#yes there is a story behind the claw thing but i wanted this one to stay (mostly) light
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The twins visit Hallima at their Island Sanctuary
“So, an Island, huh?”
Alisaie’s voice carries across the beach easily, muffled only by the gentle rolling tide, still low at this time of day. Birds call in the distance, and Alphinaud hefts his bag a little higher on his shoulder.
“So it seems. For being a hero to all the realm, or simply being on Tataru’s good side, I wonder?”
“Both.” Hallima strides down the rough stone walkway to greet them, grinning widely as they turn to face him. Both twins light up with equal delight, shucking their bags to wrap the former adventurer in tight simultaneous hugs. “Miss me?”
“Always!”
“Of course!”
The twin exclamations were tied in fervour, differing only slightly in tone. Hallima ruffles their hair and then bends down to return their hug with enthusiasm.
“You picked a great day to come,” Hallima says when they pull back. “It’s been raining all week, I was worried you might arrive to nothing but squalls.”
“As if we haven’t dealt with worse.” Alisaie snorts.
“Indeed.” Alphinaud nods. “Though I will admit that some nice weather shan’t go amiss either, after months of Garlemald's unending snows. And hearing all about your exploits in farming, I’m quite eager to see the fruits of your labours myself.”
“How has Island life been treating you?” Alisaie asks. “Your letters painted a fair glowing picture, but forgive me if I wish to hear it from the dragons mouth.”
Hallima chuckles.
“It’s no replacement for wandering the worlds, but it keeps my hands busy when the guilds tell me I’ve done enough for one week.” He says, gesturing them to follow as he turns back to the stone walkway.
“Oh yes, because you certainly haven’t been doing any wandering, have you.” Alisaie raises a delicate eyebrow at Hallima as she stoops to pick up her dropped bags. Hallima coughs and looks away.
“And defy chirurgeons orders? I wouldn’t dare.”
“Chocobo hock, you most certainly would.” Alisaie rightly scoffs.
“And any sightings of you at Radz-at-Han or Gridania are mere fictions, I’m sure.” Alphinaud is clearly just as convinced.
“Of course.” The truth is of course that they have a personal transport crystal in Gridania, and Radz-at-Han is set as their home point, so aetheric travel to those places are less strenuous than most others.
They still weren't supposed to be teleporting at all, but it was more of a gray area. Kind of.
“Hallima…” Alphinaud sighs, but his exasperation is short lived, too happy to see their friend and sibling again. “I don’t know what we expected, honestly. You never were one to let anything keep you down.”
“And glad are we for it, even if it can be infuriating at times.” Alisaie agrees. “Come, show us this Island Paradise you’ve been building these last few months.”
“With pleasure.”
-
"And this one? What's her name?" Alisaie hefts the karakul in both arms like one would a stuffed toy, beaming widely. Hallima grins despite himself- the typically ornery beast was being astoundingly docile at the treatment.
"Pibby."
"And this one?" Alphinaud crouches next to another one, which looks up from it's doze to sniff at his nose curiously.
"Foof."
"Has anyone told you that you are terrible at names?" Alisaie snorts.
"Yes, you. Repeatedly."
"To be fair… You are really terrible at it." Alphinaud says with a wry grin. "How about the Auroch on the far end?"
"Gigatusk. I name a baby couerl Kitten on time and I never hear the end of it."
"Once, sure, sure." Alisaie sets Pibby down and hefts a dodo nearly bigger than she is up to Hallima. "What's her name again?"
"…. Carl."
"How is Kitten doing?" Alphinaud asks, Foof whining and nudging his hand when he pauses scratching behind her ears. He resumes his task dutifully.
"Still growing, somehow. Might have to move it out here if it keeps going, it barely fits through doors anymore." Hallima grimaces. His retainers would not be happy with that, they were both just as attached to Kitten as he was. Minhe would probably just show up on the Island the next day with bags packed and his usual lazy grin, the red of his long Viera ears burning bright in the tropical sun, but T'ona would twist his ear for putting them through the trouble… regardless of whether he actually asked them to or not. But she would still come, all dark slitted glares matching her fur but gentle touches, in her usual manner of her actions and words never quite matching up completely.
"Is she still convinced she's a lap cat?" Alisaie releases Carl, who blinks blankly at the change in circumstances, squawks once, and then flutters off to join her mate, Numbnuts, further off in the pasture.
"Considering no one has told it to stop… Yes." Hallima takes no responsibility for that one. That was entirely Minhe's doing.
"Well, no one has come to harm over it, he can be a lap cat if he wants to." Alphinaud says primly. Alisaie glares at him. It was a long standing debate as to Kitten's actual sex, but early in their adventuring careers they hadn't the time or resources to find an animal expert willing to deal with the notoriously dangerous Couerl species, and though Hallima probably could now, this is far more entertaining.
Actually, chances were high one of the Island's resident mammets probably could do it, there are several tasked with the care of the pasture animals for that very reason, but Hallima decides not to enlighten either twin of this possibility.
"Oh now well aren't you a pretty beastie." Alisaie coo's, prompting Hallima to drag themself out of their thoughts and see Alisaie petting along the neck of their rare Gold Back. Before they can utter a word of warning Alisaie yelps as her arm is suddenly clamped in the creature's jaws, nestled between it's long teeth.
"Alisaie!" Alphinaud stands sharply, aether percolating in the air as he readies a spell, but Hallima gestures him to wait, and to his credit he does.
"You okay, Alisaie?" Hallima calls, and Alisaie pulls out of her instinctual shock to pull on her arm a little, finding it securely held but otherwise unharmed.
"I'm fine. Just.. Stuck. I guess."
"Yeah, she does that." Hallima jogs down the hill. "Sorry, she was on the far end and doesn't usually approach strangers, so I didn't think to warn you unless we went closer."
"Well, as long as she just wants to hold me and not eat me, I shan't complain." Alisaie grins ruefully. "Though It is rather… wet."
"Yeah." Hallima chuckles, petting the Gold Back's beak gently before reaching past it to her jaw, looking for a particular pressure point. "Talk to Creature Comforter on the way out, he keeps towels on hand because of exactly this."
"Ah, ow!" Alisaie yips, startling both Alphinaud and the Gold Back, the latter of which freezes entirely.
"Sorry, sorry." Hallima says, moving to get a better view of their work. "I'm more used to being the one pinned… And the mammets never say anything if I poke them by accident. Apparently."
"I don't remember your claws being that sharp." Alisaie flexes her pinned hand in an attempt to shake away the lingering pain.
"Forgot to file them down before you got here." Hallima says, a hint of chagrin in their voice. Alphinaud makes a thoughtful face.
"Why do you do that, anyroad? I've always meant to ask. The Au ra students we knew back at the Studium often did, being as they are involved in research and academics for the most part, but all those who led more dangerous lives such as those of the Steppe or Yugiri tend not to. I am aware that you are more than capable in the field, but surely even so small a natural advantage would be a boon?"
"'S a hassle. Ah!" The Gold Back's mouth opens and releases Alisaie's arm, which emerges sticky but unhurt. "There we go, that's a good Limestone. You don't mean no harm, do ya? You're just a mama at heart." Hallima coo's, petting the creature, and Limestone shakes her head and neck happily at the attention.
"That's right, Blue Back's carry their young in their mouths, don't they?" Alphinaud recalls. He's not entirely sure where he'd read that, animal husbandry wasn't something he had ever studied in truth, so it must be some tidbit of information he had picked up in passing.
"Yup." Hallima nods, giving Limestone another pat. "The teeth look long and dangerous, but they're more like handles for their babies to grip than any kind of offensive tool."
"What did you mean by it being a hassle?" Alisaie asks, curious, unconsciously rubbing at the thin red line that now crosses the bridge of her thumb. Hallima glances down at it pointedly.
"Scratching things I don't want to scratch."
"It's really not that bad," Alisaie waves her hand as if to demonstrate its veracity. "But I see your point. Now, where were those towels?"
She struts off without waiting for an answer, spotting the Creature Comforter by the gate quickly. Alphinaud looks up at Hallima, thoughtful, but whatever he's thinking he ultimately chooses to keep to himself, and the two follow her at a leisurely pace. Hallima is grateful, he hasn't thought about the last time he used his claws deliberately in a very long time, and would prefer to keep it that way.
The low thump-thump of heavy feet behind them tells them that Limestone has chosen to come along- at least so far as she is able. As they approach the gate she nudges and nuzzles at Alphinaud insistently, which he doesn't seem to know how to react to, shoulders stiff and gently pushing her beak away when it blocks his vision. Hallima chuckles, and reaches into a pocket for some greens.
"Catch." Is the only warning Alphinaud gets, and to his credit he does manage to catch the bundle, if ungracefully. Limestone trills in delight, feathers and webbed scaling alike flapping in excitement at the sight of it. "Go on, give her a treat."
"Ah, alright, um. Here?" Alphinaud turns and holds up the greens, which despite her obvious excitement Limestone only nibbles at the ends of. After a moment she nudges at his closed fist with her beak in frustration.
"Open your hand, let it rest in your palms." Hallima instructs. "She's trying not to get your fingers."
"Oh. Right." Alphinaud does so, and Limestone proceeds to gobble up the treat with abandon.
"Nicer than many animals, then." Alisaie approaches, still wiping down her arm with her newly acquired towel. "And good thing too, Alphinaud would definitely lose some appendages otherwise."
"Hey." Alphinaud scowls at her, but cannot find any true rebuttal to it. It was true after all, he generally fared much better with creatures capable of speech.
"Like I said, she may be shy- usually anyway- but she's a mama at heart."
"We're not that young." Alisaie is the one to protest this time. And there is some truth to that these days; the twins have yet to hit the majority of their growth, but the way their frames have filled out and necks lengthened indicates it's likely not far off.
"You're young enough." Hallima shrugs. "She does it to me too, remember?"
"Right." Alphinaud says, a smile crossing his face and his stance starting to relax. "'Mama at heart.' We know the sort."
-
It should by all rights have been a short tour. The Island, while big enough to sustain a small village, isn’t that large, but the three are continuously stopped by some anecdote or shenanigan and by the time they finish the sky has grown long dark and lanterns light the paths.
It’s for this reason that Alisaie doesn’t notice right away, hearing the faltering step more than seeing it, and the sound makes her pause in concern.
“Are you all right?" She asks, looking towards Hallima. "We can stop for a while if you need a break.”
"Huh?" Hallima pauses, confused, before a dawning realization crosses their face. “Oh, no I’m fine.”
“You’re limping.” Alphinaud has noticed too, probably at near the same moment she had, she’d simply spoken first.
“It’s nothing, just a rock in my boot.” Hallima tries to turn away but only makes it a few steps before realizing neither twin is following them. When they meet the twins gazes, it is to one full of hurt anger and one of aggrieved betrayal.
“You’re really going to lie to us? Now?” Alisaie demands. “After everything we’ve-“ She cuts herself off, biting her tongue lest she say something she regrets.
Alphinaud approaches Hallima slowly, and inside something complicated and bitter writhes at how it’s like he would approach an injured animal.
“Sit down, let me see.” He says, a healer to his core. Hallima shakes his head.
“There’s nothing to see. I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Well congratulations, now we’re worried.” Alisaie crosses her arms. “So?”
Hallima looks away, and then lets themself lean against a nearby fencepost.
“There really is nothing to see.” They say again, as Alphinaud starts checking them over. “It’s been like that ever since…”
They trail off, but there’s no need to finish. They all know what events they’re referencing. Alphinaud’s hands drop, the pieces falling into place.
“Why try to hide it though?” Alisaie asks, frustrated. “It’s not like we haven’t all some lingering malady or other from our adventures. Alphinaud’s hands ache when it rains, Krile suffers from memory echoes, Y’shtola’s blind, and if I recall correctly even your dragoon mentor has a limp of his own!“
“None of whom are the Warrior of Light!” Hallima snaps, unthinking. Two stunned faces stare up at them in shock, and they turn their head away from the rush of shame that heats their cheeks.
"Hallima…" Alisaie says, the word strangled and unsure.
“I’m- sorry." Hallima pushes off the fence post and tries to meet their gazes but fails, scrubbing a rough palm through their hair in guilt and frustration.
Alphinaud casts his gaze downward, lips pursed in thought, before reaching out and taking Hallima’s comparatively massive hands in his.
“Too much has been put on you over these long years, hasn’t it my friend?” He says slowly. “It is something we have oft acknowledged but failed to address. I vowed never to view or wield you as a tool again, and though I have tried my utmost to hold to that it appears I have still failed. I am sorry, my friend.”
"You haven't failed." Hallima shakes their head sharply. They turn their hands so they can return Alphinaud's grip, mindful of their claws. "It's not you, and you don't deserve me taking it out on you. It's just… I've become the saviour of the realm, the universe itself, and I would do it all again if I had to, but there is always a part of me convinced that I'm.. Not worthy of it. That one day my weakness will become obvious to all."
"We all have weaknesses, Hallima." Alphinaud says, the soft quaver in his voice speaking to his understanding more than words ever could.
"I know. I do." Hallima says. "it's a bit absurd, isn't it? It would be easier were they to simply turn on me like the bloody banquet. It hurts but it's straightforward, I know how to handle a fight. It's the disappointment that scares me."
Alisaie’s anger and frustration melt away in understanding, and she stands next to Alphinaud, with wide, shining eyes.
“You are the Warrior of Light, yes.” She says, the effort to keep her voice from shaking. “But you are also a man. No more or less than the rest of us. I know you have been made a symbol to the masses but to us-“
She stops, biting her tongue again, this time to keep her composure than to restrain her anger.
“To us you are family.” Alphinaud finishes for her, and she nods, grateful. “You need not maintain a veneer of perfection with us. Please, we would gladly share your struggles as you have shared in ours.”
"Whatever may come, we will be there for you, as you have been for us." Alisaie continues. "So forget the disappointment of the masses. We have seen you with scissors stuck in your hair and your horns caught in your shirts, you won't be getting rid of us that easily."
“Heh.” Hallima lets a wry smile slip onto their lips, and when the twins look up there is a distinct shine to their already bright eyes, nearly glowing in the ambient dimness. “You’d think I would know better by now than to hide from you.”
“Clearly we’ve been away too long.” Alisaie teases gently, the tension slipping away. “We will have to check in more often.”
“I would like that.” Hallima admits. “You know me, I keep busy, but I have missed everyone.”
Even remodelling an entire Island could only keep their wanderlust at bay for so long.
“We will be sure to send the word out once we have adjourned here.” Alphinaud nods decisively, ever the planner. Alisaie knocks a fist to her palm in agreement.
“That we shall. But first, let us adjourn to the cabin before the bugs make meals of all of us.”
-
"It has a lovely view, doesn't it?" Alisaie comments, staring out across the tops of trees and listening to the waves lapping at the beach below. In the distance thunder rumbles, though not so much as a breeze yet disturbs the thick foliage.
"The lights along the path help." Alphinaud says, taking a seat on a bench next to where she stands. "Else I imagine you wouldn't see much of anything right now."
"The sunsets from here are incredible." Hallima chuckles, emerging from the stairwell with a tray of snacks in hand, courtesy of the workshop. "I had planned to show you once we finished our tour, but we got a bit distracted with everything else."
"As we always seem to." Alisaie laughs, taking some preserved meats from the tray when Hallima offers it. "Oh well, we're here for at least another day, perhaps tomorrow we will get to see it."
"Assuming it doesn't rain again." Hallima says, taking their own seat on the bench and setting the tray of snacks between them and Alphinaud. There is another rumble of distant thunder, and a brisk wind begins to wind its way through the plaza. "Which it might."
"A whole day spent indoors with people we love while a storm rages outside. However will we survive." Alisaie says drily, taking a bite from her jerky.
"We could teach you some of the games we've learned in Ilsabard!" Alphinaud lights up, always excited to impart new knowledge. He appears to have already forgotten about the slice of jerky he had taken from the tray. "Being in such inclement climes as they are, they have a veritable wealth of games and pastimes for the express purpose of wiling away the hours indoors, often with little to no power."
"Many of them serve as excellent bonding excersizes as well." Alisaie nods. "Particularly for the children who were more wary of us at first."
"They're doing so well, despite everything they've been through, truly." Alphinaud says. "There's one in particular who has taken to asking us for stories about you every time we see him. Perhaps when next you visit we could introduce you…"
He hesitates, recalling how just earlier the Warrior of Light had revealed lingering insecurities over their titles of heroism, but Hallima smiles.
"I'd love that."
"You better not just be saying that to be a people pleaser like always." Alisaie points at them, and they raise their hands defensively. Honestly, she could give Esteem a run for his money.
"Honest. Kids are different, they need hero's. Especially after everything they've been through." Hallima says. "And I don't really mind being the hero and saviour and etcetera. It's the whole… Being put on a pedestal thing that bothers me. Pedestals have a tendency to crumble."
"That's fair, I suppose." Alphinaud says, finally remembering his snack and nibbling on it.
Silence reigns for all of five seconds, mostly comfortably, and then-
"Is that why it took you and G'raha so long to sort yourselves out?"
"Alisaie!" Alphinaud reprimands, but she pays no heed. Hallima laughs.
"It's not the only reason, but it is one of them, yes." They say, taking one of the jerky slices for themself. They didn't mind the devotion, that's just how G'raha is really, devoted to a fault- whether it be to the Students, his scholarly work, or the people in his life. But he'd had centuries to build that pedestal to the Warrior of Light in his mind and Hallima needed to be sure that the destruction of the pedestal would not mean the destruction of G'raha's esteem.
Turns out, they needn't have worried. G'raha was well aware of the pedestal, and surprisingly adept at separating it from Hallima themself, even if dismantling it would likely remain a work in progress in perpetuity.
"Enough about me, we've spent all day talking about me." Hallima continues. "Tell me more about how things have been going in Garlemald."
-
scrtch-scrtch scrtch-scrtch
It's this sound that draws Alisaie back into the world of the waking, along with the persistent patter of rain on glass. She yawns fitfully, stretching and attempting futily to assuage the new crick in her neck. Next to her Alphinaud mutters something sleepily, disturbed by the loss of his impromptu pillow, eventually letting out a yawn of his own and rubbing at the crust that has gathered around his eyes.
"Hng… What time is it?" He says, words only slightly slurred.
"Not as late as it probably feels." Hallima says, putting the nail file- the source of the scratching noise earlier, aside. "It's only been maybe a half bell since you dozed off. Much longer and I was going to cart the two of you off to bed."
"Might be a good idea anyway." Alisaie yawns again. "Goodness, who knew a vacation tour could be so tiring?"
"It does rather- awuh- defy belief." Alphinaud concurs, Alisaie's yawn contagious. The two stand and it's hard to miss the way Alphinaud attempts to massage his palms.
"Would heat help?" Hallima asks, taking Alphinaud off guard.
"Huh?"
"Your hands. Alisaie mentioned they ache when it rains. Would heat help? Hot cocoa maybe?"
"That sounds incredible, truth be told, aches or no." Alphinaud smiles gratefully.
The kitchenette in the cabin is about as basic as it gets, the culinary arts being one of the few the Hallima hasn't explored in depth, but the ingredients are there- most fresh from the Island pastures and farmland- and it is a simple thing to make. Simpler still with two hangers on with all sorts of advice to give.
"Careful of the temperature! Don't let the milk bubble!"
"Make sure the cinnamon is finely ground now-"
"Do you have any mallow bits in here…?"
Or perhaps that made it much less simple. It was welcome all the same.
"Ahhhh, that's the stuff." Alisaie sighs in contentment as she takes the first sip of her cocoa. Alphinaud for his part holds off, holding his mug in both hands, blowing gently across its still steaming contents.
"Indeed." Alphinaud closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale, the picture of relaxed contentment.
Hallima just smiles, content, and picks up their file again. Alisaie watches, deep in thought, before something occurs to her.
"You know if you- hm. May I?" She sets aside her drink and holds out her hands to Hallima.
"Uh. Sure." Hallima gives her the file, confused as to what she intends to do but trusting her intent. Carefully she drags the file across Hallima's claws, and after only a few deft swipes it seems entirely changed; still sharp and pointed, but somehow less obtrusive.
"Where did you learn that?" Hallima asks, curious. Alisaie grows sombre for a brief moment before she shakes it off resolutely.
"At the Inn. Tesleen taught me, while we were taking care of Halric." She says, quiet but unfaltering. "One of the other carers had taught her I guess. It makes them easier to use day to day without blunting them entirely. Or so I was told. You'll have to tell me how well it works."
She files each claw quickly and efficiently as she talks, taking Hallima's other hand when she's done in a movement so smooth as to be muscle memory. Hallima flexes his fingers, forming a fist, and marvels a little at how much a difference the small changes in shape made.
"I'll have to test them out, but I like it already." Hallima smiles. "Thank you."
Alisaie grins at the praise, finishing the last claw with a perfunctory movement.
"Anytime." She says.
"So, Alphin- ah." Hallima stops mid-sentence. They'd thought the boy was being unusually quiet, and it turns out for good reason. Alphinaud is sound asleep, sitting upright and hands still cupped around the warm mug. "Right. It is late, isn't it?"
"A little." Alisaie gives in to the urge to giggle at the sight, reaching out to take the mug from her brother before it spills. Alphinaud murmurs in discontent but doesn't wake, nor does he when Hallima gently maneuvers him into a bridal carry… Though he does take the opportunity to dig his hands under Hallima's shirt, seeking the warmth beneath.
"He deserves some rest." Alisaie says, falling into step with Hallima towards their guest rooms. "There's so much left to do in Garlemald, it feels nigh endless, but he's hardly let that stop him."
"Or you." Hallima adds. "You say that like you're not right there with him, carrying the reconstruction of a nation on your shoulders."
"Oh I am, make no mistake." Alisaie says. "And I won't say it hasn't been tiresome, gruelling work at times, but… It's good work."
Hallima nudges the door open with a heel and slips into the darkened room easily, setting Alphinaud onto the cot. Alphinaud has to be pried off Hallima's neck, and the Au Ra has to struggle to not laugh and wake the boy at how young he seems in his sleep haze.
"Stay with us?" Alisaie asks. Once that question would have been uncertain, or carried a certain shame at asking for something so juvenile, but now it is anything but. Her voice is quiet but confident; simply a question.
"Of course." Hallima nods. The bed was big enough, and they tended to sleep sitting up more often than not anyway. "Any reason?"
"Not really." Alisaie shakes her head, doffing her footwear and jacket. "Just nice to do it while we can. We certainly miss it during the colder nights, I'll tell you."
"I beleive that." Hallima chuckles. They reach down to remove Alphinaud's sandals- definitely not comfortable to sleep in, and nudges the boy until all three of them fit comfortably. "I'll have to visit once I'm cleared for Aetheryte travel again."
"Oh please, we all know how much you hate the cold." Alisaie says, laying her head against Hallima's thigh as a pillow. She already sounds half asleep. "Didn't mean to set up on one of the coldest places in Eorzea, honest."
"I know." Hallima chuckles. "It'll be worth it though."
Silence reigns, and Hallima doesn't need to look down to know that Alisaie's breathing has slowed into the soft snores of sleep. They smile.
"Goodnight Alisaie, Alphinaud."
#i have been poking at this thing pretty much since i finished the endwalker msq i needed it to be DONE#which is why hallima's pronouns are all over the place. w/e its just a really fluid day for them its fine#borrowing kip's hc that alphinaud's hands hurt when it rains due to the whole nidhogg's eye incident#bc that shit is S-tier hc material#yes there is a story behind the claw thing but i wanted this one to stay (mostly) light#hallima will be fine (re: the insecurity) theyve just been left alone with their thoughts (and wanderlust) too long#the mammets are nice but not stellar conversationalists#flight's making things again#fanfic#ff14#ff14 endwalker#flight's wol tag
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Sleepy Snuggles
pairing: Boyfriend!Henry Cavill x Girlfriend!Reader
summary: Henry loves on his cockdrunk girlfriend all through the night, especially during Christmas season
Disclaimer: This story is fiction and should not be taken literally, the behaviour is simply imaginative and the content may be inappropriate
requests are open/likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️
Henry Masterlist, Full Masterlist, Taglist Form
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
“Butterfly, you feel so good wrapped around me like this, all cockdrunk and snuggly” Henry whispered kissing Y/n’s cheek from behind, his arms around her waist tightly as he thrusted up into her. Feeling her eyes start to lid from exhaustion, Y/n couldn’t help but just whimper out at the words of her boyfriend, wiggling her ass back onto his cock.
“Missed you so much Hen” Y/n moaned out, feeling Henry’s hands venture up her oversized sweater, his fingers toying with her hardened nipples. “I know baby, I know. Missed my girl so much too” He whispered back, his hand resting on her hip to help her rock back and forth, his lips continuously kissing the back of her neck.
Henry had just come back filming a new movie, and was just in time for Christmas, his girlfriend of 2 years had decided to welcome him home with an amazing homemade dinner. Feeling stuffed to the brim with food, the couple decided to settle in the living room for a nap, only when things got silent both sets of hands went wandering. Starting with Henry removing Y/n’s cotton underwear from under her sweater, and Y/n slowly grinding onto Henry’s cock behind her.
“Go on butterfly, hug onto your pillow, i’ll take care of you love” Henry said watching his girl start to claw at her pillow, hugging onto it while he thrusted his cock into her velvety walls, her warm pussy sucking him in with every force. Whimpering Y/n wrapped her arms around the plush cushion, using it to slightly stifle her moans which were slowly increasing in volume.
“You’re so big, feel you stretching me out” Y/n whispered, her other hand holding onto Henry’s arm and pulling it over to wrap around her waist; ending with him pulling her flush against his chest, their bodies perfectly moulded together. “Can I cum inside you love? Is that okay?” Henry asked feeling his cock start to get even more sensitive.
Nodding against him Y/n snuggled her head into the crook of his arm that was around her torso, feeling her orgasm start to catch up to her as well. “Need words baby”
“Y-yes, cum inside me, wan’ feel all stuffed n’ warm” Y/n said softly, whimpering when Henry’s hand slowly slid down to toy with her clit that was now poking out of its lips, all swollen and asking to be played with. Starting to rub it gently as not to hurt Y/n, Henry felt himself empty out into her pussy, both of them gasping at the new sensations.
“Gonna cum bear, real soon” Lifting up her leg, Henry started to fuck his cum back into her, feeling the juices start to spill down her thighs. “You going to keep my cum inside you butterfly? Want to keep you full of me”
Nodding her head rapidly, Y/n’s legs started to shiver and spasm, her voice sending out muffled whimpers and moans. “F-fuck baby, feel you up here” Y/n whispered pulling Henry’s hand up her stomach, her orgasm slowly washing over her as Henry just let her rock back and forth at her own pace, pulling out once she calmed down.
His hands now pulling back her hair to swoop it into a low ponytail, both of his arms wrapped around her torso to pull her even more against him. His lips kissing the shell of her ear and whispering any and everything to calm down his girl, her heartbeat rapid against the palm of his hand.
“I got you butterfly, Hen’s got you” Turning around in his arms, Henry kissed her forehead, watching her glossy eyes stare up at him; her lips graced with a sleepy dopey smile. “I wanna feel you Bear, take it off” She complained tugging at her own jumper tiredly, Henry smiling at the clingy nature of his girl.
“Okay okay” In one swift motion Y/n was now naked, her warm skin against his, her eyes watching as Henry reached over for the couch blanket sitting by their feet.
Now engulfed by the warm fabric, Henry felt Y/n’s start to grind on his cock, her pussy lathering up his length in their mixed juices. “What do you think you’re doing butterfly?”
“can you stay inside me? J-just until I fall asleep” She asked looking up at him, placing tiny kisses onto his chest, neck and face. “Of course I can baby, is’ all yours” Henry growled kissing her lips softly, their tongues meeting in a sweet sloppy kiss as Y/n guided his tip into her wet cavern. Both of them hissing out at the slight overstimulation, but breathing out once Henry had filled her to the brim. His balls just resting against her pussy as Y/n shimmied closer to his chest, her arms wrapping around his torso.
Her fingers tracing over her man’s chest, playing with the curls decorated on it, smiling contently as Henry kissed her head every few seconds and reminding her how beautiful she looked. “You have never looked so beautiful my love” “Wish could keep you on my cock forever” “ I Love you so much, my gorgeous girl”
———
Taglist Tags (form is up there^^): @keiva1000 @spencerreidat4am @diyabhanushali1 @angelmather1 @hp-hogwartsexpress @lastwandastan @fdl305 @alexxavicry @bookfrog242 @alina02 @aerangi @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @sparklemarysunshine @oliviah-25 @mischiefsemimanaged @nikkitc0703 @hallecarey1 @misshale21 @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mansaaay @princess-paramour @stormcloudss @uwiuwi @marvelgurl @taramaria @mysticfalls01 @kebabgirl67 @athena-roy @tinyelfperson @madebylilly @dumb-fawkin-bitch @vrittivsanghavi @beck07990 @kimhtoo17 @thereisa8ella @pandaxnienke
#henry cavill#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill imagine#henry cavill fandom#romance#henry cavill smut#henry cavill x female reader#henry cavill x you#henry cavill rpf
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Viking soap! Viking soap! Viking soap!
Grrrrrrrr Yes ok yes because I am feral for this idea and you're partially engaging a special interest of mine.
You spot him at the same moment he does you. A flash of blue eyes reflecting the shallow river, long hair shorn short on the sides, the fur the edges his clothes marks him as easily as the paint on his face. A viking. He stands as quickly as you step back, his eyes fixed on you. If he's here there must be more at your village. You know well enough that these men don't travel as solitary creatures.
You turn and run towards your home. You hear the crash of him through the forest behind you giving chase. Even knowing the land as well as you do the terrain is uneven, the roots are made to catch your feet, and the branches are low to obscure your vision. You don't have the deer's advantage of darting movement to keep you out of reach. Each step you can hear him getting closer, until you feel his hands grab you.
The man, the viking, catches you around your middle. You kick and scream and make every effort to batter him with your fists, to make yourself difficult prey. You've heard enough stories about what these men do to know you want no part of it. He lifts you, hauls you up off the ground as you fight and twist.
"Would you be still, I'm not going to hurt you," The man tells you in gaelic. You freeze at the familiar tongue.
"You're a liar," You push at him, claw at his grip, "why would you chase me if you weren't hunting me?"
"Why would you run?" He asks, grabbing your wrists to pin them against his chest. You glare at him, your chest heaving as you gather your breath back. He's handsome, for a viking. There's something sort of rakish about the stubble on his face and the set of his brow. "Did I do something to scare you, bonnie?" It's not an honest question, he knows full well why you'd run.
You keep quiet, keep your glare level with him. An easy task with him holding you up, his arm hooked around your thighs. His head tips back to look at you with a smile. "Aren't you pretty," He whispers, hardly phased by the run or your anger. When you don't respond he seems to find his head again, his smile dropping to something more serious.
"Fine, courting later, business now." He sets you back down, keeping a tight grip on your wrists now that you've proven yourself a runner. "I'm here to negotiate a trade, I need an escort," He explains, though you would think a man needing an escort would have a shorter handle on the ax at his hip.
"A bad liar," You amend your previous statement, tugging at his hold.
"Fine," He relents, "I want an escort. Escort me." He insists, tugging you against his chest again. You're really getting tired of bumping into him.
"Why? So you can lead a raiding party back as soon as I turn around?" You spit.
“To what end?” The viking asks, tips his head to the side, his eyes hard on you, “What use do we have for dead healers?”
You stop your struggling, stunned. He’s not wrong, but he speaks to an understanding of your village you hadn’t expected. How much did this man and his company know about you? How many scouts had walked your paths, watched your neighbors work? He’s right, dead healers are useless, but so are port healers. Vikings are only as strong as their weakest man, wouldn’t they prefer to keep healers on hand?
“You said-” You swallow, “You said you were here to negotiate a trade. What- A trade for what?” He looks away from you, and you have your answer. You were right to run, he’s here for one of you.
“Let’s go,” He doesn’t pull you, but you follow him anyway. Your mind races, thinking through the people your elders would offer up. Who was the most skilled, the most expendable, weighing what you might get in return. What couldn’t these vikings offer you? Safety, rare goods, money, animals, friendship. Invaluable intangible things that would aid all of you, for whatever price they set. It’s still only the illusion of a choice.
Your wrist is still held tight in his grip as you walk beside him. An escort, what a joke. You’re not going to put in a good word for him or do anything more than act as a pass for him to walk your streets. You’re busy working on your escape plan when you smell it.
Smoke, just as you step clear of the forest.
"Gods," the man breathes, both of you standing on top of the hill at the edge of the forest, watching your home burn. Your eyes grow wide watching the fleeing shadows of raiders, the sacrifices of you kin. What are they doing? Why would they- A mass of fire belches from the center of your village, the man covers your eyes, shields you from the heat of it with his cloak. The tattered tartan catches your attention, makes your heart pound in your chest. You recognize it, Mactavish. He was one of you.
"We have to go," He tells you. You try to pull yourself free, scream for your family down the hill. He catches you around the middle again, hauls you back into the safety of the forest.
"Tell them to stop," you beg. Your sobbing pleas fall on deaf ears.
“Those aren’t my men,” He doesn’t set you down, transfers your squirming to his shoulder with a grunt and keeps his pace. You can still see the lick of flame and smoke through the trees. The only home you’ve ever known, gone in an instant and all you can do is watch. The forest grows thicker around you as you lay against the familiar unfamiliar tartan and let yourself be carried off like a spoil.
#I'm gonna close the ask box if y'all keep giving me aus#Just so you know this would be a slow burn like Knight Ghost#but I have a few scenes in mind#john mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish#soap modern warfare#soap cod#soap mw2#soap x you#soap x reader#john mactavish#john mactavish x you#cod x reader#x reader#this fic brought to you by De Selby parts 1 and 2#viking!soap#I should rename my medieval to just historic
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Hi! I really like your writing, and I was wondering if I could request a Yandere!Platonic 1st Years (+Grim) with an Eri!Reader?
How would they feel learning of her abused, trauma, and her unfamiliarity with general society and social norms? (Who’s looking murderous when they see just the scars littered around her arms and legs when her bandages are removed?)
Though it’s a whole different story when she says she sees her power as nothing but a ‘curse’, and her existence a ‘burden’ that only makes others suffer? All because of the man named ‘Overhaul’, the one who did this so her? (Who’s about to go feral when she admits she doesn’t remember how to smile?)
But she starts to become more positive thanks to Grim and slowly the others (She likes Grim and is very sparkly eyed because he talks, breaths fire and thinks he’s amazing)
Imagine when she says she made a friend all on her very own who’s ‘like her’, though they lightly chastise her that she shouldn’t talk with strangers (It’s Malleus, they’re both lonely, have horns she has 1, while Malleus has 2, have an incredible power that’s very dangerous, and they’re unfamiliar/slow with society)
Eri Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland
You’ve been through so much….so you’ve been told. The pain, the heartbreak, the constant voice in your head that has guilt weighing on your little heart. Your transportation to Twisted Wonderland couldn’t come at a better time. They’re going to welcome you cage you to this new world more than willing to spoil you to your hearts content:
Grim
“Oi oi servant they all think we’re monsters!”
“...yeah?”
“Yeah! So we gotta show them we’re gonna be the greatest mages in here!”
“Oh….okay!”
He’s the perfect chaotic companion
He teaches you to allow yourself to do what you want
Granted his guidance isn’t all knowing
No matter how tasty Heartslabyul’s tarts are you shouldn’t eat them everytime you visit — especially without permission
Either way you’re learning to forgive yourself and allow you to have fun
And leave it to Grim to say whatever snarky thing you’d like to say when your big-brothers get in the way
“Nyeh! You won’t be able to do anything against my flames, nyah!”
Ace Trappola
“Hey if I catch you moping about that plague doctor guy, I’ll sock ya in the head!”
“Ace?!”
“I-i-i won’t!”
In a weird way you’re so used to being bullied (by kai) that you tend to take his bully-affection to heart
You know he cares, he just won’t tell you often
He reminds you of a certain blonde…
It also makes you more privy to his very willing desire to steamroll over anyone he deems a problem for you
“I think he meant that as a joke, Ace…”
“Joke schmoke, I warned you, you stain! I’m putting you in the medical wing.”
“Ace, please!”
Deuce Spade
“(Y/n), did you eat today? Are you feeling well? Do you need me to carry you!”
Mother hen of the group
He’s hovering close behind even when you don’t see him
Always making sure you’re safe and happy as can be
He’s teeming with anxiety if he’s not watching you himself
Even worse if you get hurt accidentally or on purpose
Now he’s Mama bear totally bearing the claws to protect you
He’s not going to leave you to defend yourself
Especially when your abilities hinge on your mental state
He’s trying his best
“Are you doing the breathing techniques Crewel recommended? Where’s your paper bag?”
Jack Howl
“Hello little one.”
“Hi.”
“Would you…like to sit on my shoulders?”
“Yes!”
Your #1 guard dog
Doesn’t have to worry considering Deuce is freaking out for him
He’ll be the sane voice of reason because Ace isn’t anywhere close to reliable in his eyes
Naturally he entrances you with his tail and overall dog-like personality
But don’t forget he’s got the bite force of a wolf that he’s not afraid to use if he deems fit
“Pup, don’t stop yourself from having fun or being…young. I–we will keep you safe.”
Epel Felmier
“You’re so pretty.”
“...Thanks.”
You’re the only one who can get away with calling him that
And he loves nothing more than escaping Vil to find out what other sweet makes you smile sweetly
He’s also one of the first to join Ace as part of the self-proclaimed protection committee
He’s also one of the first to suggest taking it further than a mere beatdown
Anything for his new little sibling
“If there’s no body…there’ll be no problems.”
Sebek Zigvolt
“TINY HORNED HUMAN! WHERE IS YOUR DIASOMNIA PIN!”
“Uhm…Ace took it from me…said it was unfair.”
“THAT FOOL. COME CHILD I SHALL BESTOW UPON YOU THE PIN AGAIN.”
Is definitely apart of a brainwash committee of his own and is insistent you become Diasomnia’s new mascot…under Malleus of course
His loudness sometimes scares you off but he means well
And will no doubt join the others if a few heads need to roll
“Rest easy, child. On my watch, no one will harm you.”
#yandere ace trappola#yandere ace x reader#yandere ace#yandere deuce x reader#yandere deuce spade#yandere jack howl#yandere jack howl x reader#yandere deuce spade x reader#yandere x reader#yandere x you#lovelyyandereaddictionpoint#yanderexrea#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere twst#yandere twst x reader#yandere harem#yandere#platonic yandere x reader#child reader#yanderes x child reader#yandere sebek zigvolt#yandere sebek x reader#yandere sebek#yandere epel felmier#yandere epel x reader#yandere epel felmier x reader
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jealousy, jealousy || Lee Know x Reader
Summary: "Sure, Minho missed an opportunity to spend more time around you in a relaxed setting, but is he upset about it? Does he get annoyed when he hears you talk with the guy behind him? Does hearing you chuckle at the guy’s stupid jokes, probably just to be polite, ‘cause he’s not that funny, make him want to claw the dude’s eyes out?
Well. Yes."
Or: You're working with a different partner for a group assignment, and Minho's totally chill about it.
Word count: 4.9k
Genres: college AU, coffee shop AU, strangers to lovers
Warnings & Tags: jealousy, kissing, minor language, tooth-rotting fluff, seriously this is so fluffy, reader is implied to have social anxiety, Thunderstorm
series masterlist
A/N: This is the second story I've written where Lee Know's a barista and cats are involved. It probably says something deep about me, but what? I hope you'll enjoy the fic, please consider letting me know your thoughts and reblogging the fic if you do~
Minho doesn't know exactly when he noticed you, or when you started appearing in his life. It’s kind of annoying actually, because he knows he noticed you because he kept seeing you around, but he has no way of pinpointing it. What he does know is that you started showing up at the coffee shop where he worked, twice every week. That wasn’t that big a deal, you were far from being the only one the only one, but it was a shop that was pretty out of the way, near an old building that was only used for a few classes, as far as he knew, so it wasn’t that frequented.
In fact, you could almost say that the people who bothered to come here were the weirdos who wanted to avoid the other permanently full coffee shops on campus. Which was fine by Minho, who wasn’t paid enough to deal with that sort of crowd.
Anyway, at some point, Minho’s brain had to have put together he was seeing you around quite a bit, and finally he managed to figure out that it was because you were in one of the classes he was rudely forced to take outside of his major. In his defense, it took him so long because he didn’t really like people, as a rule, and he paid as little attention to them as possible. His friends were enough of a hassle to deal with already.
It makes it all the more frustrating that he can’t tell what it was about you that caught his attention. It has to have been something. Once he starts trying to understand it, more things come to light. Like the fact that your lips move but your voice doesn’t come out when you thank him for giving you your order, or the sigh of relief you always seem to heave out when you let yourself fall at your favorite table, the one in the corner, where you sit with your back to the window.
Actually, from what he can see, you appear to do your best to stay out of people’s way. It’s a multitude of little things, from how you always sit in the middle of rows in the amphitheater and wait until everyone’s cleared out to leave, to how you keep close to the walls in the hallways, eyes usually on the floor, to how, on the couple of occasions when your voice can be heard in class, it’s only after the professor’s been waiting for an answer for an increasingly embarrassing amount of time.
The first time it happens — the first time Minho notices it happening, anyway — he has to make you repeat yourself louder, and it seems almost painful for you to raise your voice.
Then there’s that time when someone accidentally backs into you and the books and papers you’re carrying spill onto the floor.
“Shit, sorry,” they say, and you reply immediately, like it’s a reflex, “Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it”, but afterwards, as you kneel next to the papers, you let out a defeated sigh, just staring at the mess for a few seconds. And that’s when Minho can’t stay in place anymore.
“Oh, thanks, you don’t have to do that,” you say, again, with that cadence that makes him feel like these are sentences that pour out of you without you getting much of say, so deeply ingrained in you that you can’t control them.
Then you glance up at him, and your eyes widen, little mouse caught in the cat’s gaze. He feels his lips curving into a grin. You recognize him, and you’re being very obvious about it too.
Cute.
“Thank you,” you repeat, taking your stuff from his hands and dipping your head to stop looking at him once you get control of yourself again.
“Vanilla latte, right?” he asks, and he probably shouldn’t be this amused by the way your head snaps back up and you freeze, but it’s— It’s kind of adorable. Though you’re obviously trying to reign yourself in, there is something so sincere about it that he can’t help but be enticed by it.
“Um,” you say. “Yes.” And then you visibly search for something to say next, rolling your lips together as if they’ll figure something out of a list of socially acceptable answers. As fun as this is, Minho decides to put you out of your misery.
For now anyway.
“I’ll give you a discount on the next one,” he says, and then he’s gone before you can start saying “You don’t have to do that”.
He actually slides the next one to you over the counter and tells you that it’s ��on the house’. You hesitate for a few seconds, and he thinks you’re going to refuse, before you bow your head politely and thank him for it. You don’t quite look up at him after that, but a bright smile has spread on your lips.
Cute, he thinks, again, and then he doesn't think of it much at all. A part of his brain was intrigued by the novelty that you represented, and that part has been satiated now.
At least, that’s what he assumes.
You get his attention again a few weeks later. It’s fairly early in the morning and, as Minho does whenever he gets a chance, he’s behind the half abandoned building near the café, setting up some food for the cats that have taken residence here. It’s something he’s not really allowed to do, but also he’s never asked permission, so no one's told him that yet, which means that he’s not not allowed to do it either.
Still, when he hears footsteps approaching as he’s surrounded by a chorus of meows, there’s a part of him that considers making a run for it.
But then he’d have to run.
Which he doesn’t like doing.
You appear at the corner of the building before he’s made his decision. When your eyes meet, he half expects you to turn around and pretend you haven’t seen him. He’s pretty sure you’ve done that after a class, recently. You swallow, but you keep walking towards him, kneeling by his side and petting the cats as the braver ones rub themselves against your legs.
Whoever said that the surest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach clearly wasn’t obsessed with cats, because liking cats is maybe the most important requirement for Minho.
“Hi,” you say, at a surprisingly normal volume, and then, cadence a little too fast, “I have some cat food.”
Is it weird that he finds that attractive? It’s probably weird.
“Have you been stalking me?” he says more than he asks, vaguely aware of the fact that there’s something ironic about him saying those words.
Your eyes widen and you quickly shake your head.
“No! I— have classes in there,” you point at the building, “and I’ve— seen you come around here. We’ve been told we couldn’t feed the cats,” you add with a slight pout. “We still do it when we can get away with it, but it's good that someone is also taking care of them.”
And you break the law for the sake of cats. Isn’t this amazing.
“I can help you buy food,” you say. “If you’d like.”
He doesn't reply right away, and when the silence stretches a second too long, you start speaking again, faster and your voice lower now.
“Or not, you know, I don’t want to impose anything, I mean, I didn’t want to intrude—”
On the one hand, that seems more like you, based on the glimpses of you he’s been getting, and on the other, he’s not sure how to shut that down. The truth is, he can barely fit the expenses in his budget. He literally can't afford to refuse your help — but he doesn't think he’d do it if he could.
“You can help,” he says, interrupting you in the middle of a sentence where you’re basically apologizing for existing, and that seems to knock the breath out of you.
“Oh,” you say, “that’s good.”
He wonders if you walk into interactions with a prepared set of sentences and panic when anyone goes off script. That sounds kind of exhausting.
“I’ll bill you,” he adds, and the feeling he gets when you let out a light laugh is one he can’t quite explain. There’s a sense of pride in it, but also some much deeper satisfaction at the feeling of having gotten you to let that guard slip, even for just a few seconds.
“I have to go to class,” you say, getting up while you rummage through your tote bag to hand him a package of dry food. “But I’ll, uh, see you around?”
There’s an expectancy to your tone, a hope even. He wonders if you’re aware of it. Either way, that sincerity, which he’d noticed before, remains pleasantly refreshing.
“Sure,” he says.
The next time you show up at the coffee shop, Friday a few minutes after six, like always, he has your vanilla latte ready.
After that, Minho finds it fascinating to see how differently you react to him, depending on the situation. Every now and then, you meet him behind the building, usually early in the morning, before there are too many people around. They would probably recognize you, and then you’d get in trouble, you explain. Your voice is lighter then, your body more relaxed. You manage to chat with him, to make small talk.
‘Manage’ really is the word for it, because your behavior is worlds apart when he sees you in class. It’s clear by now that this just isn’t your element, so you stick to your script, and Minho just isn’t a part of it. He doesn’t take it too personally, considering that no one else seems to be either.
It’s obvious to him that you get there with the objective of being in and out of the building as efficiently as possible, and with as little interaction with others as you can get away with. He does approach you still on a couple of occasions, one of them being when the classes before yours ran late and everyone was waiting in the hallway. You're focused on your phone then, and you jump when he says your name.
“How are you doing?” he asks, leaning against the wall next to you.
“Oh,” you say, which he thinks is just your filler word to give yourself time to figure out what to say next. “Um. Good. How are you?”
“Good.”
Someone else would bristle at the awkwardness of the exchange, but Minho is mostly amused by it. After a few seconds of very visibly searching for something to say, you come up with “…and how are the cats?”, though your tone is hesitant, unsure.
“They’re good too,” he grins. “Went to visit them this morning. Also, I might have found an association that could them spayed.” He certainly can’t afford to pay for it.
“That’s great,” you say.
This time, he’s the one who takes it upon himself to save the conversation, casually pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Wanna see my cats?”
You light up at the question, and Minho feels the same sort of pride he does when Dori jumps into his lap to ask for pets — instead of ungratefully evading him like the little shit he is.
It doesn’t last long, the class before yours ends soon, and after that you get back to your ‘just getting in and out’ state. It’s almost physical when it happens. The smile disappears from your lips as you press them together, you straighten your back, but the most impressive change is the way your eyebrows tighten, a small line forming between them. Minho almost wants to reach out to wipe it from your forehead, but he doesn’t. Baby steps, that’s what you need, not him invading your personal space by that much.
He doesn’t ask himself, even for a second, why he’s willing to go through that much trouble to get closer to you. He just goes with the flow, as he always has, and that works fine for him.
He doesn’t sit next to you in class, thinks it would only stress you out more, make you too aware of his presence and of how you react to it. Instead, he takes a spot right in front of you, where he can’t see you but can easily check on you if he wants to — which he does. He refrains from doing it too much though, because on more than one occasion, he caught you looking at him, and you averted your eyes quickly, acting a little too invested in your note taking.
He still thinks it’s cute, but he doesn’t want to make you go in hiding, so he holds himself back.
Which comes back to bite him in the ass, rudely, when the teacher announces that he wants people to work in pair for an assignment.
He turns around to ask you to work with him, and sees, right in front of his eyes, as the guy sitting next to you asks you the same thing in a casual manner. You reply too fast, one of your knee-jerk answers, he can tell, but it’s still done before he even got the time to open his mouth. He also knows, instinctively, that you’ll feel embarrassed if he asks you now, so he doesn’t, turning to his own neighbor while holding back the strange urge to hiss at the guy.
…maybe he spends too much time with cats, actually.
Minho’s fine with the situation. He is. He still gets to be around you some mornings, and you now look him in the eye when you place your order at the coffee shop. You also don’t recoil as much as you used to when he leans over the counter, ostensibly to flirt with you — though he’s like, 98% sure you haven’t realized that’s what he’s doing. He’s making progress in getting you to feel more comfortable around him.
Sure, he missed an opportunity to spend more time around you in a relaxed setting, but is he upset about it? Does he get annoyed when he hears you talk with the guy behind him? Does hearing you chuckle at the guy’s stupid jokes, probably just to be polite, ‘cause he’s not that funny, make him want to claw the dude’s eyes out?
Well. Yes.
He’s been moody about it for days, to the point that Jisung pouted at him, asking him “what was wrong with him these days”, and Changbin looked him dead in the eyes to ask him if he needed help to get a girl, because he clearly needed to get laid.
A conversation he got out of by replying “do you want to die”, which is a card he’s maybe been playing a little too much these days.
He’s been in a good mood today, though. He’d seen you in the morning, and you’d helped him try to make a small shelter for the cats, because it had been announced that there would be heavy rain over the whole week-end. It had been a fun time, and maybe he’d used the opportunity to get closer to you than usual, enjoying how flustered it made you. Just brushing against you as he grabbed some planks you’d sneaked out of the building, totally accidentally touching your hand when you handed him something, that kind of things.
He had somewhat ruined the effect by accidentally dropping a plank on his foot, but that had made you laugh, so, it was— No, it still wasn’t worth it, he didn’t enjoy pain, but it made him slightly less annoyed about it.
So, as he waited for you in the coffee shop, as the skies outside darkened and fewer people than usual showed up, he wasn’t in as bad a mood as he’d been lately.
It started to rain at around half past five. He would have loved to run to get you with an umbrella, but he, unfortunately, needed his job. He did get a towel ready to hand to you, in case you didn’t have anything to protect yourself from the rain.
And then you came in.
Under an umbrella.
Which was in the hands of the one guy that was your partner in that one class.
Violent thoughts of murder flash before Minho’s eyes.
“Hey,” you say as you walk to the counter, giving him a bright smile, “this is Jooyeon, he’s in—”
“Class with us,” Minho completes with a smile that’s very much fake, “yes, I recognize him.”
Actually, technically, Jooyeon hasn’t done anything wrong, but it doesn’t help that he’s been looking at you and following you around like a damn puppy. What annoys Minho the most is probably the fact that you seem a lot chiller around him, a lot more natural than you are whenever Minho’s around. That’s— upsetting. He wants to see these sides of you, too, and not just from afar.
One vanilla latte and an americano later, you and Jooyeon sit by the window, in your usual spot, and Minho can’t stop himself from glaring. Jisung, or anyone, really, would call him out on it in a matter of seconds, because he’s not being subtle about it, but there’s no one around right now. The room, which is rarely full, is emptier than usual because most people rushed to get home to try to avoid the downpour.
That means that there is nothing to distract him from the intrusive thoughts that are trying to convince him to just throw something at Jooyeon. Anything would do.
When it starts becoming a little too tempting, and considering that he doubts anyone would brave the rain that’s falling at the moment, as thick as a curtain separating the coffee shop from the outside world, he decides to grab his computer and try to get some work done.
Of course, because some divinity out there must have decided to target him today, he’s just getting started and finding his rhythm when the lights flicker above him. He glances up. In the distance, the thunder rumbles.
There’s a flash outside.
And everything goes dark.
Fuck. His. Life.
With a sigh, he pulls out his phone to turn on his flashlight. At least, in this day and age, most people in the shop have the same idea, and soon enough he can see what’s happening.
“It’s probably just a power cut because of the storm,” he announces loudly, because it’s his responsibility to reassure the clients — if that had been something they’d tested for when he was interviewed, he would never have gotten the job. “Lights might come back on soon.” Or not, how would he know. “No reason to panic.”
He scans the faces of students, though he’s not sure what he’s looking for. Some people look worried, others, no doubt those who know that this happens semi-regularly on campus when there’s a storm, because why would your tuition pay to ensure that you have reliable electricity in here, just seem prepared to wait it out. Someone’s already gone back to tapping on their keyboard, though the sound of it is swallowed by that of the rain.
But then, he does a double-take, just to check on an impression that he had, and that confirms what he thought.
You’re not in the room. Most likely explanation is that you’re in the bathroom, but he has to imagine that it’s a pretty freaky experience, when all the lights turn off without warning and you’re all alone.
So, without thinking much about it, he makes his way in that direction. He’s hesitating in front of the door when it pushes open, and he’s suddenly blinded by cellphone light.
“Sorry!” he hears you apologize before he can make out your face. “I, uh, is the power out?”
“It looks like it,” he answers, and then his tone softens. “Are you okay?”
There’s a few seconds of silence, and he can’t quite discern your expression, because you’ve both lowered your lights. He resists the urge to reach for you, to inspect you to see for himself that everything is fine.
“I’m fine,” you answer. “I just—”
Then there’s the crack of thunder, and you jump, gasping, before closing your eyes in obvious annoyance.
“Fuck,” you say, and he wonders if it’s the first time that he’s ever heard you swear. And if it’s weird that he’s kinda into it.
“You scared of storms?” he asks, trying his best to contain the amusement in his voice.
“No,” you protest, a little defensively. “I don’t like being surprised— Fuck!”
Minho knows he shouldn’t laugh, that making fun of you could ruin the trust he’s been trying to build this past month, but at your annoyance for letting yourself be taken by surprise, and considering your obvious lack of fear, he can’t help it. It comes out higher than his usual pitch, a little airy. You roll your eyes at it, but you don’t seem to miss the humor in the situation, because a smile forms on your lips as well.
At that point, because he isn’t one to let an opportunity slip, he reaches out to take your hand in his. Your palm is soft, if somewhat calloused on the spot under your fingers, and after the first moment of surprise, you squeeze his hand in response.
“It’s okay,” he says. “It should be over soon.” Then a pause. “Or maybe we’ll be stuck here until we have to decide who we’re going to eat.”
You laugh at that, brief and light, and as cliché as it is, Minho thinks that is quickly becoming one of his favorite sounds in the world. Especially when he’s the one making you laugh, and not that jackass Joo— Ah, the kid hasn’t technically done anything, and it feels silly to blame him when you’re here with your hand in his.
So he’ll let it go. For now.
As much as he would like to stay here with you, in the dark, away from everyone else, Minho unfortunately has stuff he needs to take care of right now.
“Wanna go back with the others? I think I have to keep an eye on them.”
“Sure,” you say. You don’t attempt to take your hand from his, and so he pulls you along with him. He’s not going to let go if you won’t.
Things in the café are still quiet, and people don’t pay a lot of attention when the two of you come back, except for Jooyeon, who gets up from his seat.
“That must have taken you by surprise,” he says with empathy. “Everything okay?”
“All good,” you reply warmly, and there’s a pinch in Minho’s chest again. “I think we’ll have to postpone the session though. I’ll let you know when I’m free, if that’s okay with you?”
Ugh. Minho tunes Jooyeon’s response out, only waiting for an opportunity to whisk you away. He probably shouldn’t feel this strongly about it, is aware that you’re entirely within your own rights if you want to pick Jooyeon over him, but from his perspective, that doesn’t mean he has to let it be an easy decision to make. He’s not the type to lie down and just watch as that happens.
So the second Jooyeon’s eyes flick back to his computer, Minho’s taking you towards the counter with him. He checks the register once he’s there — which he definitely shouldn’t have let unattended without verifying that it couldn’t be accessed without electricity, oops, his bad — and after having confirmed that everything’s fine, his eyes go back to you.
The spike in his heart rate when he finds you already staring at him surprises him a little. He supposes that he can’t be that jealous without also having that sort of reaction to you. It’s not… unpleasant, actually, though the strength of it surprises him. It’s not the kind of emotion he usually welcomes, he’s used to them feeling less sharp, duller. But he doesn’t reject that one.
Gently, he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, enjoying the feeling of your skin against his.
“Is there an issue between him and Jooyeon?” you ask, voice soft.
Ah. For someone who’s so completely oblivious about his interest in you, you were sure quick to notice that.
“You could say that,” he replies, and you frown.
“I didn’t know that,” you say, words coming out slow, like you’re figuring out what to say as you go, instead of defaulting to your usual pre-built answers. “Can I ask why?”
Minho raises an eyebrow. Then, wordlessly, he shifts himself so that you’re against the counter, with him standing in front of you. It’s interesting, because he’s almost exactly in the spot where he is every day, and every time he steals glances at you to make his day marginally better. He puts his hands on either side of you, hears you take a sharp breath.
“Is it okay if I kiss you?”
His voice comes out soft and muted, and as he asks, he feels something squeeze at his heart. Maybe because he’s not sure of what you'll answer. Maybe because he could have misread you, thought that you were oblivious when the truth was that you weren't interested. He could be keeping you away from your one true love, Jooyeon, who you’re going to go on to marry and have three k—
“Yes,” you squeak.
Ok, never mind.
Technically you’re in public, but it’s not like anyone’s looking your way, or like they'd see something other than silhouettes when he leans towards you.
It feels so natural when he kisses you. You lift your arms to wrap them around his neck, his hands find their place on your hips. Much to his surprise, you’re the one who presses yourself into him, lips moving softly against his, and it sends a jolt of electricity through his body. Suddenly there’s urgency running through his veins, desire, and his fingers dig harder into you. He kisses you with more intensity, like he’s trying to get rid of any space left between the two of you, and the soft sigh you let out only spurs him on further.
He’s seconds — fractions of seconds — away from doing something stupid when laughter and claps fill the room.
He parts from you, feeling his ears and cheeks turning red already, and discovers that the lights treacherously turned back on, and everyone is looking at the two of you. Protectiveness rushes through him, and he’s about to say something snappy, thinking that you’d be uncomfortable with it, when he realizes that you’re doubled over in laughter. Yes, you look a little embarrassed, but mostly, you seem fine with it.
Which is good, because otherwise he thinks he might have lost the shop a number of customers.
Everyone looks amused and happy for the two of you. Even Jooyeon’s grinning, though the look he gives Minho says, essentially, “Oh that was your problem”. It doesn’t capture people’s attention very long, but there’s something very sweet and human about the moment and how happy it seems to make everyone. Some regulars even exchange glances that seem to mean ‘I told you so’. Ha, he didn’t think he’d ever become campus gossip.
Once there are fewer eyes on the two of you, Minho leans towards you.
“I’ll take you on a date anywhere, as long as it’s not to get coffee.”
Your face lights up.
“I’d love that.”
Working at a coffee shop is not something that Minho finds very fun. Someone who enjoys human interactions more than him might, but it just feels very repetitive to him. Doing the same movements, asking the same questions, having to deal with the same issues from asshole customers who are different but also fundamentally the same person. The ding of cash register, the one of no contact credit cards, the buzzing of the coffee machine. It’s repetitive, but in a way that fills and numbs the mind.
There’s just one sound that he minds a little less now, and it’s the one the door makes when it opens.
Because, every now and again, it means that you’ve just come in.
“Hey,” you say as you reach the counter. You’re smiling so bright, and he loves it because he knows that it’s another one of those things that you can’t help. You’re smiling because he makes you happy, and isn’t that the best thing in the world?
“Dating the barista doesn’t entitle you to free coffee,” he says as he slides your vanilla latte over to you, though he has used his employee discount on everything you’ve ordered lately and he would very much give it to you for free if you didn’t insist on paying for your own stuff.
“We’re still on for tonight?” you ask, taking the coffee from the table.
“You think I’d let you get out of it?” he replies, and you laugh, before taking off to go to your usual table.
After that, he keeps going, keeps doing the same movements, asking the same questions, hearing the same noises. But sometimes, he glances in your direction and finds you focused on your computer, biting your lower lip as you’re deep in thought, or looking at him with a smile, and it makes it all more bearable.
Because you give him something to look forward to.
Taglist: @lethallyprotected @jisuperboard
#stray kids#lee know#lee know x reader#minho x reader#stray kids imagine#skz#lee know imagine#skz imagine#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfic#lee know fanfic#lee minho x reader#lee know fluff#skz fluff#stray kids fluff#candywrites
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would you like a new home? (pt. 3.3)
forethoughts: y'all i'm on such an arlecchino down-badness syndrome i'm writing so much and releasing so much. i think after this i'm going to write more short stories w/ father and reader, so it's gonna be like a cumulative story of reader as their adventures as father's child. (spoilers oops)
notes: gn!child!reader, NOT AN X READER READER IS A CHILD!!!
You were still awake when the door creaked open, and Father’s heels clicked against the ground. Father tried to place the tray of food gently on the table, but you could still hear the porcelain hit the wood.
“Are you going to continue to pretend to sleep, or come and eat?” Father had a playful tone to her voice.
Of course Father knew you weren’t asleep.
Father made her way towards you, placing a hand on your head as she ran her fingers through the knots in your hair. “How are you, my dear?”
You sat up, rubbing your eyes. Your head was still pounding from the orphan’s foot, making it uncomfortable to sleep on that side. “I’m okay.”
“Good. Good.” Father looked at your sleepy expression, a soft smile on her face as she petted your head. “Do you know that I would do anything for you, my dear? I treasure you dearly and hold you near my heart.”
“Y-Yes, Father. I-I do too…”
“Do you?” Father chuckled. “I am very happy to hear that. Especially from you.”
Father kissed the top of your head, before standing up, heading towards the door. “Eat up, my dear. When you finish your plate of food, please come find me in my office. I will be waiting for you.”
Father closed the door behind her, leaving the lights on. Letting out a sigh, you crawled out of bed, hobbling over to the table as you climbed onto the chair, examining the tray of food. Next to the plate of Jueyun Chili Parcels was an envelope with Father’s seal on it. You took the small letter opener Father had gifted you, and carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a piece of paper, filled with a sea of ink. You would rather read the cookbook than this.
“Adoption… guardian… Arlecchino… Y/N… child…” You picked out words you knew, filling in the blanks with your best guess. The word adoption rang in your head. Adoption? No one ever got adopted ever from the House of Hearth. Father said that this was the place orphans from all over would grow up in and graduate from. Arlecchino… that was Father’s name. You recall overhearing some of the caretakers calling Father Arlecchino.
Father… plans on adopting me? The thought struck your head, causing the paper to fall out of your hands. You immediately picked it up, eyes scanning the ink. That was literally what the paper saids. On the bottom were two straight lines adjacent to each other. One had Father’s signature on it, while the others was empty. Father… Father truly planned on adopting you. This was actually happening. You searched the envelope, looking for anything else. A note. A small folded piece of paper.
My dear Y/N,
Perhaps this will be the happy ending for the both of us. So would you like a new home, my dear?
Father.
Father.
Father genuinely planned to adopt you.
Father wanted you to become her actual child.
Was that why Father was always kinder to you?
Was this why Father was always much more lenient and biased to you?
It was because Father wanted you to be her child?
Her actual child?
You took a deep breath, picking up the first piece of paper instead. Pure adrenaline rushed through your body, thoughts racing through your head as your heart desperately tried to claw out of your ribs. This was happening. Serotonin and joy was the only emotion you could feel; not an ounce of worry or fear in your heart. Why weren’t you scared? Why weren’t you worried?
Because Father.
Father was the one asking you.
Father was asking you to be her child.
Father was giving you the one thing you craved ever since you gained the ability to comprehend.
A family.
A relationship.
Someone who truly loved you.
A parent.
So how could you ever say no?
A new home.
A new life.
No more loneliness.
No more fear or worry.
No more doubt or anxiety.
A new home.
With Father.
Arlecchino reclined back in her chair, playing with the pen in her hand. Out of anything she had ever experienced or done in her life, this was the one moment she felt genuine worry about. She could not plan this out. She could not make failsafes or backup plans. This was a reckless action. But the action she desperately wanted to take.
Arlecchino had saw a part of herself in you; that was what drawed you in to her. She saw that kid who never got along with anyone else, that was always lost in their little world. She wanted to give you the support she never had growing up. So she gave you the little perks she never had. She gave you all she wanted when she was your age.
It was unfortunate she could not find a companion for you.
But everything always works out in the end.
Life always finds a way to piece everything together.
Arlecchino was brought back to reality when she saw one of the doorknobs twist open, your adorable figure entering the room as you hobbled towards her. The letter she had purposefully placed on the tray was in your hands, cut open and the adoption paper on top of the envelope. You climbed onto the chair on the other side of her desk, placing the adoption paper on her desk.
Arlecchino watched you with a stoic expression, unable to resist a grin as she saw your cute child face look down and fiddle with the hem of your sleeve in nervousness.
“Well?” Arlecchino cleared her throat. “What do you think about my offer?”
“...Yes.” You smiled brightly, nodding your head. “I w-want to be your actual child.”
The corners of Arlecchino’s lips shot up to her eyes. “Come here.”
Arlecchino didn’t even mind you stepping on her desk to leap into your arms, as she wrapped her arms around your back and head tightly, hugging you close to her chest. The warmth in her heart only grew when you reciprocated the hug back, your tiny arms clutched onto the sides of her ribs.
Arlecchino let out a content sigh, a smile on her face. Now she could say the one phrase that held meaning to it. No more teasing. No more playfulness.
“My child.”
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Bad Decisions
Vampire Dom x GN Human Sub Requested by @transpunkslut
Summary: You've been living with your vampire for a few months, but you've never been fucked by him. Tonight, you found the nerve to ask him to be intimate.
Warnings: Unprotected sex, blood drinking,
Kinks: Vampire, terato, blood drinking, master/pet, excessive cum, primal play, oversized cock, rough kisses, multiple orgasms
Words: 2,140
More writings on Patreon.
You had been living with him for a while now, the vampire. It started with a swipe right and an invitation to dinner that you couldn't bring yourself to refuse. He was honest from the very beginning - even before you got to his mansion - that he intended to drink your blood. You still went, and here you still were, months later.
You were cattle to him. Fresh blood in the pantry. That's why you hadn't gotten up the nerve to ask him to do anything more with you. Anything... intimate, even though you so desperately wanted to feel him inside of you. You doubted he would say yes. The night began as it usually did, with breakfast in the living room before the fire as snow fell in heavy flakes outside the grand windows. You were breakfast, of course. After that, things progressed as they usually did, though he seemed to be more present than usual. More attentive.
You were talking and laughing, telling stories, when he rested his hand on your bare leg and gave you that dazzling, sharp smile you had come to adore. Later, he squeezed past you in the kitchen between the island and the counter, his crotch rubbing against your ass as he went. Then, when you were reminiscing about something upsetting, he had taken your hand in his and gave you a soft kiss on the knuckles. There were more instances than these - many more - and every time he so much as grazed you, your heart skipped a beat and your stomach fluttered. Your head was spinning all day, your legs clenched together to provide some friction.
The sun began to rise, and you were beginning to lose control of yourself. He wouldn't need to feed again so soon, but god you wanted him to. Maybe you could convince him to have a snack...
You rapped gently on the heavy walnut door that closed his office off from the rest of the house.
"Come in," his voice came from the other side, always friendly, always inviting.
You stepped into the office and closed the door behind you, then padded forward on bare feet.
"What are you up to?" you asked.
He glanced up from his paperwork to see you in nothing more than an oversized sweater and underwear.
"Working," he replied, and there was curiosity on his lips.
You stepped around his desk, and he turned his chair toward you instinctively.
I hope he doesn't kill me for this, you thought as you sat on the edge of his desk.
"What are you up to?" he asked.
You bit your lip nervously.
"Are you hungry?" you asked.
"I'm always hungry."
You tugged the sweater off one of your shoulders, revealing your neck and the puncture scars there.
"You know I won't feed on you in such quick succession, darling." His voice was part purr, part growl, and despite his words, his pupils were blown.
"I know. But you're hungry and I want to make sure you're well fed."
He swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing, and rested his hands on your legs. He was cool to the touch, but his hands were soft, and the contact send electricity up your spine. You spread your legs, only barely.
"What are you doing?" His voice was low. Warning.
"I'm being good," you answered.
Your heart was pounding in your chest. No doubt he could hear it.
He smirked.
"You're trying to seduce me, aren't you, you little minx?"
You smiled and tried to avert your eyes, but he forced you to look at him with one clawed finger beneath your chin.
"I just want to make sure you're well taken care of... Master."
You had never called him that before, but you saw a fire start behind his blood red eyes when you did. He stopped breathing as yours picked up. He didn't need to breathe, of course, but it had become habit to make you more comfortable. Now, though, he was struggling to restrain himself, so breathing wasn't on his list of priorities.
You took hold of his wrist and slid his hand over your thigh and between your legs, where you pressed it against your crotch.
"I'll hurt you."
That wasn't a threat. It was a warning.
"No, you won't. You wouldn't do anything to risk losing your steady meals."
His pointed tongue flicked out to wet his lips.
"I know you want to, Master. Please. I want it too."
"I know what you want, pet, and it's not for me to drink your blood..."
Despite his hesitance, he pressed his palm against your crotch and began to massage. You let out a huff of breath and your hips jerked forward of their own accord. He pushed his chair out and stepped between your legs. His face was inches from yours, and you could feel his cool breath on your cheek. He smelled like vanilla and nutmeg.
"This is a dangerous game you're playing," he whispered.
"I know."
One hand worked between your legs while the other came up to cup the back of your neck.
"Once we get started, I won't be able to stop."
"Good."
"It will take hours."
"I hope it does."
"You don't know what you're asking for."
"I don't care."
"Your body won't be able to handle it."
"Try me."
Finally, he allowed all reservations to crumble and fall away, and he pressed his lips firmly against yours, holding you steady by the back of your neck. He wasn't gentle. His tongue snaked into your mouth to dance with yours. It was long and slick and strong, and he easily dominated you. His saliva tasted like honey cakes, and you throbbed underneath his palm. Your skin prickled with want. You could feel his long nails digging into the nape of your neck, but you knew he wouldn't break the skin. He wouldn't want to waste any of the crimson wine that flowed through your veins. You wanted him to touch you. You wanted to feel his hands on every inch of your body.
His tongue snaked down your throat and he fucked you with it as his hand made its way past your underwear to paw at you properly. You allowed him to continue as long as you could before you had to push him away to gasp for air. He might not need to breathe, but you definitely still did.
He didn't allow a second to go by before his mouth was on your neck and he sucked deep bruises into the soft flesh.
"M-more..." you begged. "Please..."
He licked a long line up the side of your neck, following your carotid artery, and then his hands were on the hem of your sweater, tugging it up and over your head, and your underwear down and off. He tossed them both to the side and then pressed his chest against yours, forcing you to lie back on the desk. He ground his clothed member against you. You could feel the thick bulge in his pants. He was... much bigger than you expected.
"Please..." you whined again.
"Please what?" he purred in your ear as his fingers tangled in your hair.
"Please. God, fuck me, please."
"You can call me Master," he replied, and you could feel the smirk on his lips as he kissed you again.
Your head was cloudy, filled only with thoughts of him, with wants for him. Your body ached and you arched up to meet him as he pressed his hard cock against you.
"Please..."
A tear ran down your cheek. You couldn't take this teasing. You needed more.
When it seemed as if you might pull your hair out, he finally reached down between your legs. You heard his zipper, and then his cock sprung out of his trousers to slap against you. His length was throbbing and hot, and you nearly screamed in frustration.
"Master, please!"
His cockhead pressed against your entrance, his precum lubing you up, and then, agonizingly slowly, he began to push himself inside. Your eyes rolled back and you let out a moan as the head slipped in, and you clenched as the bulging shaft followed, stretching you painfully wide.
God, he was big.
He bottomed out, buried completely inside of you. You were soft and warm around him. He stilled, allowing you a moment in which you panted and spasmed around him, trying to acclimate to the sheer size of him. He was breathing heavily and you wondered briefly why. It didn't seem like he was doing it to make you comfortable, but more like... he couldn't help but pant.
"M-move. Please, move."
He pulled out, leaving only the tip of his cock inside, before he slowly buried himself deep once more. He set a steady, slow pace, and you were grateful. You had never taken anything so big, and you felt like you might break. You hurt with each thrust, stretching painfully, but your moans gave away the pleasure you were feeling. He crushed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, and his tongue snaked into your mouth a third time. The taste of him... god the taste of him. It made you wild. Feral.
He picked up the pace and you grimaced against the discomfort, but it quickly faded into bliss.
"Uuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." you moaned, long and low.
Your voice caught each time he thrust into you, breaking the word into pieces that got caught in his breath and fluttered away to swirl around the room like music.
"You feel incredible," he broke away just long enough to pant into your ear. "I should have done this sooner."
"Have you ever... nnnng... drank from someone... oh god... while they came?"
"I'm about to," he growled and sank his fangs deep into your neck just as his cock hit exactly the right button.
You came hard, clenching around him so hard it hurt. Your eyes rolled back, you arched up into him, you clawed at his back. He didn't stop thrusting, fucking you hard and fast through your orgasm as he drank deep. Your head spun as you came down. You tapped on his shoulder.
"S-stop... Gonna... Pass out..."
You felt the confliction in the muscles of his arms and chest as he struggled to let you go.
"Master..." your voice was barely a whisper.
Finally, he tore his mouth away from your neck and froze, gulping in deep breaths as he tried to calm himself.
"Master."
His head whipped around to look at you. You had never seen him like this before, so primal. So... monstrous. His eyes were wild, his hair was a mess, his lips were painted with your blood, and the tips of his wicked fangs were visible beneath his frown. You reached a hand up and stroked his cheek gently.
"Cum in me."
He didn't need you to tell him again. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and resumed his pace, hammering into you like a beast breeding its mate. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around him as he fucked you. Minutes passed... First five, then ten, then more. You came at least three more times before he was done. Finally, when you thought he was going to split you open, he pushed inside of you so deeply that you were scooted up on the desk.
The snarl that ripped from his throat was unlike any sound you had heard him make before. It was desperate. His cock throbbed aggressively inside of you as it released cum like a faucet. He filled you quickly, and you dug your nails into his back to help ground you as the sheer volume of his seed forced your insides to stretch. More minutes passed. Two. Three. The heat of his cum was bliss. Knowing that there was no way it was leaking out past his bulging manhood was ecstasy.
He thrusted as he began to come down, seemingly trying to get deeper, and with the heat of his seed, the throbbing of his cock, and the thrusting of his hips, you couldn't help but cum again. You nearly blacked out from the force of it.
After what seemed like an eternity, he relaxed on top of you, shaking. You went limp beneath him, allowing your arms to fall to your sides. Your bare chest heaved. You licked your lips, and he licked his.
"That was incredible," you panted.
He didn't smile, didn't chuckle. Instead, he pushed away from you, hooked his arms beneath your legs, and glared down at you with dark eyes. It was then that you realized he was still rock hard inside of you.
"I told you this would take hours."
Your eyes went wide as he began to thrust.
"I'm just getting started."
#my writing#vampire kink#monster kink#monsterfucker#terato#inflation kink#impreg kink#primal kink#primal play#master/pet#pet play kink#excessive seed kink#overstimulation#oversized cock#blood kink
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Hc that Jason really resonated with Frankenstein’s monster after he came back from the dead and his terrorization of Bruce is, in part, inspired by the monsters terrorization of Victor
ok i'm gonna preface this by saying what the fuck anon (/pos). i've been talking about this concept since it popped into my inbox i'm actually OBSESSED.
clawing at the insides of my enclosure foaming at the mouth etc etc
anyways, 1000% YES. the whole thing of jason being put back together not only at the hands of another, but also in a way which is so so unfamiliar to the him he knew before death, soooo extremely frankenstein's monster-coded.
both brought to life by impossible circumstances, and neither feel as though they own their autonomy. searching for some kind of redemption, needing to feel complete or avenged.
both having a sense of justice, shunned by society, one which doesn't earn them praise but instead punishment and disgust. both resenting the decisions of their creators/mentors. torn between worlds, neither of which they feel accepted in. oh my GOD.
i'm a huge fan of the whole idea of jason coming back and feeling displaced and in an entirely foreign body, and that's just oh so frankenstein's monster..
like IMAGINE that being his frame of reference for his feelings. put together what feels like piece by piece, messily, with only second-hand scraps. all with no regard for the person he was before, only with the intentions of being 'repurposed'.. AHHHHH
(as well as the fact that it's ALL mental for jason, he comes back 'perfect', unscathed and replenished. he has no physical justification for feeling the way he does, second-hand and hand-sewn. his feeling of 'monstrosity' stems from elsewhere; the feeling he gets walking around in this body which is simply not his, or the look in bruce's eyes when he sees him again for the first time, seeing a monster not a son.)
also the conscious knowing that his make-up is no longer his own, he's composed of parts which are unrecognisable to his old body, the one he owned and hand-carved through age. having to walk through days, feeling his actions as his own, but having a body which warps the intent behind them to all onlookers.
god imagine, blaming your creator for your fate, and needing the answers of your inadequacy to come from him himself.. and no other source can explain your imperfection in a way you can accept, it has to be him. jason NEEDS bruce's validation, to confirm or deny that he is irredeemable and a lost cause.
as much as i don't think jason would take pride in relating so much to frankenstein's monster, it's definitely a lingering thought in the back of his mind, something that determines his own story and outcomes.
he thinks of him when he loses control, and knows that he can't use it to justify the way he acted. he cannot tell the monster that his actions were okay, and that the people just did not understand, although as much as he wants to.. because he knows that isn't the case. he knows the monster was always a monster, and grows to feel the same way about himself.
he resents the way he acts, because all he sees is the monster. the one who acts according to his moral compass, but is always wrong. always clouded by his monstrosity. he decides he really should never trust himself or his intuition, because it's always disgusting and ugly, and even he'll be able to look back in retrospect and be repulsed by the way he carried himself, and not hate the way everyone punished him for it.
he wants so desperately to get himself back, morph back into the boy who knew his rights and wrongs and was never looked at funnily for acting how any normal person would. but the only part of his past self that still exists is in his mind, he wants to rip it out and show people that it's still him inside of there, but he simply can't do that.
his body changed without his permission, he never asked to be an abomination, a scientifical anomaly. he wants to scream about how it's not his fault, how he's not what the world paints him to be. how he can just be normal. but he's never really going to feel that way, as long as his mind and body remain two separate entities at war.
i feel like he clings onto the humanity of frankenstein's monster, and uses him as an anchor, something that shows him it's possible to remain acceptable and human.
i also think he analyses the character oh so deeply, to try and latch onto all the relatability he can find, the things he doesn't get from real people.
maybe he has a copy of the book, annotated in such a personal way. perhaps someone else stumbles upon it, and is just so distraught by the conclusions drawn from the scribbles and highlights, the way jason seems to view himself.
the way that although jason's always seen himself like the monster, unloveable and unacceptable, everyone else was always ready to accept him.
that maybe the real downfall of jason and frankenstein's monster is that the way they viewed themselves was too focused on the displacement they felt, assuming automatically that everyone else must feel the same way about them, if not worse. not taking the moment to let people learn to love them all over again.
anyways, unreliable narrators post resurrection!jason todd and frankenstein's monster, who were always seen with at least an ounce of humanity, but were both overridden by self-hatred and the disgust of their form, which led them to total exile and isolation.
#anon you have a brilliant mind#im gonna be honest not sure how much sense im talking in this one#i didn't really touch on the inspo for terrorization of bruce thing explicitly. but i think that's implied???#like he acts with frankenstein in mind. he succumbs somewhat to the actions of his and feels them set in stone#just because he feels doomed the same way the monster was#asks#anon#!!!!!!!!!!#jason todd#red hood#under the red hood#robin#character analysis#?#batboys#dc batman#dc comics#headcanon#dcu#dc#frankenstein#gothihop speaks
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vampire scar ch1 story wip-
The area around them is dangerous; the night is quickly drawing in and the darkness is beginning to wield claws and teeth, bloodlust seeping into the air in sharp howls and snarls. Yet even then, entering unknown structures could be as dooming as staying inside. Four walls could as easily trap as protect. It’s always a gamble.
With that in mind, Grian still leads Mumbo towards the mansion that looms eerie and quiet and foreboding in front of them. With a little bit of luck, it will be abandoned, covered in dust and silence and bones.
He should’ve known better. They haven’t had luck in a long time.
The hinges creak when they ram into the huge, ornate front door to convince it to open. That’s promising. The grating sound is a song of disuse, and Grian considers it a good sign as they tumble inside and quickly shut the door behind them.
For a little bit, they just breathe and try to get their bearings. The entrance hall is huge, sprawling, running off in all kinds of directions. It’s hard to make out the detail of the interior; the only light is the swiftly dimming light coming in through the windows.
Grian fails to notice that the windows aren’t covered in grime. He fails to notice that the place is not in disarray, covered in spiderwebs. He fails to notice that the air isn’t stale and dusty.
“I—I think this looks good?” Mumbo looks around cautiously, keeping close to Grian in this unfamiliar space.
Grian breathes out a huff of relief, even though the sound is still coated with tension; his body refuses to relax, too many unknown variables still spinning through his mind. Anything could lurk in the dark corners and dozens of rooms, and they’re aware only of one singular escape route—and even that is slow and uncertain, hanging on rusty, unwilling hinges.
If he would be easily swayed with any shreds of things that faintly resemble comfort, they wouldn’t have survived this long.
So he doesn’t give in. He looks around, and he wishes it would be as simple as it seems. There’s a desperate yearning in him for something uncomplicated, for one night not filled with threats and dread and fear for their lives. How he wishes to be able to close his eyes and maybe, maybe sink into a soft bed and just sleep without being terrified of the possibility of not waking up in the morning—
This place is bound to have some soft beds.
Grian’s stomach twists at the thought. No, he tells himself. He can’t be stupid here. He can’t give in. They need to remain alert; they know nothing about this place.
“We should look around,” he suggests, voice taut.
“Yes. Definitely,” Mumbo agrees immediately, his eyes roaming the area. “Do you want to split up?”
Grian swivels on his heels to face him, an indignant scoff on his lips. “Split—Split up?! Mumbo!” he chastises. “You know that—“
Mumbo lifts his hands up defensively. “Alright, alright! I’m just saying, it’s a big place. Lots of ground to cover.”
Grian’s gaze is drawn off to the side, to the doors that line only one side of the room. So many options. So many possible traps. So many places for danger to hide in. “Okay,” he says slowly, trying to swallow the trepidation that grows thick in his throat. “We could—Maybe we could check adjacent rooms, stay near but check multiple places at once?” he suggests, even though everything in him prickles, unease nauseatingly settling over him.
“Yeah, okay,” Mumbo doesn’t sound convinced, but it was his idea in the first place, so he relents. “That sounds reasonable.”
Grian glares at him. It doesn’t sound very reasonable to him. But they’re both tired and searching this place inch by inch is going to take ages as-is. They have to make compromises, Grian knows this, but it doesn’t make it any easier. “Fine,” he sighs. “Which side do you want to start with?”
“It honestly makes no difference,” Mumbo remarks.
“Fine,” Grian repeats, a tad more irritably now. He’s tired, he’s tense, his danger-senses are tingling. He is high-strung, even though he tries to convince himself that they just found something safe, that they’re not out there without shelter, that this is good. “Here, then.” He walks to his left, towards the first set of rooms, and Mumbo immediately follows without a word.
They both fall into something familiar, something orchestrated and practiced. They move quietly, their steps soft, shoulders slightly hunched, one hand always hovering over a weapon in anticipation of a threat.
As soon as they reach the two sets of doors, they give each other a look and a small nod. Grian can see Mumbo bracing himself. He knows he’s doing the same thing.
And then he pushes the door open and steps over the threshold of a dark room.
At first, a feeling that he’s alone now sinks into him, even if Mumbo’s just a shout away. He thinks about how he’s going in blindly—they don’t even have torches or anything. Every shadow will make him jumpy, he fully expects this—
Except the room is not as dark as it should be.
And it certainly isn’t as empty as he’d hoped.
It’s the far end of the room that’s flickering with dim, warm light. There’s a candle burning up, its flame a weak, dying thing. Grian’s eyes snag at it at first, drawn by the light like a moth to a flame. There’s something reassuring in the gentle, hot glow of a fire, just for a split second, until he pushes that instinct down and reminds himself that a fire he himself didn’t set is bound to burn him—
That’s when his gaze swerves to the side.
There’s a person there.
There’s a person.
Grian’s mind short-circuits for three precious seconds, before he reboots. Immediately, he hunches up more. His fingertips find his daggers, a tool as ready for stabbing as for throwing. The other person didn’t notice him yet—clearly, because they start humming some silly, jaunty, way-too-content melody as they look over what seems to be an old leather journal. The hum is interrupted only by huffs of laughter.
This gives Grian enough time to take the stranger in.
He doesn’t like what he finds.
Even in the candlelight, their skin is pale, and there’s an old, dried spot of blood near the corner of their mouth. They’re dressed up a bit too well for the reality they’re living in.
The candlelight glimmers, catches on something shiny and sharp.
A canine tooth.
Grian takes in a sharp breath. He straightens up, grabs a proper hold of one of the daggers, and he thinks in alarm of Mumbo in the other room—and sure, Mumbo didn’t call out yet, but if there’s one of these guys, there might be more, and—
And Grian needs to warn him right now, even at the cost of blowing his own stealth.
“Mumbo!” he calls out, and he belatedly wonders if this will just call more trouble to them than they can handle. “There’s a monster here!”
There’s a frightened gasp then, a jump and a thud of a journal that was sent flying and hit the floor.
“What?! Where?” An alarmed yelp that sounds across the space isn’t Mumbo’s voice. It’s the stranger’s voice—startled, deep, but oddly soft.
For a second, Grian thinks maybe he made a mistake. Maybe this person isn’t a monster, if this is their reaction?
The stranger spins around and his eyes land on Grian’s, their gaze locking. He holds a hand to his chest and he heaves a big breath, before he chuckles quietly, a tense and unsteady sound. “Gosh, you scared me.”
“I—what?” Grian stares uncomprehendingly at the reaction.
The man’s lips curl into a cherubic smile, then—innocent and bright and—
Definitely not harmless, given by the two sharp canines and the dried blood at the corner of his mouth.
This drives it in for Grian, erasing all doubts: this person is a vampire.
“Well hello there,” the man says, seamlessly slipping more confidence and charm into his voice, even if the edges of it still echo startled unease. “I didn’t realise I have guests!” His gaze jumps to somewhere past Grian’s shoulder. “How rude of me. Welcome!”
Something touches Grian’s back and he almost jumps out of his skin, shrieking at the touch.
“No! It’s just me!” Mumbo immediately tries to fix his mistake.
“God,” Grian breathes out deeply, everything in him ready to snap as he turns back towards the enigma of a vampire they’re now facing. At least he’s no longer alone in this. “He’s a vampire,” he murmurs to Mumbo, even though he’s fully aware his voice carries all the way across the room.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Mumbo notes, signs of distress colouring his voice.
“Now, now,” the man in front of them—the monster, the vampire—lifts his hands amicably. “There’s no need for alarm. I’m a vegetarian!” he offers cheerily.
Even though he says that, his gaze lingers on Grian in a way that makes a chill run down his spine.
“A vegetarian,” Grian repeats flatly. He isn’t sure why he’s even entertaining the idea; it’s completely absurd.
“Yes!” the man nods fervently, his smile spreading, all toothy and sharp. “I don’t eat anything with a face!”
The blood stain at the corner of his mouth says otherwise.
“I didn’t know that’s possible,” Mumbo exclaims from behind Grian, a little bit too naively for Grian’s comfort.
“Mumbo, there’s no way he’s telling the truth,” he grumbles at him, annoyed.
“No! No, I am!” the man insists. “I usually tear the face off first.”
He says it so simply, chuckling a little, it completely flabbergasts Grian.
“A—You what?” the words fall past his lips before he can think better of it.
“I tear the face off,” the man repeats with an unbothered shrug of his shoulder. It seems to take him another moment to register the apprehension of the other two people in the room, because he only belatedly hastily adds: “There’s nothing to worry about, really! I haven’t had guests in ages, I’m so happy to have you over!”
“We’re—“ Grian’s mind spins as he tries to process this. “Guests? Over? What? No!”
“Oh.” The man’s shoulders slump in immense sadness—it reeks of solitude, of disappointment, of such sheer unhappiness that it stabs at Grian’s heart.
He knows this is wrong. He knows vampires are charming and manipulative. He knows they have their ways of pulling in their prey, before they inevitably sink their teeth into flesh and bleed them dry. And yet—
And yet.
Something in his heart can’t bear the look of this stranger looking so small and abandoned. Maybe because he himself knows what it feels like, first-hand. Maybe because he knows that if it wasn’t for Mumbo, he’d be completely lost. He can’t begin to imagine staying in a big, empty, dark place all alone for—how long?
His feelings keep snagging on something hot, like that flickering flame of a candle. Something that burns through his veins, singes his heart. Something unsteady and dangerous.
He didn’t know vampires could look lonely.
He hates himself for that swell of empathy. He hates the momentary loss of control. He knows they’re being played now.
“Look, pal,” he starts, and it’s cautious. He takes a step back, meets Mumbo’s chest and hopes the man realises this is their cue to retreat. “I appreciate the offer, but we’re not staying. Sorry to intrude, we’ll—uh, we’ll leave you to it.” Whatever the it was.
The man is still looking directly at him. There’s something yearning in his eyes. Something heartbroken. He seems to shrink further as he tears his gaze away. “Okay,” he says in a small voice.
Mumbo makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. He’s still blocking Grian’s retreat.
“Mumbo,” Grian hisses at him.
“Yeah, right, I just—“ Mumbo stammers, indecision wild in his veins. He takes a tentative half-step away, feeling Grian immediately crowd his space again, pressing against him to retreat further.
The man—no, not man, the vampire—looks towards the window contemplatively, before his gaze flicks back to them. “You want to leave?”
“Yes,” Grian confirms immediately. “We’re just gonna go—“
“Where?” the vampire asks, an odd, unreadable inflection in his voice as he takes a singular step forward.
Grian twitches. “Out,” he replies, his voice strained. He presses further against Mumbo, and thankfully Mumbo moves, takes three steps, enough to get them out of the room, but not too many to still be able to catch and steady Grian at the unexpected loss of security.
The vampire’s eyebrows pull to a concerned scowl. “But it’s dangerous.”
He says it so simply. So staggeringly simply.
The worst thing about it is, he’s not wrong.
Grian pauses and contemplates this for a moment, then. The outside poses a million potential unknown threats. Here, they’re facing a vampire, but they know how to handle vampires. They could handle one of them. They could— This could still be their best option.
“Are you alone?” he ventures tentatively.
The vampire gives him a look that says it all. “Yes,” he admits, and it’s not charming, it’s not confident. It’s shaky and it’s open and it’s wounded. Maybe a little bit afraid. “I—Is it so bad I don’t want to be, for a little bit? I promise I’m not dangerous,” he slides straight to bargaining. “You can sleep here! I could, I probably have some food you could eat. I won’t do anything to you, I just—I—“
He looks so, so lost.
“Grian?” Mumbo says quietly, and it comes out a bit wobbly and emotional.
That’s the thing that breaks Grian’s own dangerous tilt of judgement. He looks over his shoulder sharply, frowning. “You can’t be serious.”
“W—well, I mean—“ Mumbo fumbles for words, trying to get some rationality out of his heart. “It’s better than the outside?”
Grian side-eyes the vampire. “We should just kill him.”
“Kill?” the vampire repeats in alarm; the word is laced with false laughter, as if he tried to spin it into a joke. It rings hollow, anxious, untrue. “Noooo, no, there’s no need for that! I like living thank-you-very-much!”
“Living,” Grian repeats flatly, challengingly. “You’re not alive.”
“I am!” the vampire protests vehemently. “I breathe and I bleed and I can die.” He pauses, ponders briefly if making that one point in particular was smart. “I—Well. I can starve and all that and, and, I have feelings!”
Grian stares at him blankly. Something in him is unconvinced, but his heart bashes itself against his ribcage in attempted empathy anyway. “This can't be happening,” he mutters dismally.
“Look, I can, I can show you around! You can decide then! It’s just me here, all alone, there’s plenty of space for you even if you want me to stay away! I can go to a different wing or—or something. I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement?” he proposes, his voice hasty and desperate. “I just. You don’t have to leave.”
Something about the way he says it chips away at Grian’s resolve, strips his caution, leaves him feeling incredibly human in arguably the worst way possible when confronted with a charming monster. Still, he hears himself say, “Okay.”
The vampire perks up immediately. “Okay!” he echoes.
“Okay?” Mumbo repeats with more alarm and unsteadiness.
Grian shoots him a look. “I thought you wanted to do this?”
“W—Well, yes, I just. I didn’t expect you to agree?” he admits sheepishly.
“Mumbo.” Grian is looking at him with a deep frown. “Do you want to stay or do you want to leave?”
“I—I don’t know!” Mumbo cries, indecisiveness rushing wildly through his veins. More than anything, he doesn’t want to be culpable for this decision and its repercussions.
Grian sighs and lets his gaze slide away. If Mumbo can’t bear the weight of this decision, it now falls back on Grian. It’s a familiar weight. It’s something he needs to shoulder, their fate, their pitfalls. The inevitable guilt of it all. The feeling that whatever he decides might just guide Mumbo to his demise.
He meets the gaze of the vampire, as steadily as he can manage. “Give us the tour.”
Without hesitation, the vampire moves forward, towards the door, towards the room’s exit, towards the rest of the mansion—
Grian flinches at the sudden approach and stumbles a couple of steps back, pulling Mumbo with him, keeping the taller man protectively behind him.
It makes the vampire pause. “Okay,” he says slowly. “I think we need to lay some ground rules. First of all, introductions. That always helps! I’m Scar!”
Grian blinks, his throat dry with the abruptness of his panic reaction. With the preposterousness of this situation.
“And you are?” the vampire—Scar—prompts.
“I—I’m Mumbo, and this is Grian,” Mumbo stammers for both of them.
Scar’s eyes spark up and he gives a big smile. “Wonderful! I’m happy to meet you!” The words are silky, charming in a way that lets them easily burrow underneath skin without notice. They’re honest, too, and maybe that’s where they draw their power from—because Scar truly is lonely, in such a deep, raw way, and there’s nothing if not pure relief that his new guests decided to not immediately leave.
He’s tired of feeling like a monster. He’s tired of being alone, unloved, unwanted.
He’s tired of feeling like these old, cracked, dusty walls—empty and abandoned.
His heart beats in his chest in a wild waltz as he approaches the strangers-no-more again, this time careful about where he steps and how close he gets. He maintains a safe distance, giving a tight smile as he passes them, before taking big steps into the open space.
He spins there, buzzing with theatrics and more than a smidge of showmanship, spreading his arms wide. “This is my mansion.”
It’s very easy, Grian finds, to give in. To let Scar reel him in and pull him along. His body follows unquestioningly, taking in room after room after room, dizzyingly trying to slot the information and not get lost amidst it all—his survival instincts scream at him, but the rest of him is just plain tired and, honestly, a little bit lulled after he watches Scar for a while.
Because Scar isn’t lithe and agile, strong and immovable. He isn’t as charming as one would expect of a vampire, either, even if he’s rambly and his tongue is undeniably tinged with silver. He’s cheerful and he’s giggly and he’s, for the lack of a better word, endearing. But more than that, he’s clumsy and forgetful and edging just on the side of nervous.
It puts Grian ill-at-ease, because this isn't what a vampire should be, and that means Grian can't predict him, doesn't know what to expect.
And yet he keeps following him, watching him, listening to him.
He should try to pay more attention to the mansion tour and less to the man, maybe. The layout is important. He needs to know exit routes, and the possible sources of danger.
But isn’t Scar a source of danger? Living—or so he claims—and moving and very much capable of harm?
So what if Grian’s gaze lingers on him a little bit too much? What if he focuses on his body language and his tone more than the walls that surround them?
He tells himself it’s only because he’s being wary.
“You can sleep here,” Scar finally says in a room that has two huge beds, at the very end of the mansion. The hallway that leads to the room ends with a backdoor exit, an easy way out if they feel trapped or—Scar very much wants to not think about it, even if it’s an option he offers freely—if they decide to sneak out.
Scar walks towards the fireplace and he fiddles for a while, struggling to get it lit.
“Here, I can help,” Mumbo offers, moving forward. He produces flint and steel, reaching for the fireplace.
Grian watches Scar flinch away.
His lips purse, taking in the scene. The beds are a comfort they weren’t able to indulge in for a long time. So is the fire, deep at night. A source of light and warmth. There’s a clear exit. Nobody else is in the building. Nothing about this screams it’s a trap.
And they know how to kill vampires, if push comes to shove.
But they can’t do it if they’re asleep.
He stares at Scar, his gaze prickling the vampire until he turns around and their gazes meet.
Scar offers a tentative, shy smile.
“If there’s anything else you guys need, just let me know,” Scar says then, the words easy on his tongue, unhesitatingly willing to provide for them.
Grian frowns. “What do you need?” he questions instead. “What do you want from us?”
“Nothing!” Scar says immediately.
Grian dismally thinks that’s the first lie he’s heard from him. It’s so easy to identify, it makes everything else startlingly slot in as truth. The awareness of it makes him feel destabilised at his core. He sways a little in his spot, reaches out for the bed frame for support. “That’s—No,” he says weakly, too aware of the green eyes boring into him. “You definitely want something.”
There it is. That heartbreak.
He didn’t know vampires could project heartbreak so well.
Project? Or feel?
Grian finds with increasing panic that he can no longer tell the difference. None of this makes sense. None of this should be happening.
The fire crackles, strong and alive, lapping at the air and throwing a warm, flickering glow over the room as Mumbo takes a step away from it.
“Oh, you did it!” Scar perks up, his eyes squinting in a smile he throws Mumbo’s way. “That’s wonderful, thank you for your help!”
“Well, I mean, it’s for us, right?” Mumbo sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “And it was easy enough.”
“It always gives me trouble,” Scar admits freely, “dealing with fire. A bit scary, if you ask me.”
“You’re a vampire,” Grian notes flatly. It comes out blank and rough, his suspicions warring with his emotions. “Fire harms you.”
“Yes, well,” Scar meets his gaze. “I like how it glows. I like the warmth.”
Grian continues to stare at him, because he isn’t sure how to actually process all of that. Instead, he takes a breath and presses: “You didn’t answer the question.”
Scar blinks. “What question?”
Grian frowns, but doesn’t relent. “What do you want from us?”
Scar’s gaze shifts to the fireplace. “The fire harms you, too,” he says, and it’s soft and contemplative, but makes everything in Grian prickle with a warning. “You also get hungry,” Scar continues. “And you need rest, and you need—“ he falls quiet.
“We need?” Mumbo prompts, and he sounds so gentle, so careful.
It makes Scar lift his gaze to him, meet his eyes. There’s hesitation in him, some unknown emotions swirling up, raw and threatening. He swallows hard, before prying his gaze away. “You need safety,” Scar continues, even though his voice is clearly strained, “and I can give you that.”
“What for,” Grian insists. “What do you want for it.”
Green eyes shift to him, and somehow Grian’s heart picks up speed, feeling irrationally guilty at having asked.
“I don’t want anything,” Scar repeats, his voice wavering and quiet.
“Surely you must want something out of this,” Grian insists, even though there’s a lump in his throat and he feels terrible.
Scar looks away, then. He severs their connection, making Grian reel at the sudden lack of it.
“I just,” Scar says, and it’s a half-sigh, it’s a half-whisper, it’s a quiet, tentative, cracked confession. “I thought it might be nice to have some company for a little bit.”
It’s so soft, so vulnerable that it makes Grian feel like the ground was pulled from underneath him. Emotions sway him at the sight of the man—the vampire, he reminds himself futilely—so hunched over and sad.
He knows how feeling alone in a world that no longer wants you feels like.
He just didn’t count on monsters having actual feelings.
He didn’t count on monsters looking so human.
His heart clogs his throat and he finds himself speechless.
“Were you—“ Mumbo tries to say something, but his voice falters as soon as Scar’s gaze lands on him. There’s a moment of silence, before Mumbo regathers his courage and finishes: “Were you alone for long?”
Scar’s shoulders sag at that. He seems to be crushed underneath some invisible weight. “Yeah,” he says, and the word barely manages to make it past his lips, daunted and small.
Grian feels his heart slam sharply against his ribs at the confession.
“W—well,” Mumbo looks over at Grian, catching his gaze. He’s hesitant and unsure, but clearly willing and wanting to offer something.
Grian’s eyebrows pull into a frown. His emotions scream one thing at him, but every remaining shred of rationality screams something else. It’s an overwhelming cacophony and he knows he’s the one who’s expected to make the decisions—and then bear the weight of them going wrong—yet he finds himself feeling lost and adrift at this.
Mumbo holds his gaze for a moment longer, before he lets it swivel back to Scar. “We’ve actually never really talked to a vampire before.”
“No,” Scar shakes his head in immediate sympathy. “I wouldn’t imagine you would. They’re not a friendly bunch.”
Something about that statement stabs at Grian’s heart, his eyes still locked on Scar. “Then… Why are you talking to us?”
Scar’s gaze meets his and, again, it makes Grian's heart trip over itself.
“Because I want friends?” he says, and it’s so open and vulnerable and his voice is thick with emotions, cracking and failing him at the end of his miserable sentence.
Grian takes a sharp breath, fumblingly attempting to remind himself that vampires are dangerous and they’re charmers and they’re manipulators and—
“You can’t mean that,” he says in the end, the words a little bit hoarse.
Scar blinks, confused. “What?”
Grian shakes his head vehemently. “You’re a vampire. We’re just food for you.”
Scar’s eyebrows twitch into a frown, before they smooth out and his face stretches into a smirk. “You do have faces, don’t you? I told you I don’t eat anything with a face.”
“But you could, you know,” Mumbo steps in, “rip the face off or something, as you said.”
Scar’s gaze anchors into his, a displeased curl to his mouth. “I don’t eat my friends.”
“But we’re not friends,” Grian chimes in.
“We could be,” Scar suggests easily, unaware of how threatening that sounds.
(... tbc?)
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as the title states, this is a wip of a potential story that was put on the backburner because my hands are full. if you want to know more about what kind of things are meant to happen in this au (atm it's just a collection of ideas, rather than any specific outline), or are curious about anything else, feel free to ask! and let me know what you think about it so far <3
if you're curious where this au came from, i recommend you to watch random encounter's "resident enis" videos (there are two). i'm sure you'll see my vision. (the line about not eating anything with a face is there kjxnbkj.)
this was written on a whim and for the longest time, i kept calling it "silly vampire scar au" (in the spirits of resident enis), even though i know the au devolves—as per usual—into heavier topics and angst. it's set in a world riddled with monsters, it's a survival story, pretty much.
fun fact: the working title of this au is called "Silly Vampire Mr GoodTimes"
i need a better name for it though, "vampire scar au" is so generic, and sure it does have a vampire scar in it, but it's not exclusively about him... but i have no idea what else to call it/how to title it (rip) (pls help-)
#ange writes#i saw the votes#you guys wanted this#well here it is#i wrote this months ago#but the au still lives in my head#i just have too many projects#but hopefully one day this will be something!#let me know how you like it :3#vampire scar#vampire scar au#oh also#speaking of where inspiration was yoinked from#the idea that vampires are weak to fire was borrowed from carry on
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Ardently
Pairing: Fem Tav/Gale
Tags: 18+, Hurt/Comfort, smut and angst, Act 2 romance scene
Word count: 4.7K
Summary:
When the dust of his sacrifice has long since cooled and tales of this adventure are strummed by the city’s bards, Gale cares not if his involvement boils down to one line. The wizard that made his mistakes have meaning. It’s her version of the story that matters. The one she’ll keep to herself. The one that years in the future, she may find herself thinking of on quieter nights. That amongst the blood and steel and dirt, she’ll remember softer lips, careful hands, the shape of fireside stories told with words long since forgotten. And hopefully, when those memories flicker just right, that she was loved desperately and completely.
Even if the face of the man who’d said it has been worn away.
♥・。.。*♥*。.。·*♥*·。.。*♥*·。.。*♥*。.。·*♥
Can you truly fit a lifetime of love into just one night?
♥・。.。*♥*。.。·*♥*·。.。*♥*·。.。*♥*。.。·*♥
Read on AO3 or below.
“I’m no Goddess.”
“Yes you are. Trust me, I would know.”
There’s a small cluster of freckles that trail from behind Tav’s ear and down the hollow of her throat. Gale traces each one with his finger, following the shift of her body as she turns into him. He replaces his finger with his mouth, brushing back and forth to the open fastening of her collar until her neck flushes a darker pink.
Her answering breath kisses against his ear, her fingers pulling his hair just hard enough that he sees flashes of gold behind his eyelids.
Never has he been more grateful that the summoned bed they’re tangled in doesn’t need concentration to maintain. It’s a small gesture on his part- something to anchor them to a fleeting sense of normality amongst the chill of the shadow curse. If he keeps his eyes to her face and his hands cupped to her skin, they can forget the claws of the world beyond and just be.
She pulls his mouth back to hers and his tongue brushes the seam of her lips. There’s a lingering note of something rich there- a glass of raided wine or brandy perhaps. It’s an unexpected detail, one he’d have missed had they indulged in his original plan for the night. He’d been more than ready to make love to her amongst the breath of the stars, manipulate the fabric of reality around them and wring pleasures from her until their very souls were sated. And yet she’d simply taken his hand, looked at him with a feeling that almost felt too heavy for his shoulders and said that she wanted him as he is.
And if there’s one thing Gale is, it’s thorough.
He drags her clothed thigh to his hip and presses her harder into the mattress.
If he can’t please her with his magic then he can damn well do it with his body- loving her in every way they can both imagine until she’s flushed and perfectly spent in his arms. He’d thought about it enough anyway, more and more with each passing day until he’d felt less wizard and more besotted school boy.
It’s curious, he’d thought at first, how memories of his Goddess, so heavy and cold in their intensity could be eclipsed by such achingly mortal desires. The vision of Tav’s kiss in the weave had seared itself so thoroughly into his brain that he could scarcely watch her speak without wondering about the taste of her lips.
And on hotter nights, the taste of her body as well.
“Wait- the poster curtains,” she gasps as his hand wanders under her shirt. When his lips don’t leave hers, she pulls him back and gestures to the open fields around them.
Ah. Privacy. Something he’d been far too pleasantly distracted to remember. He quickly turns around and waves them shut, his summoned aurora disappearing behind the thick drapes.
As do his words when he faces her again.
Tav sits back against the cushions. She’s shadowed in the dimmer light but quite clearly completely naked.
The question of how she was able to do that dies on his tongue as he takes her in. He’d witnessed stars crash down like diamonds in the astral sea and magic born anew in the heart of Elysium and yet he can’t fathom a single sight that has left him quite so breathless as the woman smiling in front of him.
She chuckles at his silence and crawls forward, caressing the side of his face. “Ah so this is what you look like tongue-tied.” Her other hand slowly pulls the fastening of his shirt open until her thumb rests over the orb. “I think I like that.”
His breath catches as she continues to stroke the spot. There’s a familiar fondness blooming over her face, something he’d only glimpsed during whispered conversations when the wine made her eyes shine.
He wraps his arms around her middle and tips them both back against the sheets. He captures her mouth again, letting his hands find their own path across the miles of bare skin under him. He bites a groan into her shoulder as her hips rise to meet his, soft and blissfully warm.
“I wanted to do that,” he mumbles into her neck.
Her answering laugh rumbles through both their chests. “Well, I can put my clothes back on if you’d prefer.”
Her tease melts into a gasp as he kisses her ear.
“Don’t you dare.”
He sits back so she can tug off his shirt. He draws focus as she does, taking in every small detail: the scent of her hair, the sway of her hip, that previously hidden trail of freckles now spilling in a constellation over her breasts. He savours each one, pressing them like flowers between the pages of his memory.
Tav takes her time undressing him, kissing every new inch of skin revealed. He swallows a string of rather unbecoming words as she mouths against his underwear, kissing and sucking in a devastating pattern. His eyes slam closed as she pulls them off and her lips close over him. He’s already fully, desperately hard and those sinfully wet noises are not helping his already precarious self control. Her tongue traces the full length of him and his hand flies to the back of her neck.
Gods, the verses he could write about her mouth if she’d let him.
A cooler air hits him as he suddenly feels her jerk back. He shifts onto his elbows and sees her sitting frozen by his legs. Her whole body is bathed in brilliant blue light, the orb in his chest now glowing under her wide-eyed gaze. It takes him a moment to realise she’s only seen it this way a few times before- either when he was doubled over in pain or as it greedily devoured the magical items they could part with.
“Don’t worry. It’s safe, I swear to you,” he says, taking her hand and pressing it over the orb. It pulses under her palm, perfectly in time with his heart. “Before, excitement was something I had to avoid as such feelings made it hard to keep control. But now it’s not going to do anything unless I make it so.”
Her face relaxes as she looks from his chest to his face. Her lips twist into a gentle smirk. “So I suppose this is why my advances at the party were not getting me anywhere?”
He laughs softly at the memory. “They were more than welcome. To know that what you pictured in the weave was no mere fantasy, but something you wanted- it was everything to me.” He cups his hand over hers, the orb still shining brightly under their touch. “Trust me when I say that I really considered testing the bounds of my self-control that night.”
He’d sat by his tent and thought in circles for hours about whether one night with her was worth disintegrating an area the size of a city. And as their journey went on, it became harder for the answer to that question to be anything other than a thunderous yes.
“Were you worried that I might seek different company?”
He pulls her a little closer at the question, pressing his forehead to hers. “Perhaps a little, but I couldn’t have really blamed you. With such danger around every corner, taking comfort with another in a moment of calm is… understandable.” His words are a half truth at best. He vividly remembers the looks she’d gotten from their other companions that night, ranging from sweet adoration to a much darker want. But despite it all, she simply made her rounds and bid each a brief goodnight.
Even though he lay in his bedroll alone and aching that night- there was a new spark in his chest. That despite everything, she might be willing to wait for him.
“Do you know what I did that night instead?” she asks. She wraps her arms around his neck as he shakes his head and moves onto his lap. He audibly swallows as she shifts her heat against him. “When the party was finally quiet and everyone else had taken to their bedrolls, I let my mind wander anywhere it wanted. And as the night crept on, I couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about you.”
His hands tighten against her thighs as her lips touch his chin.
“What did you think about?” he whispers. There’s no hiding the want dripping from each of his words, the orb flaring brighter with anticipation.
“A few things. Your face, the way your mouth quirks just so when you’re casting. But mostly your hands.” She presses a kiss to his fingers, her eyes alight. “I’ve seen what you can do with them. You’re always so very… precise. So when the fire burned low, I thought about what those hands might feel like touching me. But sadly I don’t think my own fingers could do them justice.” She leans back and he watches rapt as her wicked mouth continues in a low whisper. “So this won’t be the first time I find pleasure with your name on my lips.”
She kisses his cheek as she finishes. It’s the exact moment Gale feels his patience snap in two.
He grabs both of her wrists and pushes her onto the mattress.
“You need not wonder any more,” he mouths against her neck, ready to show her just how precise his hands can be.
He kisses down to her breasts. Her heart pounds against his cheek as he covers one with his mouth, licking over her nipple until it hardens under his touch. He lightly massages the other, savouring each little gasp and whimper that spills from her lips.
She cries out louder as he tugs her nipple between his teeth. He does it again, slipping his leg between hers and parting her thighs with his knee. There’s no hesitation in his touch as he maps a new path, softly caressing her stomach before dipping lower.
Her breath catches as he brushes her folds, so he presses harder- spreading the wetness building against the pad of his thumb. He circles her clit slowly at first, lifting his mouth so he can watch her face twist and bloom with want.
He kisses the tip of her breast, then her lips. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, skirting his mouth down with clear intent.
She cries out again as he strokes the length of her with his tongue before pausing to press a gentle kiss to her clit.
Her hands find in his hair as he circles the spot.
“Gods.Yes. Right there.”
He takes his time tasting her. Coaxing the weave is a specific art, one that requires such careful use of the tongue. It’s a skill he’s built over many years and one he can use right now- pulling pleasures grander than any magic from her body. He adjusts his technique as he goes, using the pitch of her cries to guide him.
His thumb takes over against her clit as he slowly presses his tongue inside her.
Her thighs clamp down against his head as she comes. He continues to thrust in and out as she rides her high, leaving him wondering how a litany of curses can sound so sweet coming from her lips.
He’s back on her before she has time to catch her breath, kissing her swollen clit again and drawing it between his lips. He presses a hand just under her navel, finding a new rhythm with his mouth as she writhes under him.
He isn’t sure how long he stays there, licking and massaging, feeling her finish again and again and again until tears well like burning stars in her eyes.
He could stop now. The ache in his jaw and shoulders are certainly begging him to. So many others would probably be more than satisfied having felt her come the first couple of times, but he knows he’s not there yet. Not until he’s sure that his name and this night are rooted in her memory as strongly as the magic inside her.
When the dust of his sacrifice has long since cooled and tales of this adventure are strummed by the city’s bards, he cares not if his involvement boils down to one line. The wizard that made his mistakes have meaning. It’s her version of the story that matters. The one she’ll keep to herself. The one that years in the future, she may find herself thinking of on quieter nights. That amongst the blood and steel and dirt, she’ll remember softer lips, careful hands, the shape of fireside stories told with words long since forgotten. And hopefully, when those memories flicker just right, that she was loved desperately and completely.
Even if the face of the man who’d said it has been worn away.
He returns focus between her thighs, licking with renewed vigour until her exhausted pleasure reverberates like a hymn between the sheets.
There’s one more thing he’d like her to remember, something entirely selfish but it would be a lie to say it’s not driving him just as hard right now. In a month or a season or a year when she takes a new lover, there’ll be that brief moment where her mind will wander, wondering if anyone can bring her to the heights that he was able to in a single night.
She tugs his hair and he finally pulls back from her quivering flesh. He can only imagine his face right now- eyes bright, breaths ragged, chin shining with the evidence of her pleasure. What he’d give for a mirror so he can see himself truly undone for her.
He kisses the inside of her thigh. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Gods no, I -“ her words catch as he sucks the skin just hard enough to leave a mark. “We have all night,” she finally gasps out.
He rubs the purple spot and climbs over her again. “Yes we do. And I intend to use every moment of it.”
He rolls to the side and pulls her back flat to his chest. He kisses her throat and rubs the planes of her body until she relaxes soft as water against him.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs as his hands brush over her breasts, cupping them gently. She throws her head back as he rubs his thumb over her nipple and kisses down the curve of her throat.
His lips stop when they reach a scattering of familiar pin-prick scars. The marks left from Astarion’s bites.
It’s the first time he’s seen them so close and he’s a little surprised at just how many there are. Most are faded, but a few are pinker and clearly still healing. Something grumbles in his throat when he notices a pair closer to her collarbone. They’re raised and swollen, probably less than a day old.
He knows it’s just a means to an end. She’d assured him as such when he’d found her woozily staggering around after the first time. But here, with the taste of her pleasure on his tongue and her skin against his hands, he feels oddly bitter about it.
He covers the marks with his mouth and, in a sudden flush of possessiveness, bites down hard. Her shocked little squeak echoes between the curtains. He immediately lets go, but she grabs his head and pushes his mouth back down before he can even think to apologise. He follows her lead, sucking and nipping his own marks into the skin until he knows a bouquet of purple bruises are going to shine there for everyone to see come morning.
He smiles at the thought as his palm drifts down to cup her sex.
She bucks against him, moaning as he presses a finger inside her. His breath leaves him in a long sigh as she thrusts down, working herself against his touch. He lets her find her own rhythm, enjoying the tight slick heat as he adds another finger.
Tav cries out again, one hand cupping the back of his neck, the other flying down to cover his own. He kisses her jaw as she moves faster and gently presses her over-sensitive clit with his thumb.
Her back slams against his chest. Her thrusts are rough and jerky against his fingers, but her answering cry is different. It’s barely audible, but he catches the whisper as it brushes past her lips like a prayer.
“Gale.”
His hand immediately stops.
He rolls over, removing his hand and settling himself between her thighs in one quick movement.
“Say that again,” he whispers, pressing himself against her heat until she sighs and shivers under him.
Her smile softens. She touches his temple, then his cheek, leaning up to kiss her answer against his mouth. “My Gale.”
Before he can react, she’s hooking her leg to his hip and rolling them over again. She brushes her lips to his forehead as she grips his erection and slowly eases herself onto him.
His hands clamp over her waist and it takes every iron-wrought fibre of his self-control not to finish right then and there.
Her mouth falls open as she fully seats herself. He can already feel the curve of her lips spilling into his dreams: red and wet and parted with desire. It’s a heady sight.
He heaves himself up as she slowly starts to move, letting his mouth explore every inch of sweat-slick flesh he can find. She shudders harder as he brushes over her pulse, so he does it again, then one more time, groaning as her thrusts become more erratic.
The planes of their bodies glisten with the orb’s light. Gale briefly looks down to watch it brighten between them. It’s both salvation and extinction, the evidence of his own hubris burned like a death warrant in his skin. There hasn’t been a day since his fall where he hasn’t fantasised about clawing it out of his chest.
He’s finding it hard to hold onto that feeling when it’s currently making Tav glow like the divine in his lap.
He closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in the feeling. Her mouth is everywhere, hot against his chest, his jaw, his ear. His fingers dig into her back as she softly bites the lobe.
When he pulls her face back to his, there’s something hanging between her teeth, small and glinting in the light. He stops moving when he realises it’s his earring.
She doesn’t say anything as he takes it from her, but her eyes waver with uncertainty- waiting for his reaction.
He turns the star between his fingers. It’s slightly tarnished from years of wear and something burns right under the orb as he takes in every tiny scratch and imperfection.
They both know it’s more than just some trinket. It’s the emblem of magic itself, his everything, the person he’d been told he was ever since he’d been able to use his hands. And it’s Her.
Mystra.
His chest burns harder.
Every night since she’d cast him out he’d thought of her. Her love. Her anger. How she’s still so intimately intertwined with his power just as the night and stars above. Once upon a time that thought had brought him some sense of comfort, that with every spell that crackled between his hands her eye may have been upon him, perhaps just long enough to feel his remorse.
A year of silence that earned him. A year of stony unwavering devotion that he refused to shirk. Nights conjuring her visage, practising his apologies and admonitions, feeling those grey hairs lengthen under his own cold purple light. And when the sun finally warmed his robes again, there was a break in that silence, her final gift wrapped in Elminster’s resolute words.
Death. And then perhaps what she’d consider her forgiveness.
Gale drops the earring on the mattress and eases Tav onto her back. Her eyes squeeze shut as he thrusts harder, chasing that burning thread of their joint pleasure. Gone is the finesse of before, replaced with a darker, frantic want to feel her, love her and forget everything beyond the cradle of her arms.
He bites at the fruit of her lips, tastes her desire, then kisses that swollen curve as if he can press a lifetime of adoration into her skin.
She turns her face into the pillows but he guides it back to him, gently holding it there so he can watch every flicker of bliss as it rolls in waves over her. It’s a shameful want, but he needs to remember, to hold on, so that when this is done and she’s too far away to watch him burn, he can let the last thing he sees be someone who’d loved the whole of him.
And perhaps, if he can cling onto those infinitely precious parts of her, something can bring them back together one day. Maybe after the universe has long since dimmed.
“Wait- please.”
Her breathy cry pulls him from the thought. Her eyes are wide underneath his, her mouth half open with an unfinished thought. He slows his hips as she lifts herself and strokes the side of his face.
“I'm not letting you go, Gale. Not now. Not ever.”
Her words are a whisper but their strength is clear, as steadfast as cliffs to the wind. He feels each one take root inside him. The promise of love, of someone so clearly ready to fight fate and the Gods for him- it’s so new and strangely wonderful.
It threatens to break his heart all over again.
He takes her fingers and kisses each one before laying her down again.
“I know.”
She comes one last time with his name on her lips. He drinks the gasp from her, collapsing into her neck as he follows over the edge. She holds him through his final thrusts, humming softly against his hairline.
“That’s it. Let me feel you.”
He basks in the boneless feeling for a moment before pulling out, murmuring a spell so the mess between them disappears.
She chuckles and pulls him more comfortably onto her chest. The slowing beat of her heart drums a soft rhythm against his ear. He listens a while as he catches his breath, trying to centre his thoughts.
There’s a lot he wants to say, too much, speeches he’d written then rewritten in his mind as he’d sat waiting for her earlier.
She runs a hand through his hair and the words catch behind his lips. It’s an unhurried movement, her fingers gently raking from the top of his head to the nape of his neck and then back. When her thumb caresses the tip of his ear, something hot forms in his throat.
He can’t recall the last time he’d been touched with such casual tenderness. Certainly not in Mystra’s embrace. Those arcane pleasures were so abstract and blindingly intense, there was never a moment to simply… feel.
It’s then he realises: spending so many years making love as the Gods do, he’s half sure he’s forgotten what it feels like to actually be held.
When he looks up, her eyes are trained to the canopy. He taps her collarbone until she blinks. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.” Her voice is airy, her gaze still about a thousand realms away.
“That’s rather a lot of nothing that seems to be troubling you.”
She tugs his hair, rolling her eyes.
He smiles and shifts over her, kissing the annoyance from her mouth until she finally relaxes again.
“Fine,” she murmurs, guiding his cheek back to her chest. “I was just wondering what the chances were that I’d actually end up here. If I’d stayed home that day or run faster or hidden- I’d probably still be in Baldur’s Gate right now, none the wiser to any of this.” She sighs and starts stroking his hair again. “I’ve seen more of Faerûn than most people. I don’t think I’d even know this curse was basically on my doorstep if I hadn’t been captured.”
Gale nods. “Few have lived to tell the tale I presume. I doubt this is on anyone’s list of holiday destinations.” He brushes the cluster of freckles he found earlier, delighted at the gentle trail of goosebumps that follow.
“It’s strange. I don’t think I regret it happening though. Not completely,” she continues quietly.
“Given what we’ve just done I can agree with that.”
She tugs his hair again, softer this time.
“There’s still so much more I want to see,” she says.
“And you will. You don’t need to worry about that.” ‘Let me worry about that’ is what he doesn’t say.
She hums her assent, gaze still lost to the material above. “I’ve never actually set foot in Waterdeep either. Maybe one day.”
His heart squeezes a little at the name. Home.
“You’d need more than a day, trust me. It’s called the City of Splendours for a reason,” he says, picturing that last lazy sunset he’d watched from his balcony. “There are ten-thousand things to see, a lifetime isn’t even enough time to appreciate all it has to offer.”
“Where would I even start?”
“I can always pen you a guide.”
“Or you can just show me.” She catches his eye as he lifts his head. “Not that I’m doubting your illusion didn’t do it justice but it would be nice to see that view properly.”
He tries not to let his smile falter. There’s no cruelty to her words; no hint that she’d forgotten what he’d told her before they’d kissed. He’s chosen his fate and even now she’s fighting him on it, like she has some grand plan up her sleeve stronger than the Netherese inferno waiting to detonate in his chest.
He sighs and holds her tighter.
It would be a callous thing to argue. She’d wanted to make love in the real world, but between these curtains they can stay wrapped up in a different illusion until morning. They’ll both leave these lands. Alive. Together.
He presses his lips to her heart. “Of course I will.”
Over the next hours, their conversation is slow and easy. He talks about everything and nothing until he feels her breathing even out and her grip relax against him.
He should sleep. His body aches in a multitude of different ways but his mind won’t let him.
One night of passion to sate his love, to give him something to hold onto as he followed Mystra’s command- that was the plan, the only plan he’d thought of. But now, lying in her arms and knowing she isn’t just going to stand back and let him end himself, he can feel that resolve crumbling.
He’d had his moment with her but it’s not enough, not even close. If he’s being honest with himself, he’d known that since he’d watched her walk through the image of his tower. She’d fit so easily, like she was made to be there. His illusions are good but it had set a deeper want inside him, to have her there for real.
He can see it so clearly now: watching the sun brighten her skin on his balcony, introducing her to Tara properly, making love to her in his own bed- could it be such a foolish thing to consider?
His heart pounds harder and he feels his chest tighten again.
The orb is still an ever present danger. Even quelled right now, he knows Elminster’s spell is just a temporary stop- but it’s still time. If they defeat this Heart of Absolute another way, then he could hold on for weeks, maybe even months. It'll be enough to take her home and make some memories outside of this wretched adventure- give her something brighter to think on when she hears his name.
He swallows as he turns the picture over in his mind. He’d incur his Goddess’ ire a second time and potentially damn the world just to stay a little longer on this plane.
The thought doesn’t taste so sour now- not if it’s with Tav.
He’s a dead man walking either way. If there’s any chance he can fill those final days with love, no matter how infinitesimally small, he’s going to take it.
He closes his eyes and finally lets sleep take him.
For now his charge changes. For now, he’s choosing to live.
♥・。.。*♥*。.。·*♥*·。.。*♥*·。.。*♥*。.。·*♥
I actually think it makes complete sense for Gale to keep the earring the entire game buuuut I had this image of Tav pulling it off so... here we are.
This can kind of be read as a prequel to my other work: Stay , but isn't necessary reading.
#baldur's gate 3#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#bg3#bg3 gale#bg3 fic#gale fic#my writing#gale x tav
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Hello good morning!!!! Can I request a ror characters x nezuko reader. The story is similar to the last episode of kny season 3😭😭😭so emotional and amazing ending. Btw, the ror characters and tanjiro saw the reader was burning under the sun, and it hurt them. But later on, they saw the reader standing alive under the sun she says " good morning, older brother and love ". The nezuko reader conquered the sun.
I’m going to do this more platonic, with sibling relationships, as I feel Nezuko is more of a little sister type instead of a romantic partner.
-You were running behind your brother, who was trying to kill a demon that had slaughtered so many, but claiming that it wasn’t him, being cowardly.
-The gods and warriors were dealing with his other body, handling the wood dragon he controlled with ease, overwhelming them from the never-ending heads, but not defeating them.
-You saw the dragon in the distance, they were trying to force it out into the sun, the one weakness to demons in Valhalla, just like on earth. Your brother saw the same thing, determination on his face, “We’ve got to take care of both of them quickly!”
-You nodded, calling out from behind your mask until white hot pain suddenly blinded you and you fell to your knees, calling out in pain.
-Tanjiro turned, seeing you were burning from the sun, his eyes widening as the sun was just now coming up. He ran to you, “Y/N!!” and wrapped his arms around you, trying to hide you from the sun, to protect you as your skin was melting, turning to ash.
-He turned, seeing the two bodies trying to get to each other, so they could fuse, both of them starting to burn now as well. Tanjiro choked in fear, not knowing what to do before he gasped as you rolled and kicked him firmly in the back, sending him flying to the demon.
-He gasped, seeing what you did as you collapsed in the grass before he heard many of the citizens of Valhalla that you both had befriended calling out your name in worry, seeing you were burning as you were a demon as well.
-Tanjiro’s eyes welled with tears, but clenched his teeth and ran for the demon, slamming his blade into the neck of the demon, fury and grief taking over, his tears nearly blinding him, before he did it, lopping the head from the shoulders, causing the cowardly demon to immediately turn to dust.
-Tanjiro collapsed to the ground, sobbing harshly, his shoulders shaking as the warriors ran to him, Ares putting a hand on his back, trying to comfort him, as he believed you were gone.
-Jack’s voice was the one that pulled him out, “Dear god…” Tanjiro slowly turned, seeing all eyes were looking at something behind him, their own eyes wide in shock.
-He turned and instantly froze, seeing you standing there, your mouthpiece falling to the ground as you looked at the group in slight confusion, looking towards the bright rising sun, but unlike before, you were completely fine, you were a demon standing in the sun.
-Tanjiro choked softly, trying to stand and almost immediately fell if it wasn’t for Loki catching him, hugging the human boy close as you and the group came closer to each other.
-Your brother’s tears rushed down his face, overwhelmed if what he had just been through, both the bad and the good, before you stunned everyone again, smiling, “Good…good morning… big brother.”
-Tanjiro held you close, breaking down in harsh sobs, crying loudly while hugging you so tightly, as if he wasn’t believing his eyes.
-Odin patted your hair gently, relief on his own face as Zeus spoke while stroking his beard, “She still has her fangs and claws, and her eyes are still like a demon, she’s still a demon, right?”
-Hades was hugging the both of you close, as technically you both worked for him, with the Demon Slayer Corps operating under him, “I’m not completely sure, but I want to say yes.”
-You lifted your hands, patting the heads of the gods and humans, Hercules had to duck his head for you to reach, a smile on your face, “Good morning…big brother!” Hercules laughed, hugging the both of you.
-Tanjiro was patched up and you went around, calling each person by their names, you were talking almost like a toddler, unable to string full sentences together, but Nikola surmised with more practice, you could learn, because technically you were a toddler, a toddler demon, if he had to put it simply.
-Kojiro held you while you were in your toddler form, little arms wrapped around his neck, as Tanjiro was taken to the infirmary…again, but you knew he was going to be okay, since he came here a lot.
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Some thoughts about Ch 419 - character agency and origin
I'm way behind, but wanted to add my 2c on the debate relating to the AFO "twist" and what it means for Tenko to have AFO at the core of his existence. It made me think once again of the Shouto-Shigaraki parallels .
I didn't take it quite as bad as some of the fandom, because:
we kind of already knew AFO was behind it, we just didn't know the full extent
unlike a lot of people, I didn't think that Tenko being saved by vestige magic hugs, sidestepping Tomura's adult personality and going hand in hand with child!Izuku to fight the big bad would have been a good conclusion.
I also don't think that Tenko not having any agency is necessarily a bad thing. You see, my favourite character, Shouto is a lot like Tenko. His birth, his quirk, the loss of his family, every trauma that shaped him as a child leads back to Endeavor. He's born to be his weapon to use as he wishes.
His lack of agency doesn't make him a boring character. In fact, I find it fascinating how the story shows us Shouto clawing back his agency, identity inch by painful inch, until he's able to stand firm and say - so I can AFFIRM the reason for being born. So let's look at saving Shouto, because I do think it's kind of a blueprint not only for saving Tenko/Tomura, but to Tenko/Tomura rising to save others.
And if we remember Shouto's journey - yes, it starts with a moment of a hero reaching out to him, reconnecting him to his child self who was told that he can choose who he wants to be, he can be a hero.
Notice though how being reconnected to his child self, is not an insta-save. Baby!Shouto doesn't just take over UA!Shoto and erase his personality or past mistakes. Shouto himself has to do the work. He has to face his own shitty choices, like giving the cold shoulder to Inasa or not seeing his mom for a decade and try to reconcile who he is NOW after the abuse, grooming and being driven by negative feelings. Taking ownerships of his mistakes (even if the source is Endeavor) is one of the ways to emancipation.
But it's also not a straight path. Shouto experiences being faced with his childhood dream as a nerf (just like Tomura did now lose to AFO) because of the trauma and doubts he carries. He momentarily loses his will to fight.
For people who never had agency in their lives like Shoto or Tomura, the simple truth that you get to make choices is hard to internalize and the constant doubt whether it's a choice you make by yourself or are you just walking down the path your "creator" set out for you remains.
And how could it not? Shouto wants to be a hero and wants to be not like his father who is the No 1 hero now. It's a contradiction, no? And it takes Shouto 200+ chapters to come up with an answer to reconcile the tension - he wants to be a reassuring hero - something Endeavor never was. Having this goal in his mind, he's able to accept more and more of the tools his father gave him - his quirk, Endeavor's techniques, even gear that looks like his father's - because as long as he's rooted in his own will, his own goal, he gets to keep his own identity, he gets to affirm his reason.
This is why I want not some idealized child Tenko to vanquish AFO. I think it's much more powerful if the person who makes a return is Tomura (who is also Tenko, but I use Tomura as a shorthand for his adult self, the person who he has become).
And while it's undeniable that AFO is deeply at the core of Tenko's origin (just like Endeavor is for Shouto), I also think he's gaslighting Tomura when he says Tomura never made a choice. And I'm talking about the League here specifically.
The bonds Tomura created with Touya, Toga, Spinner, Compress, Twice, Magne, etc - are fully choices he made. AFO let it happen - but the League (a place for outcasts to be accepted) are Tomura's choices.
Just as for Shoto the friends he made are instrumental in him earning his agency, being able to affirm his existence and not crumble from tragedy, the LoV is the key for Tomura to start to claw back his own.
And that's why I think it's narratively desirable for them to be part of Tomura's endgame (also to mirror Deku who would be fully an OFA/All Might creation if not for the friends and allies he made for himself and who all come to his aid in the end).
The League is also the place where the Tenko/Tomura faultlines can be reconciled into a whole. Tenko's desire to be heroic (to play with the outcasts) and Tomura's desire to stand with his allies/friends (the villains). So it boils down into a moment of wanting to be the Hero of the Villains. That's Tomura affirming himself right there. This is not AFO's path for him, but it's him reintegrating everything he has become, his truths and understanding of the world, his bonds that shaped him into that childhood dream. (It's like Shouto's "reassuring hero" moment).
And I think Tomura losing himself to the trauma, PTSD, etc. momentarily is ok too. He lost the rage that drove him forward (like Shouto in the final of the Sport Festival) and is untethered right now. He will need to find a positive emotion to become his drive to take him forward.
But his power will surface with the right trigger, just like Shouto showing up at the Stain fight wielding his newly liberated fire to help Deku was the real pay-off for their Sport Festival fight. (But only after Shouto digged deep inside himself and went to face his mother, face the existence he was given and the hurt it caused to his family with the actual reality.).
I think Tomura will also need a "deep dive" to compare his perception of the world to the current reality. Is society as passive and worthless as his perception of it? The heroes all fighting together, the civilians pitching in feels like there is a change compared to the passive hero society he remembers. But I think the real trigger should be / will be the LoV coming in. Because is it true that AFO made him choose them?
The LoV despite their bonds being real and deep couldn't save each other because they were all spiralling deep in their own traumas. But now Toga and Touya also had their own moments of reconnecting with their child self and having that child's original desire fulfilled (for Tenko - a hero came, for Touya - his family watched him, for Toga - someone accepted her as normal) but of course it's not a magic solution.
Because that moment would have saved the child they were, but not enough for their current selves. They will also have to make their own choices going forward. I think all of them can find the reason to face AFO now - Toga still wants to protect the things she likes, Touya maybe able to move beyond his father's reasons and look for his own, but not from a revenge perspective, Spinner is loyal, Compress I think will also come.
How, you ask? Well, Kurogiri is still black with bits of white. He still has in him the conditioning to protect Tomura, but also infused with Shirakumo's genuine care. I think just like Oboro helped the heroes to round up everyone, Kurogiri will round up Tomura's allies.
And once they are there, Tomura will rise up to them and will be the hero of the villains, joining forces with Deku and everyone to finally finish off AFO (and maybe save his friends). Because even with the little agency he had over his life, those choices were his alone, and he will be able to root his identity in that.
#bnha meta#bnha 419#tomura shigaraki#lov#todoroki shouto#afo#shouto shigaraki parallels#bnha parallels#shimura tenko#class1a reads bnha
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in light of remus’s birthday here’s a little blurb for him❤️❤️
summary: sub!remus, dom!reader, tied hands, edging, overstim, aftercare no use of y/n and no mommy kink lmk if i missed anything
“f-fuck…” he murmured, gently bucking his hips into your hand to gain more friction. his face was red, a thin layer of sweat starting to form at his hairline. his hands tied behind his back and his cock red and glistening from your hour of torture on the boy.
“aww.. poor baby remmy,” you cooed, rubbing your thumb against the slit of his cock. Remus gasped and bucked his hips once more. you laughed and bent down in your spot between his legs, slowly licking a stripe up his cock. “does remmy need to cum? poor babys been aching for ages i bet,” you pouted, but continued your manipulation.
Remus moaned at your words,”gah- been so- so achy dove, please.. shit.. please.” the boy begged, so you did the only nice thing you could think of and sped up your motions. “cmon baby, you got it..” you whispered, twisting your hand around his cock, precum leaking from his tip.
“shit- dove- im gonna cum…” Remus moaned, his legs starting to shake. You quickly got him right to the edge, but just before he climaxed, you withdrew your hand for the sixth time. “f-fuck.. no- baby please,” the boy begged and whimpered. his hips thrusting into thin air, hands clawing at the bed sheets under him.
you smirked, and slowly started stroking his cock again. “i guess since it’s your birthday..” you shrugged, leaned up and kissed his lips. “ugh- fuck thank you-“ he groaned. you smiled at him before bending down and taking his cock in your mouth. you quickly bobbed your head up and down.
“oh- fuckk..” Remus groaned, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep still but his hips had a mind of their own. You put a hand on his thigh to keep him from moving. you released his dick with a pop, “stay still or i won’t let you cum after all.” you gently smacked his thigh. “yes dove..”
you went back to sucking him off, hollowing out your cheeks and swirling your tongue in his tip. “fuck- dove- can i? please- ohmygod!” he whimpered and moaned. his whole body squirming for the stimulation. “mhm” you hummed around his cock, the vibrations sending a shock up remus’s spine. He came with a loud groan, his cum spilling down your throat. “holy shit..”
you popped off him, gave him a quick smirk, and started stroking his now softening cock again. His eyes became wide and his mouth fell open in a high pitched moan. “oh fuck- dove-“ you laughed and released your hold. “oh i’m just kidding remmy. let’s get ya cleaned up baby.” he panted and laughed, “oh thank merlin..” you grabbed your wand and quickly used a cleaning charm and undid his hand restraints. you tapped his side, telling him to lift his hands out from under him. he did so, and you checked to make sure his wrists weren’t irritated.
after checking for any marks and scrapes on your favorite boy, you snuggled close to remus, covering you two in the blankets. “happy birthday remmy..” you kissed his cheek and started playing with his hair. he gave you that shy smile of his, and leaned over and kissed you.
(so this was written, edited and posted all in one sitting, and less then an hour. it’s probably bad, but i wanted to post something for my favorite favorite man. and i’ve also been on a sub remus spiral, but i don’t think my writing is doing him justice. i hope you enjoyed my little story❤️)
#harry potter#marauders#james potter#sirius black#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin#sub remus#sub remus lupin#sub! remus lupin x reader
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Soft Dom Hob Hours
“What do you want?”
“Hob.”
“You have to use your words, my love.”
“What?” Dream spits out, about a hair’s breadth away from baring his teeth like a weapon. Is it not enough that he’s shown up uninvited in his friend’s home? That he’s disrobed for Hob, despite the discomfort his bare skin brings? That he’s dropped himself into this human’s lap as a desperate, scrabbling thing? He’s made himself most desirable for Robert Gadling and yet the man is staring at him, inquisitive, hands settled steady on Dream’s waist but moving no farther.
“I’m the Lord of Dreams. And Nightmares. And you need me to tell you?” Dream knows he’s being cruel to belittle Hob’s intelligence, but the self reflection does nothing to calm the clawing emptiness inside of him. He somehow feels too much and also nothing at all. The dreamers are screaming inside of his head but they still feel so far away. Like he’s cut off from himself but he still knows that he’s bleeding out.
It is agony.
“My subjects know me better than you, clearly,” he sneers, “Perhaps I should return then. Take from them what you will not give to me.”
“That’s nice,” Hob says, passive as ever, like they’re having a conversation about one of his students or the objectively correct way to brew Irish Breakfast. But he’s leaning in close so that Dream can smell the toothpaste off his breath. It is infuriating. “But we are not in The Dreaming, and I am not your subject. Use your words. What do you want?”
He doesn’t have to tell his subjects what he wants, what he needs. They are part of him. His needs are simply met. Dream is not accustomed to needing to explain himself. Having to do so is crude and basic and primitive.
Dreams glares and opens his mouth and is suddenly very, very concerned that he doesn’t actually know what it is that he wants. He doesn’t have the words. He just knows that he needs. He needs something to fill the empty hole that Roderick and Alex Burgess left behind when they took and took and took from him.
He needs Hob to do it. It has to be him.
“I want…” Dream trails off, and suddenly breathing feels like too laborious of a task, but his chest heaves anyway. He’s starting to lose control of this chosen physical form. His edges are blurring. What does he want? He is the Prince of Stories. Where are the words to describe what he needs from this human? “I…I want..I-”
“Easy, easy, love,” he hears Hob say, impossibly gentle in his ear. “You’re okay. You’re doing so well, see?”
Hob is not one of his subjects. Hob is human and imperfect and so, so infuriatingly patient. Why can he not be as other humans and take what he pleases?
“You can have anything you want, sweetheart.” Hob presses a kiss to the shell of his ear and Dream tells himself that the keening sound between them is not coming from his own mouth. “Anything at all. That isn’t the problem here.”
He wants. So much. Too much. He can’t possibly ask it of Hob. He can’t. He needs to go. Leave now before he makes more mistakes and ruins this man-
“You are not stealing anything, Dream. Stop punishing yourself,” the touch of lips is replaced with just the barest hint of teeth. “Have you forgotten? This is mine and mine alone to give you freely. But you must tell me what it is you need.”
“I need…” Dream takes a stuttering, ragged breath that he doesn’t need for life preservation but rather to calm down. “You. To touch me.”
“Good. And?” Hob fingers run across the plane of Dream’s ribs, teasing the sensitive troughs and valleys of his bones.
“I need you to hold me down. Make me. Make me work for it.”
“That’s it, love.” Dream shivers and his skin heats up at the praise. It is humiliating to be praised by this human and yet, he craves more of it. Oh, how he craves. “And you’re going to tell me when it’s too much, yes?”
He nods.
Hob drops his hands and pulls away. “Your words, Dream.”
“Yes,” Dreams gasps out then, and it comes easier this time, his mind slipping to an undefined somewhere - where Roderick Burgess is nothing but a distant memory and he doesn’t hurt because Hob is here and Hob will not hurt him. This he knows to be true. “I will tell you. I promise.”
“Good boy.”
“Please, I-”
“Hush,” Hob cuts him off with a rough kiss, a complete contrast to the murmur he’s still speaking with. When they part, Dream feels the calluses of his fingers where they grip his chin. “You need not beg, my King. Not for this. Never for this.”
#the sandman#dreamling#dream x hob#soft dom hob#my writing#i didn't like this enough to turn it into an actual fic so it gets banished to tumblr instead#fanfic#hob gadling#dream of the endless#d/s dynamics#gentle dom hob
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Insert Your Name: Side Story 2
Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader
Link to series masterlist!
Notes and TW: Second side story is visiting the merfolk trio at land bootcamp. It isn't really written with any deep meaning, I just wanted to explore the way they might approach having legs. Please enjoy!
Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi
It’s a strange stroke of luck that the “land bootcamp” happened to be near your home. Owing to your curiosity, you jumped on the opportunity to see what it’s like when the twins asked you to visit. You didn’t have permission to enter the building, so you sat on a bench outside, staring at the entrance. They’d be coming out any moment now for their break.
You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t for three human-looking boys with canes to exit together. One of them lagged behind so you couldn’t see him very well, but the two in front were familiar. Sure, they were significantly less green and slimy, their fingers didn’t end in claws, and no fins protruded from their body, but you could recognize their faces anywhere.
“Jade, Floyd!” You stood from the bench. Even at a distance, it was obvious that they were tall. “You look so not like fish!”
With an excited whoop, Floyd tossed aside his cane and dashed towards you, only . . . for his legs to buckle on the third step. He fell flat on his face, the cane rolling onto the grass out of his reach. Panic surged in you as you rushed to his side.
“Seven, are you okay?”
He seemed to be in a good mood. Instead of sulking, he rolled onto his back and laughed up at the sky, arms splayed like a sea star.
“Man, I suck at walking!” His infectious grin revealed rows of sharp teeth. It turned out the transformation potion didn’t change everything. “How d’ya get your tail fins to move separately?”
“Tail fins . . . oh, feet?” You glanced at your own. “I don’t really think about it. I guess you should practice more?”
“Floyd has actually been practicing quite diligently.” Jade piped up, approaching with carefully measured steps. Heel, foot flat on the ground, balls of the foot, toes, lift. His heels touched the ground at nearly exact intervals in exactly the same way, as if he was trying to become a human metronome. The cane in his hand looked more like an accessory than a walking aid. You got the feeling he was trying to prove a point. “He bet that he’ll make it to that tree without any walking aids before I do.”
He gestured at a tree a hundred metres away from the school gates. You figured it might be a while before they’d fulfill the conditions of the bet. Jade had mentioned that it took them a week to stand on their own.
“Any progress?”
“I’d like to think things are progressing smoothly.” He finally put some weight on the cane and stepped onto the grass. “For instance, I can even do something like this.”
Slowly, he bent his knees and started to lower himself. One hand gripped his cane, the other reaching for Floyd’s forgotten cane. A bad feeling overtook your gut.
“Hold on, Jade—”
The words were hardly out of your mouth when his knees buckled and he fell backwards, his rear thumping loudly on the grass. You searched his face for any pain. No sign of it. His eyes were only wide in surprise. In the background, Floyd’s cackles filled the air.
“Um. Are you okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” He chuckled sheepishly. “I have never before felt the effects of gravity so acutely.”
“You should stop showing off.” An unfamiliar voice admonished him. You looked up into silvery-blue eyes. The third member of their group used a quad cane, fingers firmly clasped around the handle. He heaved a sigh at the twins on the ground. “Use the equipment properly. Rushing the process is why you keep falling.”
“How can you learn to walk if you have a fear of falling?” Jade quipped, a sharp glint in his otherwise unassuming smile. You had the feeling there was a hidden meaning behind those words directed to the stranger, but you didn’t know enough about him to guess what it was.
“You certainly won’t be learning any faster if you injure yourself.”
“I have to agree with your friend.” You crouched next to him and picked up the forgotten cane. Floyd swatted at the end of it a few times before taking it back. “Take it one step at a time. Literally and metaphorically.”
“I’ll take your advice into consideration.” Jade placed his cane in his lap. He didn’t seem to have any inclination of getting back up. “Come to think of it, this is your first time meeting Azul, isn’t it?”
It took you a moment to remember where you heard the name before. The twins had mentioned him as a new person of interest, someone who worked tirelessly to create and enact contracts that were rigged in his favour. Another unsavoury character, no doubt. But when you looked into his eyes, you decided you didn’t hate the resolve you saw in them.
“Azul Ashengrotto.” He held out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”
You introduced yourself and shook his hand.
“The twins told me a lot about you.”
It wasn’t hard to tell that Azul was holding in a groan.
“All good things, I hope?”
“Um.” You sifted through your memories. The most outstanding story the twins told you about Azul was something he probably found embarrassing. “Sure.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could even get the words out, Floyd cut him off.
“Hey, why’re you two still standing?”
One second, you were on your feet. The next, you were on your back, staring up at the summer sky peppered with thin, wispy clouds. Floyd’s laughter filled the air on your right, his hand gripping the cane that he used to trip you. Jade’s quiet snickering occupied your left, and Azul’s indignant shouts following a thump on the grass came from above your head. Despite the chaotic nature of the meeting, you felt at ease. That was the start of many summers spent with the four of you, together.
#twisted wonderland#disney twst#jade leech#twst x reader#twst fanfic#twst jade#floyd leech#azul ashengrotto
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The lies we tell
read it here as a twitter fic
Lena blinks slowly, eyes trained on the way that Kara fidgets with the phone in her hands followed by the deceptive glasses on her face.
She'd just informed her of the sale of Catco, told her that she'd needed the capital for a new venture, watched in rising horror as Kara believed those sweet honeyed lies that felt like bile on her tongue.
"I was a coward, and I hope that you don't feel I've made you out to be too much of a fool by keeping you in the dark." The words continue to pour out of her, and her fingers tremble where they curl tightly against the slip of her blazer.
Kara's eyes close for a second, sadness and disappointment evident on her face, and Lena can't help the sick satisfaction of retribution mounting like a festering wound in her heart.
"Lena, no, of course not, I -" Kara cuts in. The words tremble in the air around them like she has more to say, more to admit, but Lena doesn't let her, can't let her admit her truth without hammering at the fine cracks that Kara had so dutifully helped create in their friendship.
"You're my best friend," Lena says, the truth of it like a weight on her chest, and the guilt for wanting Kara to feel an inkling of the heartbreak she feels nearly locks the rest of those words behind her teeth. But she presses on, clawing nails into her own palms as she smiles, a strained thing that doesn't reach her eyes. "and here I go once again proving that you are more virtuous than I am, but I never did purport to be a saint."
"Lena." Kara swallows roughly, and there's the curious note of rising tension that she can feel like a lasso tied tightly around her heart. Kara's eyes ensnare hers, a silent plea in them that Lena pretends not to see. "You know what actually, there is something that I want to talk to you about."
This should be it, she thinks bitterly, this should be the moment where Kara tells her her secret.
Lena leans back, expression soft, open, a carefully curated mask that Kara should be able to see through. But she doesn't.
Kara expels a shaky wisp of air, mouth forming words that don't come and fingers squeezing that phone in her hands to the point where there's an audible crack. The sound of it is like a gunshot in Lena's quiet office and Kara chuckles, awkward and strained.
A short silence engulfs them, and Lena doesn't know what expression her face forms as Kara smiles and proceeds to instead tell her the details of another story she's been chasing.
Lena loves those, loves that Kara always finds the time to update her on the various topics she writes for her articles, loves the animated way that Kara talks about the people and places of interest to her stories and the brief but always exciting mentions of Kara's unexpected meetings with National City's super-powered heroine.
But this time Lena knows two truths. One: She is stupidly in love with her best friend and two: Kara Danvers is a liar.
Lena supposes that she should have expected it, after all, she's been lied to her entire life, betrayed by the ones she trusted would do no harm. Why does this keep happening? Why does everyone that she loves…
She clenches her jaw, anger flaring like fine points of pain behind her ribcage and her beating heart threatening to burst from her chest as her brother's last words fill her mind.
Kara looks up at her then, like she could hear the rapid change in its rhythm. And Lena realizes belatedly that yes, of course she can. And she hates her just a little more for it. Just a little for hiding, a little for lying, a little for trying to befriend her as both personas, a little for sowing seeds of mistrust in the friendship they'd so lovingly crafted over three fucking years.
"Lena, are you okay?" Kara asks slowly, eyebrows pinching together into that concerned endearing frown. Lena has to resist the urge to reach out and smooth her thumb over it, trace the lines until they flatten beneath her fingertips and Kara flushes prettily beneath her touch.
No, she wants to say, scream it really, but her throat is dry and angry tears burn behind her eyes. There's the soft wash of adoration burning in those eyes born of different stars, and Lena doesn't know how much of it is fake, how much is pretend, how much of Kara Danvers is a carefully curated mask. How much of her best friend does she truly not know?
Lena shoots off the chair, turning away from Kara when a traitorous tear breaks free from her lashes and rolls down her face. She swipes it away with the sleeve of her blazer but Kara's behind her in a flash, a minutiae of displaced air that's almost undetected as warm hands land on her shoulders, burning through her blouse and branding her skin.
"Lena." It's whispered softly, the syllables like honey on Kara's deceptive tongue but Lena's heart flutters at the sound, more tears breaking free from her lash line. A vein flickers in her jaw at the effort it takes to hold her words back but her body betrays her in the tremor that rushes along the curve of her spine when Kara's large comforting hands slide along the tense line of her shoulders and the cold tip of her nose touches Lena's neck. "Tell me what's wrong." She pleads and the concern in her voice is almost Lena's undoing.
Lena turns in her embrace, but the words die in her throat when she sees the look on Kara's face. There's a frown that's bordering on a pout, the blue of her irises so sad that it drags the air from Lena's lungs and she's annoyed at herself for caring, annoyed at Kara for pretending, annoyed at her heart for loving Kara Danvers to the point of destruction.
Kara's hands move to frame her face, thumbs a gentle sweep against her skin as they catch the rogue tears that escape against Lena's will.
The touch is unexpected and Lena almost jerks away but she tries to breathe through the contact as Kara immediately closes the miniscule distance between them, firm body pressing into Lena's and cheeks a darling rosy red. Lena flushes beneath her arduous stare, her longing for this woman making itself known in the harsh painful thud in her chest.
"Lena," her name is a soft careless whisper, those beautiful eyes filled with despair so deep she can barely breathe beneath the weight of them. "What's wron-"
Lena doesn't let the rest of the sentence escape. After all, she'd already admitted to being a coward. So, instead of answering, she leans in the rest of the way and kisses Kara.
The kiss is unexpected, that much is obvious by the gentle gasp that Kara makes against her mouth. It's just a distraction, Lena tells herself, a way to give her more time to gather her thoughts, but what's equally surprising is that Kara doesn't immediately pull away.
The thumbs stroking Lena's cheekbones stop, and Lena nearly pulls back when Kara's lips tremble against hers. There's a moment where everything just stops, the world holding its breath before Kara sighs against her mouth and softly, hesitantly, returns the kiss. This kiss is gentle, a simple brushing of lips that rights the world again. The tenderness of it is a ruinous force that worms its way into Lena's heart and she clings to it with a desperation that surprises her.
Kara gasps against her mouth, but she doesn't pull away and Lena presses in, kissing Kara more firmly as Kara's fingers thread through her hair, anchoring their mouths together.
There's the echo of thunder claps in her veins, her heart thumping in rapid beats against her ribcage, the warmth of Kara's body as their hips press together and the wild surge of lust teasing at the seam where their mouths meet. Lena's breath hitches when Kara pivots and the world tilts before those strong arms lift her onto the desk, and Kara slides easily between Lena's spread thighs.
Her arms wound tightly around Kara's shoulders, lips ghosting across soft pink lips as Kara licks into her mouth and the kiss turns hot, heavy, messy.
I trusted you, she doesn't say, instead her teeth nips harshly at Kara's lower lip, turning the kiss a touch primal, a touch hungry, a degree too painful for any normal human. But Kara's not human and she doesn't react the way a human would in this circumstance. She's…she's …the name gets stuck in her throat, Kara's brash distrustful self righteous alter ego's smile flashing behind her eyes and Lena growls against her mouth, clawing at Kara's back like she could rip the lies from her skin. The kiss lengthens, breaks, turns into another and then another, until Lena's lost count, until she's gasping into Kara's mouth, until she's gripping tightly onto Kara's hair, until she can't think beyond the gravity of her touch.
She hates her, and she loves her so fucking much she can barely breathe with the force of it. She wants to know her, all of her, she craves everything that Kara is, everything that Kara refuses to share with her. And her heart breaks all over again that Kara doesn't trust her with her secret, Kara who she'd born every inch of her soul to, Kara who's warm hands were now inching along the arch of her spine and holding onto her like Lena meant something to her.
But if this was all a farce then why did her kisses feel so reverent, her mouth so delicate and sure, her hands like warm marks branding Lena's skin?
Lena feels herself falling all over again, lost in the sensations, the emotions softening her heart and her mind goes carefully blank as Kara gently sucks on her tongue. She groans, a deep shuddering breath escaping her lips as the sound graces the air, face flushing at the blatant want tempering her voice only to be answered by a deep rumble like purr from Kara's lips.
She's briefly aware of the buttons flying off her blouse as Kara's hands fist in her clothes and Lena trembles as Kara's kisses move to the curve of her jaw, soft, adoring.
A sob builds in Lena's throat, and it spills into the air when Kara's lips fasten against her pulse, merging on the tail ends of a moan. Kara picks up on it but Lena isn't ready for this to end yet, so she rolls her hips, pressing the heat of her sex into Kara's firm abdomen. It works for a while as Kara's eyes turn glassy again, her focus drawn down to the silky bra peeking out from Lena's almost fully ruined button-less blouse as she buries her face there, the deceptive glasses going slightly askew.
Lena plucks it off her face and tosses it carelessly onto the desk, threading her fingers through silky blonde hair and tugging them roughly out of their tight ponytail. But Kara doesn't move. She stills, presses her ear right above Lena's fluttering heart as her hands drift down to wrap slowly, reverently around Lena's hips, anchoring their bodies together. A moment passes where their rapid breathing is the only sound in the office before Kara bravely finds the nerve to break it.
"You know." Kara's words tremble against her skin and Lena squeezes her eyes shut.
Damn her for being so intuitive, damn her for knowing Lena so well, damn her for not trusting Lena.
The sob that breaks free from Kara's lipstick stained mouth is heartbreaking and she presses her lips against the delicate skin of Lena's neck, an apology, an accord as Lena trembles in her arms, neither confirming nor denying her words.
"I'm sorry," Kara starts, the words trailing off into a deep shuddering breath as warm tears paint Lena's skin. Lena closes her eyes, arms curling tight around Kara's shoulders as Kara raises her head, tenderly brushing their noses together. "Lena -"
"Kara," the name bursts from her lips in a shaky whisper, a question, a plea and Kara chokes on the rest of her reply, pressing a trembling kiss to Lena's cheek and another to Lena's trembling lips. This kiss feels different, revelatory, apologetic and Lena finally finds the courage to open her eyes, meeting the red rimmed eyes of Supergirl free of their barrier.
There's a moment where they both just stare at each other, each stripped bare of their secrets and lies and all of the fight and the anger leaves Lena in a flash as she sags in Kara's embrace. Kara catches her, cradles Lena's body to hers as Lena presses her face against her neck, nose brushing lightly against Kara's fluttering pulse.
A strange sort of peace descends on the room then, and Lena thinks that this must be the calm before the inevitable storm. Kara's fingers comb lightly through her hair and Lena hums, on the verge of pulling Kara into another kiss when suddenly there's an incredibly loud beep against Kara's ears and soon the tinny voice of Kara's sister, Alex, joins them.
"Kara there's an incident at the museum. Can you get there?" Her voice is worried, urgent, crackling through the comms device hidden in Kara's ear and Kara sighs, squeezes Lena tighter for a bit before tapping the device to answer her sister.
"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute," she says softly, reassuring and Lena takes that as her cue to release Kara from her arms.
"I'm sorry." Kara starts immediately once they're face to face once more, "I wanted to tell you so many times, so many times Lena but I just -" but Lena doesn't want to hear those words right now. She can't, feels as if every part of her has been laid bare to this woman.
So she just leans in and silences Kara with a kiss, one that makes Kara frown so she kisses her again and again until she's sure that she'll listen to her when she speaks.
"Go," Lena finally finds her voice to say, but Kara's frown deepens, warm hands tenderly mapping the curve of Lena's shoulders and sliding down until she's holding onto her forearms. "I'll be fine. We can have this conversation when National City isn't imploding."
Kara stares at her for a bit, blue eyes distraught, and Lena feels the weight of them like an anchor in her heart. She brushes their noses together, whispers a soft "I promise we'll work through this," and then Kara's gone in a whoosh of displaced air, leaving Lena just a bit less weighted with dread, just a bit less hurt, just a little more hopeful about their impending reconciliation.
If you made it this far, thank you so much for even looking at this story 🥺💗 wrote this as an angsty twitter fic yesterday for Supercorp Sunday and decided to post it here. Shout out to @CSIRJen for always allowing me to hijack her supercorp tweets to create stories 😅
#supercorp#supergirl#kara danvers#lena luthor#Happy Supercorp Sunday#twitter fic#the lies we tell#my writing#my fics#season 5 angst
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