.”
“I can’t wait. Javi?”
“Yeah?”
“What does Cielito mean? You’re always calling me it.”
“Mi Cielito. My little heaven.” He paused for a moment before speaking softly. “My little love.”
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#pedro pascal#javier peña#Javier peña/reader#javier pena x you#Javier peña/you#javier pena x reader#wheresarizona writes#learning to live series
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The Heart's Deceitful Lesson
Rating:
General
Relationships:
Raphael/Haarlep; Raphael/Male Durge (my character Cian)
Summary:
Raphael knew it had merely been a matter of time before the disdainful incubus would grasp a chance to betray their master. The attempt went wrong and now they will pay the price. But has there been more to the deed than visible at first view?
A prompt filled for @karneo 💕
(I'm always open for Raphael prompts btw, it just may take me a little time to answer them. 🥰)
Tags of importance:
Betrayal, Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Implied Torture, Injury, Blood, Fiends With Feelings
AO3
~
Betrayal always followed those on the path to glory, increasing exponentially with growing power. It came with inevitable precision to those aiming high and by no means disguised well enough to elicit his surprise, even less from the despicable, renitent creature who had resided in his bed for far too long.
Centuries, centuries of grudging companionship, spiked with their flaming hatred, with his own aversion for the distasteful gift, spiked with the bitter taste of their mockery, with his well-aimed punishments, spiked with unmatched understanding, glimpses into his soul he had granted against his better judgment, a connection that ran deep, even misplaced tenderness, an aimless longing, moments of heavy exhaustion caught and held in their embrace, all of it thrown away in the blink of an eye.
It was not the treachery that bore the true offense – he should never have ceased expecting it –, it was the execution of the attempt that bordered on an insult, an insult of his intellect and abilities and even of their hell-forged bond itself.
Hot blood drenched the fabric of his doublet. He had not bothered to heal the wound gaping near his shoulder, too many inches from his heart. What a poetic target, how deeply ironic the miss. And still, the defiant organ was throbbing and aching for the fragment of an illusion he had indulged in so inattentively, captured in their steady, familiar dance.
‘No venomous cobra's stab e'er stung,
Like nectared lies on a false friend's tongue.’
The bloody dagger before him tainted the dark wood of his desk and the deep, lush red mixed with the expensive poison it carried. Unfortunately for the traitor, his favorite client had filled his repertoire with a collection of no less efficacious antidotes only weeks ago.
The harlot had not left the house, he sensed them strong as ever; they did not attempt to run like the cowardly lizard they were and to escape and flee his vengeance, probably knowing with ultimate certainty that he would find them no matter which deep, dark hole they’d crawl into.
The moment of their attack lingered in him as if the dagger had never left his body, relentless and sharp, cutting much more effectively now in the afterglow than in the second of the amateurish attempt on his life: The swift shadow – invisible before –, it had drawn his attention away from his paperwork, the shining blade – darting towards his chest –, it had pierced his flesh with pathetic inaccuracy, his grip – fast enough to close around the fabric of their cape –, it had revealed his own fear-stricken face staring back at him.
They had swiftly retreated into the shadows and out of the room.
How long did he sit here already, unable to move, unable to fully process?
The cape lay useless on the floor, still smelling like their perfume. The cinnamon note, a calming scent to him before, now threatened to make his stomach turn.
Enough. His fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger. He needed to act. The anger he experienced felt oddly cold, like burning ice in his veins when he finally made his way to the boudoir.
He would not have been able to tell what he had expected. Haarlep with a weapon in their hand, ready to throw themselves into a desperate, hopeless battle? Haarlep on their knees, begging for his forgiveness with sickening sweetness, seduction on their tongue? Haarlep offering a worthless deal, trying to make him forget that all they got was already his and his alone?
What he saw, however, seemed almost surreal to him. The traitor lay there on his bed, relaxed, unimpressed, with a taunting grin on their face. Even after all this time glamoured to mirror his features, it never had lost the last luring, irksome (cherished? – he banned the thought as fast as it came) impact of their own underlying traits.
“You seem tense tonight, master.” Haarlep raised, smooth like a snake in disguise. “– Struggling with a disobedient pet?” Their eyes lingered on his wound with unconcealed hunger.
What game are they playing?
Haarlep left the soft mattress and moved towards him, each movement graceful and strong, not carrying a hint of fear. “Your body yearns for peace, to give in to the pleasure of letting go.”
And suddenly he understood, eyes widening: They were distracting him for a second attempt.
Wearing the smile still on their lips, they reached out for him – “Allow me to …” – and he raised his hand with firm determination, thrusting the dagger forwards, aiming for the target they had missed. The sharp blade sunk into their chest with gruesome ease.
“Enough of your insulting antics. You must have known the price.”
Their face showed … confusion?
“Raphael …” His name left their trembling lips as a rough rattle. “Why …”
Fire flooded his senses. They had the audacity?
He wanted to grab their throat, wanted to cut off their last treacherous breaths. In a reflex, he caught their body before it fell to the ground.
There was an ocean of pain in their eyes, so much of it not caused by the iron. Their claws sunk into his clothes and skin as if to hold onto him.
Not even now they show me a flicker of respect and stop their ridiculous farce.
His heart throbbed in the agonizing rhythm of their blood leaving their chest and tickling over his hand.
“Go now, sweet companion,
Fallen from grace.”
He spoke the words with somber calmness – betrayed only by the slightest tremor. His hand caressed one of their horns, their silken hair.
“Nothing keeps its rhyme or reason
When darkness claims your loved face.”
Their shaking hand reached out for his cheek, cupping it with unbearable tenderness that sharply contrasted everything that had happened within the last hour.
Haarlep grinned a strained grin, bearing sharp canines. It never had looked like his own.
He flinched when he felt a touch on his tail. Haarlep’s had entangled with his, squeezing in a last goodbye.
“Take care, little brat.”
Their features grew stiff. The grip around his tail loosened.
A watery drop met their lifeless lips and he needed a moment to realize it had been one of the tears falling from his eyes.
Captured in its grip, he could not bring himself to shake off the unacceptable weakness.
He was numb when he carried Haarlep back to the bed and placed them there as if they were sleeping.
A feeling in him grew louder and louder, like a constant rustling, now tearing on all his senses: Something was wrong. Entirely.
What had been a vague impression before became a sinister certainty.
He sensed … a presence, like a gaze on him, hidden from view, expecting to stay unnoticed there in the shadows.
Ice seemed to flood his innards when he cast a spell.
It can’t be true, it mustn’t.
But his hope, once more, got shattered.
His magic revealed the intruder: Red skin, majestic horns, sharp features – as if they had been ripped out of his aching chest. The younger, slightly adjusted version of his face was looking at him once more; as if Haarlep had never died, as if they weren’t lying cold and lost right next to him on the bed. Even their smell oozed from the vile creature.
Shock appeared on those stolen features, but before the intruder managed to escape a second time, he cut off their way to the door, gripped them by their shirt, and lifted them from the ground.
“Show yourself!” he demanded; voice sharp with bewildered rage.
They didn’t react, only made a muffled sound.
With unrestrained force, he threw them against the wall behind them. Stonework crumbled and they gasped in pain when they sunk to the ground. The magical disguise fell from their body and revealed ashen skin, long black hair, and two mismatching eyes looking up at him with heavy fear.
“No.” The word left his lips like a breathless gasp.
His little mouse, his favorite client, his occasional lover who had steadily made his way into his dealings, into his life.
The realization felt like someone had plunged him into frozen water.
“I had no choice! Let me explain!” Cian pleaded.
“You betrayed me.” The bewilderment even muffled his rage. “After everything. You betrayed me!”
“No! That’s not true! The attack …, I, I aimed at your shoulder, made sure you would have the antidote at hand! It was an act, but an act based on an important truth. You needed to finally believe it! The spying incubus was the one who would have betrayed you, rather sooner than later but in a far more dangerous way than the one I have staged! You didn’t want to listen! But I have proof! If only you let me …”
“You made me kill them.”
The full extent of the deceit, of what the mortal had done, it seemed to resist reaching his mind.
“I showed you something you would have seen anyway! Eventually! And then maybe you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to react!”
With three forceful steps, he reached the kneeling drow, gripped his hair, and ripped his head backward. He could snap his neck or cut his throat in an instant. But no. No. He would not experience the relief of death. Oh, beg for it, yearn for it, but he would keep it just out of reach for him.
“Not so much a mouse than a rat.”
Cian looked up to him, not struggling against his fate. Not yet. But he saw tears shining in his eyes. The first of many to follow.
“Raphael ..., I did it for you.”
Everything in him grew hard.
“No venomous cobra's stab e'er stung,
Like nectared lies on a false friend's tongue,” he said quietly.
With a flick of his fingers, he brought him to a room that would serve as his prison until he’d have worked out some more specific, significant details for him.
“Please, let me show you what caused my decision!”
“Better by far the deadliest foe
Who does not fail to let you know”
An expression of resignation overshadowed Cian’s face when he roughly let go of him and turned around without another word. The peculiarities of his new chamber would suppress the sorcerer’s magic.
“He is your foe, nor does it smart,” Cian answered, a deep sadness in his voice,
“As badly, when he rends your heart.”
Raphael didn’t turn around to him again, the chaos in him too strong to withstand it any longer in the presence of the traitor. Instead, he clicked his fingers once more, leaving the room behind.
#raphael bg3#bg3 raphael#raphael#bg3#haarlep#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate#baldur's gate raphael#dmagedtexts#my writing#faustian bargains#bg3 spoilers#The Heart's Deceitful Lesson#my ocs#oc: cian
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Break My Legs | jjk
Break My Legs
— You were supposed to be having a good morning with your boyfriend, damn it.
Word Count: 1,412
Content/s: established relationship, good mornings rawr, jeon jungkook being a menace, fluff, suggestive content (sweet and spicehhh 🤪💅✨)
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader
[masterlist]
A/N: just sumn short and simple for y'all 💘💖💓💞💓 it was late when i started this and i was reading a jk fic that made me all giggly ok AJDSJASDJ i hope y'all enjoyed!~
Mornings are not too bad, if you do say so yourself—a fresh start to a brand new day, even if you did poorly spend the night before getting a not-so-proper rest. Waking up to a certain hunk of a man's cuddles and sweet kisses is not too bad, either.
Ever the little shit he is, Jeon Jungkook spends the first minutes of his day peppering your face with ticklish kisses, hitting you with a double combo as he sneaks his fingers underneath your (his) shirt to attack your sides as well. "Rise and shine, jagi," he beams as you burst out laughing from his antics.
"I'm up! I'm up!"
There's a grin on Jungkook's lips, something wolfish and mischievous, as he finds your squirming and giggling absolutely delightful. And just because he is such a generous, awesome, fantastic boyfriend, he rewards your futile attempts to pry his hands off of you with more kisses, his hands meeting their end intertwined with yours.
"You're insufferable," you whine, trying to catch your breath.
Above you, Jungkook only grins, booping your nose with his. "And yet you love me."
"That, I do," you breathlessly chuckle before he plants a particularly lingering kiss on your lips. There, an enamored smile blooms as you indulge yourself to kiss him more by threading your fingers through his hair, a tug or two melting your boyfriend more onto you with blissful groans.
An inked hand welcomingly gripped your thigh close and tight when it came to hook over his hip, while the other tantalizingly sneaked beneath your shirt yet again, albeit for a different reason. Your heart races as the playfulness fades away, leaving a small yet growing fire in its place.
Knowing well that time was at his disposal, Jungkook lets his mind go hazy at simply kissing you as you relish the feel of his lips all the same. His hands go to and fro between soft brushes and greedy kneading, drawing out his favorite noises from your lips.
Alas, some time between cuddling in each other's arms and getting drunk in morning kisses, your phone comes crying out for your attention from the nightstand.
With your fogged mind, you barely managed to get a grip on the phone, aided by Jungkook with a chuckle as he pulled away from your lips. Forgetting to even look at whoever it was that disturbed your precious moment, you mustered a garbled hello to who was on the other end.
Lee Janhee, a junior co worker working with you in this project, hastily introduces herself. "(Y/N), I'm really sorry to call you like this," she profusely apologizes immediately after, "but something happened to the project…"
"What?" you ask, the word breathy and absentminded as you've yet to fully grasp the situation at hand.
In your defense, it wasn't entirely your fault. With your lips unavailable for the taking, your boyfriend has half the courtesy to occupy your neck with kisses instead.
Janhee's hesitation eats up your time and patience, but just as you were about to ask her again, she finally tells you the reason she called. "Part of the files are gone," she squeaks in one ramble.
"What?!"
The words your co-worker delivered from the other line was the water bucket that put out the flames within you, which was a shame really—you really liked how heated the moment was getting. From the obvious disdain in your voice, Jungkook's lips detached themselves from the crevice of your neck, pulling away to look you over as the expression on his face turned from blissful to confused.
What happened?
His wet lips mouthed those words to you, as his fingers lazily drew shapes on your thigh after loosening the tight grip it had on it earlier.
You brush his hair back, giving him a fleeting reassuring smile instead as your co-worker goes on to explain how dire the situation at the office had gotten. "Please, (Y/N)," Janhee begs, "we really need as much help as we can to get everything back on track."
There's a frown seizing your lips as you sit up from the bed. "It's my day off, Janhee," you tell her with a sigh, though you understood her concerns very well. Your team for this project was small, and you know your boss would give everyone an earful if this one goes awry.
"I know, I know," she sighs, guilty, "but you know the presentation is on Monday, and we need to recover as soon as possible."
Frustration marrs your face even more. You were supposed to be having a good morning with your boyfriend, damn it.
"Alright, alright," you relent, "give me an hour."
"But—"
"An hour, Jan," you firmly tell her, "I'll be there, I promise."
With that, you hang up the call with another sigh. Jungkook, who had rested his head onto your shoulder, waits for you to deliver him the news. (Though he already had a hint of what it was about to be)
You bury your head into his neck, not really in the mood to leave in spite of having to. "Break my legs," you grumble into his skin, eyes closing to savor the last of your remaining free minutes.
"What?" he laughs, nonetheless welcoming you cuddling into him. "Now, why would I do that, jagi?"
A sigh comes from you again as you pull away from the embrace. "We have to fix something in the office. Some idiot got the files corrupted and now we either have to do everything to recover them or do them all over again," you grumble, looking down at the fabric of his shirt that you were fiddling with. "What a fucking mess."
The long weekend of relaxing the two of you had planned ahead was now cut shorter to make room for the work mishap. If you had a valid reason to, you could forgo going to work.
"Break my legs so I don't have to?" You pout, jokingly pushing the morbid concept again to be your excuse. Shitty, but it would be effective, right?
Jungkook chuckles and pats your head assuringly, his smile turning into a wolfish grin. "I don't have to break your legs to keep you from walking away from here, jagi," he boldly declares with a kiss on your jaw, his hot breath fanning at your ear enough to reignite the spark of a fire within you.
Your lip is snagged beneath your teeth as you hold back a moan. This is bad. You were going to be very late, if you don't stop here and now.
Deciding to be a responsible adult, you cup his face to push him away. "I really have to go though," you frown, squishing his cheeks as you lean your forehead against his.
Jungkook presses a fleeting kiss on your nose. If he was upset, he didn't let it show. "Hm…" he muses, the noise somewhat between a hum and a whine. "Alright."
"So sorry, Koo," you mumble, staying in his arms a little longer.
Alas, you eventually had to get out of bed and into the shower. Maybe it was you being petty, or you having not much energy left at all, but you barely lasted long in front of the mirror, face armed with only sunscreen, lip balm and some brow work.
After throwing on a blouse and a pair of black slacks, you found yourself going out of the bedroom. “Hello, good boy,” you coo at the Doberman padding his way towards you. Bam greets you happily, the sweet dog circling you with a wagging tail as you head to the kitchen and see Jungkook fixing you a breakfast sandwich to grab with you on the go.
Heart melting then and there, you allow yourself to wrap your arms around him. "I’ll get going," you say, lips puckering for a peck of his lips—one he happily gives twice for good measure. "I'll be back as soon as I can, promise."
Watching you give Bam the last of your minutes to spare, Jungkook lightly hums at your words, not too upset with being left to himself for a while when his schedule for the week assured him of plenty of free time. "I'll be waiting," he sweetly muses, doing well to ease your guilt because he knows you've gone through worse waiting for him. "Love you."
"Thank you," you grin back at him as you take the breakfast he hands you and give him and Bam one last smooch. "Love you, too."
There was a cheeky grin on his face as he waves at you on your way out the door.
"Break a leg, jagi!~"
𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 : @mwitsmejk @dreamamubarak
#something wholesome yet spicy for yall#bts imagines#bts drabble#bts writing#bts fluff#jeon jungkook imagines#jeon jungkook fluff#jeon jungkook x reader#bts scenarios
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The Shadows Which Fire Throws
Summary: Thorin thought he had lost everything when the dragon came and forced the dwarves of Erebor out of their homeland, but when his brother Frerin perishes in the climactic battle in their years-long war against the orcs, Thorin discovers the true meaning of loss.
A few years after the Battle of Azanulbizar, Thorin travels from village to village, seeking work as a blacksmith so he can help support his family. One day, he catches young boys playing near the forge, and the sight brings back memories of his childhood in Erebor and his brother, whom he misses dearly.
Relationship: Thorin & Dís & Frerin
Rating: G
Word Count: 2.5k
A/N: This is my entry for @thorinsspringforge! Thank you to my amazing friend and partner for this event @lathalea for all your support and feedback. She created a wonderful moodboard (see above) for the event, so make sure you give her some love for that❤️
The fire of the forge burned in Thorin’s eyes as he swung the hammer down on the anvil with such force that he felt the blow reverberate through his body. Another day of work. Another day of enduring suspicions from Men. The skills of the Dwarves were revered in all Middle-earth, but the Dwarves themselves were looked upon with disdain—like a foreign curiosity that did not belong in this part of the world.
Thorin, once the heir to the most powerful kingdom of Dwarves, was now forced to wander the villages of Men and beg for work. An ache stabbed his chest as the sight of Erebor returned to his mind, unbidden. The halls bathed in golden light. The roaring fires and the songs of the blacksmiths echoing through the forges. Thorin tried to banish the memories by focusing on the task at hand—by reminding himself that he was but a blacksmith now and Erebor was lost, but that only reminded him of just that—everything he had lost. With each blow of the hammer, images of his homeland tore at his soul. But working as a blacksmith was the only way he managed to feed his family, so he swallowed back the pain and carried on.
It was spring now—but that hardly mattered. It was always warm in the smithy, and Thorin cared not for the little things which made the passing of seasons so marvellous to ordinary folk. Leaves turning to fire and gold and coming to rest on the forest floor. A blanket of glittering snow enveloping the land. Flowers waking from their sleep, bathing in the morning mist. It only reminded him of how quickly his life was slipping by him. And Thorin did not want to be reminded of that.
Outside the dark smithy, the village carried on as it always did. Farmers visiting from nearby lands and stopping at the dilapidated inn around the corner for a pint or two. Carts rolling on the muddy streets toward the market, where bakers and butchers and even a weaver or two sold goods to their neighbours. Travellers seldom stumbled upon this corner of the world. It was forgotten. A mere shadow of what it had been in days of old.
Just like him.
On the other side of the narrow street from the smithy was a group of young boys. They were playing a game involving dice Thorin knew from his childhood. Thorin found that fascinating—how children of different races, in all corners of the world, played the same games—but he might have found more joy in the sight if it did not remind him so much of his late brother.
Frerin had been such a lively boy, always pranking his siblings—and unsuspecting adults. Always smiling and laughing. Thorin supposed he must have been that way, too, once. At least, that was what the stories his mother had recounted and his memories told him. But he often felt like those memories did not even belong to him. They belonged to another life. And now, only the cracks in his heart remained as proof that once, he had been that young boy. Full of life. Full of hope. Even his body sometimes did not feel like his own. His mother used to say that there was honour and glory to be found in scars, for they marked a warrior’s victories. Thorin’s body was a map of all the fights he had survived, yes, but there was nothing glorious about it. It was a reminder of all the people he had lost—all those he had failed to protect.
The sun was rising, lighting the mountains on fire, as the dwarves made their final approach toward the Dimrill Dale. Toward the last battle of this terrible war that had already cost them countless lives. The other houses of dwarves had sent troops to aid the Longbeards from all corners of Middle-earth. Before they marched upon the gate, King Thrain spoke to the soldiers ahead of the battle. He spoke of avenging the late King Thrór, Thorin’s grandfather, and of reclaiming the halls of their forefathers. He spoke of honour and glory, but as Thorin glanced back at Frerin, all he could think of was to protect. His brother was far too young for war—too young for all the atrocities the world had thrown at him—but it was too late.
Thorin instructed Frerin to stay by his side. He promised he would keep him safe, but even as he spoke, he knew he did not have the power to make such a promise. Only Mahal could have saved him then, but that was not as reassuring to the exiled prince as it once would have been.
But Frerin smiled back at him. He was afraid, but he was even more determined. Durin’s folk do not flee from a fight, he had said, speaking the ancient words of their house, which their father had so often spoken to them in their youth.
The swoosh of a blade. Splashes of blood. His sword stained black. It reminded him of a quill dipped in ink before it is thrust into parchment by a poet to write words celebrating life and love and beauty. But this was no such tale.
This was a tragedy.
He remembered being a young boy in Erebor, standing in the training grounds, his brother and sister at his side. Always at his side. Together, they mastered the sword, the axe, the bow, and all other such arts their teachers deemed fit for the heirs of Durin to learn. Back then, it had all seemed like a game—a game with no real consequences other than a few bruises the next day. A game at which you always got a second chance. But as the battle drew on and the bodies piled up around him, Thorin knew this was no game. There would be no second chance.
When the first scream tore through the air, Thorin’s blood froze in his veins, and he felt the blow of the mace as though it had struck his own chest. With a deafening cry that could have brought down the mountains from Angmar to Methedras, Thorin tore through the orcs to stand between his brother and his enemy and raised his shield to cover them both. A pale orc with scars carved deep into his twisted, evil face looked down at him. Thorin used all the strength remaining in his body to defeat the orc, not stopping even when his shield was ripped from his hands and he was forced to defend himself with an oaken branch. And by the time Thorin defeated the orc and he could rush to his brother’s side, it was too late.
The snow-covered ground was soaked with blood.
Thorin remembered running through the forest just outside Erebor as a young dwarf, trying to catch up to Frerin and Dís. It was a game; he would close his eyes and let them hide, and then he would have to find them. Thorin was getting old for such activities, but he could never refuse his siblings. The air smelled of bluebells and cornflowers, and golden beams of sunlight snuck through the green canopy overhead, lighting his path deeper into the woods. That day, Thorin was having more trouble than usual finding his siblings, but he was not worried. He could hear their muffled giggles, telling him they were not far, and Thorin knew that no matter the obstacles, they always found their way to each other eventually.
Frerin always came back to him—until now.
When the wicked worm attacked Erebor, desecrating their fathers’ halls and robbing them of their home, Thorin thought he had experienced the most terrible tragedy. But as he stood in the grave that had become Azanulbizar, holding onto Frerin’s limp, lifeless body, he finally understood the true meaning of loss. His tears mingled with the blood and dirt on his cheeks. He looked up to the cloudy sky; the moon was hiding that night, but a few stars looked upon the desolation. Was Mahal up there, watching them? If he was, why did he not help them? Had one of Thorin’s ancestors offended Mahal somehow, and thus doomed their line forever?
When, many hours later, Thorin was forced to bid his brother farewell, he took from his belt a dagger, and as his blood-stained hand wrapped itself around the hilt, he vowed to carry it with him for as long as he lived. Thorin wished Dís had been there, for he truly believed that the three of them together could face anything. They could have protected him together, just like when they were innocent dwarflings.
“Thorin?”
A gentle voice, like the melodious singing of the first birds in spring, pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked up from the anvil to find Dís standing in the doorway, the golden light of the setting sun making her silhouette glow. A soft, sad smile tugged at her lips as she watched him uncertainly.
“What are you still doing here, brother?” she asked. “Night is falling.”
“I must have lost track of time,” Thorin replied absently, trying to chase away the memories still floating in his mind, to no avail. “I will join you in a moment.”
Dís nodded, and as she turned around to wait outside, the silver beads in her raven hair and beard gleamed in the last rays of the sun, and Thorin was reminded of how the sun used to shine upon the highest peak of the Lonely Mountain.
When Thorin stepped out of the smithy some time later and locked the door, night had fallen. Only a thin stream of gold peaking over the horizon remained.
“Will you tell me what is on your mind?” Dís asked hesitantly.
Stone walls. The hard floor of the training ground as laughter echoed all around him. Pine needles burning under the dragon’s fiery breath. His shield crashing against the bloodied rocks.
“I was thinking of Frerin.”
A shadow fell over Dís’ fair face, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. They had rarely spoken of him since the war. In the months following Azanulbizar, all had wept for Frerin, but the pain was too great, and his memory became a wound that refused to heal. His father had always buried his emotions, and with time, Thorin decided that he must do the same. That was the only way he could survive this agony. And now Dís was married, and soon she would have her own family, so it did not feel right to burden her with his grief. It did not feel right to taint her new life with the horrors of the past which refused to let go of him. As such, he was not sure why he uttered their brother’s name on this spring evening, as night swallowed the village in its blue cloak.
“I miss him terribly.” Dís admitted after a long moment of silence, her voice low, as though she was afraid to speak those words. She surprised Thorin again when she said, “Do you remember when we were children, how the Mountain would sometimes wake and Amad would sing to us to comfort us?”
Thorin remembered; as a child, the tremors had frightened him, for he had not understood them. His mother would wrap her arms around all three of them, and her voice would banish all evils lurking in the depths of the Mountain. He remembered her fair voice—so similar to his sister’s—and the gentle touch of her hands against his shoulder. He would have smiled at the memory if it did not hurt so much. He desperately wanted to stop talking about it, but he owed it to Dís, whom he had disappointed too often. Despite the tears clouding her vision, she seemed to derive comfort from the memory.
“Of course, I remember. You would press your little body against me and I would not be allowed to let go until you deemed it was safe—and that often meant holding you until you fell asleep.”
Dís smiled wistfully, and when she reached out for his hand and leaned her head into his shoulder, Thorin momentarily felt once more like a young dwarf whose only heroic feat to date was chasing his sister’s nightmares away.
Dís went on, her voice heavy with emotion. “When her singing was not enough to comfort me, I remember her telling me that as long as we had each other—you, me, and Frerin—then all would be well.”
The scream. The blood. His brother’s eyes looking back at him for the last time.
“I am so sorry, Dís. It is all my fault.”
His sister’s misty eyes sought his gaze in vain. “You did everything you could to protect him.”
If he had, Frerin would still be here. Thorin had failed him—he had failed them both.
Dís’ sniffling pulled him back to the present, and though Thorin barely had enough strength to maintain his composure, he pulled his sister into his arms and held her tight, hoping he could offer her the comfort he sought so desperately.
“Even after all this time, I hate myself for not having been at his side. Perhaps things might have turned out differently….” She shook her head. “But I was not, and we cannot change the past. So I beg you, brother, do not torture yourself needlessly. I cannot bear the thought of you suffering in silence.”
“And you need not worry yourself on my account. I am fine.”
Dís looked up at him and raised her eyebrows, knowing it was a lie. She was silent for a moment; the wind tore at her blue dress, and in her eyes, the light of the stars and moon shone brightly. “No matter what happens—no matter how much our lives may change—I will always be there for you, Thorin. Please do not ever doubt it. I could not save Frerin, but I am at your side. Always.”
A wistful smile lit up his tired face. He remembered when Dís was born. A storm raged on all day, but as night fell and her cries filled the royal chambers, the sky turned quiet, and the pale light of a crescent moon shone upon the mountain. He remembered, too, how her presence never failed to brighten even the darkest of days. Even after the dragon stole their home and they wandered through the wilderness, cold, starving, and exhausted, Dís could make anyone laugh. She could make anyone feel like there was a reason to keep going—like there was a reason to keep living. She was always the strongest of Durin’s heirs, and now, as Thorin pulled her into his arms, a weight was lifted from his shoulders. A weight that he had been carrying for longer than he could remember.
“And I am at yours, dearest sister.”
Her smaller hand took refuge in his as they walked in silence the rest of the way. High in the sky, a crescent moon illuminated their path.
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