mediocreanomaly

[mediocreanomaly]

The World Keeps Turning

Cecil x GN!Reader: Comfort Drabble

Authors Note: a little comfort for you sweeties. (I sprinkled some of my southerner Cecil propaganda in here, deal with it.)

Breathing should come naturally to you, yet your breaths come in uneven stammering inhales that threaten to turn into something more, something worse, a breakdown that would mean admitting that you can't keep it together. So you try not to think about it. Try not to think about anything.

It's one of those days where the walls seem too close, the world is moving too fast, and you… you're sinking. You can feel it choking up your throat and crushing in your chest.

You take another breath.

It's more watery than the last, threatening to spill over.

The front door unlocks, the sound adding insult to injury. It feels… wrong, being caught like this. Steady footsteps of dress shoes on the ground feel like a hammer driving nails into a coffin. The man who exhausts himself protecting the world, and you can’t even get out of bed?

It makes something dark and writhing twist in your head and you bury your face against the pillows to pretend to be asleep.

“Honey?” Cecil asks, setting down his bag; you can hear the ‘thump’ of the leather on the carpet floor as he comes to sit on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight.

You can't look up. You CAN'T. If you do, he'll see what a mess you are right now, and the thought of adding another problem for him to fix to his day is just too much. So you stay buried, unreachable, a cocoon of quiet suffering.

“Hm” Cecil hums like he understands, like he's adjusting a radio dial, he already knows what to look for he's just got to fine tune for to you. “One of those days, huh?”

Of course he knows. Cecil always knows.

He reaches forward, fingers threading through your hair, toying with the ends before smoothing them back. His touch begins to unravel the tight knot of tension in your chest.

After a few moments, he gets up, and just as you start to miss him, he's already over at the record player in the corner, setting a vinyl in place. The needle dips, and the first crackles spill from the old speakers as Can't Take My Eyes Off You begins to play. It's familiar, one of his favorites when he's in a sentimental sort of mood. The music wavers and cracks, the record well loved from years of use, but Cecil never throws it away. You hope he never does.

You can hear the telltale sound of rustling fabric as he slides off his coat, undoes his tie, and toes off his shoes to get comfortable before he slides into bed with you.

His arms wrap around your frame, the weight of another person gathering you and keeping you together… making you feel like you can finally let go.

The water works come quick and with abandon, trembling full bodied sobs escape your mouth as you press your face against Cecil's chest. His cologne and aftershave fill your senses, a scent that feels more like ‘home’ than any GDA-approved living space ever could.

You think you speak, or at least try to. Watery gasps and cries of apologies for the situation, for yourself. He shushes every single one.

“Easy Darlin’...” he murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically soft for a man who’s mastered the art of snappy detachment.

He talks about everything and nothing at all; his day, dull government meetings, and more entertaining, exasperated quotes from the team. He tells you he ate the lunch you made him, that Donald pretended not to be amused by the handwritten note tucked inside, but Cecil’s known the fucker too long to be fooled.

He tells you he cut down on his caffeine and that he missed you. He tells you that you're okay because, you know what? He's seen the worst of the worst and the world keeps turning.

Sweet words muttered against your hairline like if he said them enough, you might just believe him.

He stays until you've worn yourself out, until all that's left is dull exhaustion, and even then, he just holds you tighter.

“We're alright, sugar,” he says softly, pulling the covers higher up your shoulders, keeping the world out of this moment for just a moment longer.

For once, it feels like that might be true.

[mediocreanomaly]

Thank You For This Meal.

Sinister!Mark X GN!Reader (NSFWish?)

**Content Warning: Cannibalism as foreplay, obsessed behavior, cannon typical violence, idk if this counts as dubcon but I'm going to tag it anyway to stay safe 👍 Dead dove do not eat, basically **

Authors Note: as someone whose main blog's most liked post is about cannibalism metaphoring obsessive love you know I had to do it to ‘em. It's not super over the top but I respect when it's not someone's yum.

“You look absolutely mouth-watering right now, dear,” Mark hums. Despite the saccharine-sweet tone, it comes off as mocking.

You try to remind yourself to breathe, it would only encourage him more if he thought you were scared. He liked when your heart pittered in your chest like a rabbits in a hound's jaws. But in a way… weren't you?

Mark's reign of terror had come fast and brutal, as he operated with most things in life. Funnily enough, you'd never really known the extent of your powers until he'd taken over. Figuring out you could regenerate had been easy enough; a few scraped knees and papercuts fading in an instant had been enough to clue you in, but you still felt the pain when it happened, so it had never felt practical to do anything with it.

It had remained a convenient lucky draw for most of your life the way other people ended up with a fast metabolism or a few extra inches in height.

Then he took over.

People died by the millions, it was harder to stay alive than it was to give up at this point. Cities lay in ruin or leveled all together. Scavenging for food and water was to risk being spotted and being made into an example for anyone still foolish enough to resist Mark’s rule.

For the first few weeks, you’d naively thought yourself one of the lucky ones. Wounds sealed shut in seconds, while others suffered through severed limbs and festering infections. You never had to fear bleeding out, never had to fear dying.

But there were fates much worse than death.

Being discovered by Mark was a freak accident that had somehow become the new primary event your life orbited around.

You had banded together with a small camp of survivors, hoping to make it to Canada, where whispers of a resistance had begun to spread when Mark had found your little party.

It had been over in seconds. Wet blood and intestines had painted the dirt like a bad contemporary art piece.

You hadn't been spared either, it was the first time you'd really had put your powers to the test.

You'd gasped and coughed up thick iron as muscle rewound together under repairing torn flesh and blood reflowing its way through your veins as if the clock had been rewound. Your body rejecting Mark's easy destruction, refusing to stay ruined.

And Mark… Mark had looked at you like he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

His smile had felt like a death toll.

It's hard to say what exactly you'd become to mark. Some fractured version of a beloved pet maybe, on call and in demand at all times, affection and complete obedience was expected, and if it wasn't given? Mark had zero issues putting your powers to work. Bones turned to dust like brittle sticks under his hands, muscle peeled away like slow-roasted ribs, tendons snapped with a sicking ease, and just about anything popped with the right amount of pressure.

Tonight was just another night in a long list of obscenities.

The position you found yourself in was humiliating at best. Bound with rope, bare, spread out on the table, gagged, arranged with meticulous intent. The position meant to look equal parts erotic and appetizing, meant to stir some fine line between lust and hunger in the man stalking you like a starved wolf eager to indulge in both.

He closes in enough to run a gloved hand over your exposed thighs. Your muscles betray you and tense under his feather light advance, as he licks his lips.

“What would I do without you, huh?” He thumbs over the rope preventing you from closing your legs.

“So pretty so… appetizing.” He squeezes the fat of your thighs, drinking in the way your breath picks up.

He leans in between your legs, nuzzling against you, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. Watching you through dark eyelashes, eyes half lidded but gaze no less sharp as he takes in every twitch, every flinch, every reaction. You swear he salivates when your muscles go taunt.

“What's wrong, baby? Scared I’m going to–” He nips at your thighs then laughs at the way you flinch from the graze of his teeth.

“Yeah, I’d say I don’t bite, but… we both know that’s not true.”

Your breath hitches, and your eyes flicker up to the dark ceiling, knowing what's to come. The relief is short lived when Marks hand wraps around your chin with a grip like lead.

“Hey.” He forces you to meet his eyes, the amusement gone in an instant.

“Look at me. You know I hate when you do that.”

He reaches over to dip two of his fingers into some sort of dark sauce before he spreads it across your thigh in a slow deliberate motion that borders on reverent.

“I've been thinking about how you taste” he murmurs, licking the dark liquid off his fingers.

He smirks at the way you eye him.

“Oh don't have such a dirty mind. You know what I meant, although… that's not such a bad idea either.”

He puts his hands on your knees and spreads you impossibly further forcing you to arch your back slightly to stay in the position comfortably.

“Maybe after?” He muses almost thoughtful, “As a treat.”

Despite yourself, your heartbeat flutters. Whether out of fear of what's happening or the anticipation of what's to come you don't know, Mark has a weird way of making arousal and terror feel identical.

His grin sharpens, and you sympathize with the lowly fawn stalked by the lion. It never had a chance, and it seems…

Neither did you.

“Thank you for this meal.”

Mark's mouth opens and for someone who looked so human he had a way of making it feel like it was a maw that was about to wrap around the meat of your leg.

Blunt teeth start to break skin and you can’t tell if the droplets hitting the wood below are remnants of the sauce or the first beads of blood spilling out of you.

It hardly matters. It'd be back as soon as it was gone, mouthfuls of warm flesh for him to sink his teeth into and sate his never ending gluttony over and over again.

Because Mark Grayson broke everything he touched.

And finally, he'd found something that could survive it.

[mediocreanomaly]

Rookie.

Cecil Stedman x Reader (GN!Reader, Age Gap)

Authors Note: Yes I'm a Cecil stan. No I won't apologize. There's just something about that old man's dry humor and morally grey decision making that enraptures me.

Cecil had stared down literal demons with a steadier pulse than this.

No, seriously, he'd experienced just about everything during his time on earth, kaijus, dead gods, alive gods, magic, mad science, fish people who, ironically, were pescatarian. Yet somehow, this is what shocks him.

“You don't want this, kid,” he sighs, pressing his fingers to his temples like he has the mother of all headaches coming on.

“You think you do, but you don't.”

The cocky mother fucker across from him just grins.

It's hard to pinpoint when exactly this had gotten so out of hand. With Rae, Rex, Rudy, Monster Girl, and Bulletproof gone, to say they were short a few guardians had been an understatement, and unfortunately, it had been Cecil who'd had to run the new tryouts. In the end only one really stood out, some local hero with the ability to steal other people's powers through touch for half an hour at a time. It wasn't much but apparently it used to be five minutes which suggested it could be extended whether that ended up being through training or the GDAs tech was yet to be determined but Cecil was desperate for a Hail Mary after his plan b and c against Mark had done jack shit and a temporary Viltrumite was as good as ever in terms of plans.

Looking back on it Cecil should have seen it from the beginning, the way the rookie had sat up straight like a dog waiting to impress its man with a trick when he'd walked in, but several of the others who'd known who he was had put on faces as well so he'd written it off as an attempt to impress.

The actual tryout had gone similarly; the little sneak had managed to get their paws on a few powers before getting into the ring and had made sure everyone knew it when a few training robots had nearly gone through the walls. Admittedly, Cecil had enjoyed the cunning; powers only got you so far if you didn't have the brains to use them, so it had been an easy call to green-light them onto the team.

Then things had gotten weird.

It had started with the training. Cecil didn't make it a habit to oversee every regimen; that's what Immortal was for, but he tried to stop in at the beginning of the month to see how the new members were settling in. When the rookie had noticed this, they'd begun showing up thirty minutes early and lingering late, purposefully trying to flaunt whatever flashy power they'd managed to snag for the session or showing off their new record for weights. Again, Cecil had begun wondering if they were attempting to brown nose their way into some higher position because it had at least become clear they were showing off for him.

It hadn't really clicked per se until a few months in when the rookie realized their golden ticket to seeing him was running reports to his office, a chore even Black Samson attempted to avoid at all cost.

Cecil should have nipped it in the bud; they'd begun overstaying their welcome as of late. He didn't do conversation, but God damn, the kid didn't give it a rest; they'd chatter on about how the guardians were, how their day had gone, about how great the GDA was. When he'd responded with varying levels of noncommittal grunts and ‘Do I look like your diary, kid?’ They'd begun a new approach.

Food, for one. Dropping off food with their reports because ‘there was no way he ate with his schedule’ which was half true but it didn't make it any easier accepting meals. Then they'd somehow managed to pick Donald's brain about interest of his and sneaking it into conversation.

‘I was just listening to Miles Davis the other day’ (they hadn't) ‘Ugh I could really go for a scotch right about now’ (they hated it)

What was worse is it had begun to work. Cecil didn't know why he hadn't told them to give it up and get the hell out of his office, if it had been anyone else he certainly would have but he was still a man at the end of the day.

It's not like he hadn't appreciated the occasional man or woman passing by before, but he was well out of his prime, not to mention too damn busy to even humor a one-night stand, much less anything regular. Besides, it's not like anyone really glanced his way these days, or they hadn't until you.

You had thrown some colossal-sized wrench into his life that he'd been trying desperately to ignore, which wasn't typically his style. Cecil was a problem solver at heart and saying ‘no’ to some green newbie on the team should have been one of the easiest decisions he'd made in a long life of hard calls. So why were you still sitting across from him and why was he still playing this game?

You pick up a stress ball off his desk that Donald had gotten him years ago (Cecil highly doubted he even remembered) and toy with it in your hands.

“You do know I'm not actually a kid right?” You retort

“You're still a kid to me, you're a third my age, rookie.” he watches the way you roll the ball between your hands, back and forth, back and forth.

“Put that down,” Cecil snaps, and you put it back on his desk, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Okay, well, I can consent is all I'm saying. Besides, you've been watching me too” you huff nonchalantly lounging against the seat.

Cecil stiffens at the accusation and sets his jaw in irritation. Watching you? Of course he had, he was the director of the GDA it was his job to watch you.

“I've been watching you because it's my job to make sure our new Guardian of the Globe isn't a liability” he answers cooly “Especially the reckless ones.”

That gets a snort out of you.

“Come on, boss, I've been on good behavior,” you say with a grin that drips with young cockiness and naivety and makes Cecil understand why he's losing hair.

It's irritating, both because you're a smug little bastard and because you aren't wrong. Cecil didn't need to look through your files or check in on the cameras to make sure you were getting on. All the reports said the same thing, a little rough around the edges in terms of discipline and skill but a very promising investment to both the team and GDA with great potential and a knack for following orders (especially when they came from Cecil himself).

“Plus-” you continue before he can lay his next words of disapproval down upon you. “-the fact you're even entertaining the conversation makes me think you're not as opposed to this as you're trying to make it seem.”

Ceci keeps his composure but internally, as much as he hates to admit it, you had a point. Despite all his reservations here the two of you were.

“Don't mistake tolerance for interest, kid.” he says a warning in his tone. “just because I'm listening to you does not mean I'm not opposed to this”

Your smile falters for a fraction of a moment before a new set of determination falls over you as you cross your arms.

“You're lying.” You cross your arms and fix Cecil with your own hard look forgetting the playful facade in favor of your own equally serious shift in mood.

“You barely let Samson talk about the weather but I get half an hour about jazz? I call bullshit.”

Cecil's eyes narrow at the accusation.

“I'm not lying I'm… omitting certain details.” He says crossing his own arms mimicking your stance, silently daring you to challenge him again.

“you mean the ones where you're interested in me?” You ask raising an eyebrow refusing to lose this little verbal tennis match.

“Interested is a strong word.” He replies cooly, but damn it all. Why did it sound like he was trying to convince himself?

“It's more… tolerating your relentless advances.”

And there it was, acknowledgment of the subject he'd been dancing around.

“Oh, so you have noticed,” you reply pleased.

Cecil fixes you with an unimpressed look, as if he could miss the outrageous peacocking that had begun to take place in his presence. His only saving grace had been the fact that no one in their right mind would guess who you were showing off for.

“That's good, I was starting to think it was going to waste.” You continue unbothered.

Cecil grits his teeth, torn somewhere between annoyance and grudging respect. The rookie had persistence if nothing else.

"How can I not notice you constantly showing off for me," he retorts "You're like a damn puppy. All eager eyes and wagging tail."

“For some reason…” you drawl leaning your elbows on his desk. “I feel like that's your type”

“My type?” Cecil lets out a short laugh, caught off guard by the audacity of the statement.

“I'm not sure you want to know ‘my type’, kid. It's anything but fresh-faced overly eager do-gooders.”

You shrug.

“Maybe. Or maybe you don't mind what sort of outlook or attitude you get so long as you're listened to in the end.”

You trail your fingers over the nameplate on his desk, tracing out the engraved pattern of ‘Director Stedman’

“And I've never questioned your orders, sir.”

Cecil's gaze follows the movement of your fingertip, trying to ignore the stir in his chest.

“You don't question me because it's my job to keep your naive ass alive.”

“Why are you pretending you don't want me?” You fire back.

“is it such a big deal if you feel a little something for someone?”

Cecil feels his patience thin at how easy you make this sound, like he's some handsome stranger at a bar and not the director of the god damn GDA.

“It's not about feeling, and it's a little bit more than a ‘little something’ You're like a damn virus, always there infecting my thoughts.”

He pushes away from his desk, fist clenching at his side like a physical manifestation of the internal struggle he was feeling inside.

You frown and furrow your brows at the man at the firm reluctance on the other man's behalf.

“Why are you saying it like it's bad? I've been thinking about you too you know”

A sharp laugh escapes between his teeth, harsh and humorless.

“It is bad, kid. This… whatever this is, whatever feelings you think you have, it's dangerous.”

Cecil begins pacing the spot behind his desk, his steps quick and frustrated.

“This isn't some high school crush, you can't just move on when you realize how wrong it is.”

You huff slightly insulted by the implication.

“I've put a hell of a lot of effort into this for a ‘high school crush’” you reply unimpressed.

“I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't serious”

“How can you be serious? You're more than half my fucking age!”

Cecil runs a hand through his hair frustration etched into every line of his face. Despite his better judgment, he could feel his ability to keep up the argument waning.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales.

“What could I possibly offer you aside from a life time of trauma and a constant reminder I'll probably die before you hit your fourties?”

You wrinkle your nose at the distasteful words.

“you're sixty, not eighty, plus I have money on the fact that you'll manage to outlive Omni-Man on spite alone.” you muse before letting your expression fall into something more serious.

“but honestly? I don't care about that. I like you. I mean sure at first I just thought you were attractive but-” you continue before Cecil can make a smart comment. “-you're competent. Like overly competent. You're witty in conversation and I know you care more than you let on. Let the others say what they will but I've seen the things you do for people's families and for their safety, maybe the job limits what you can do with that good but that doesn't mean it's not there. I'd like to know that man.”

“You make me sound like a god damn saint” he mutters eyes flickering to yours.

Your words had hit more then a few nerves whether he liked it or not. Ones that deep down… he knew had already begun to fracture.

You sigh and meet his gaze, unwavering.

“I get it more then you think. I'm young, not stupid... I won't pretend it'll be an easy relationship but I'm in it to try.”

You pause before adding, “and if it makes you feel better I like that you're an asshole too.”

Despite everything, an amused smile plays at his lips and with it a small pang if affection.

“You like me because I'm a bastard? That's a new one I'll admit.” he retorts, dry humor in his voice.

“what can I say?” You shrug “your general irritation is charming.”

You watch him carefully knowing that this was the make it or break it moment.

“... Would it really be so bad? You've given your life to the GDA, you could use something nice behind closed doors.”

Something nice…

He could feel his feet on the metaphorical edge of whatever leap was ahead of him. He was being worn down with your persistence but what was scarier is that he didn't really want to fight it in the first place.

“You know how how this would look right? The director of a top secret defense agency dating some rookie hero?”

You can feel it. The way you've got him snagged.

“I won't let it affect my work performance, hell I'll sign an NDA if you want”

“an NDA, how romantic” he scoffs but there's an undercurrent of sarcastic amusement at the idea.

Despite his barbed words, he appreciates the practicality. It was, after all, one if the reasons he'd been drawn in in the first place.

He let's out an exasperated sigh.

“... You're too damn stubborn you know that?”

You grin, already knowing you've won.

“I'll grab my pen.”

[mediocreanomaly]

Hello my loves, here's an update no one asked for lmao

So I did a little reflection on this account, a lot changed since when I started it, my work schedule, a lot of stuff with family, local issues I was helping out with, etc etc. (Aka... The fanfic writers curse)

But! I want to write but I've been procrastinating it because I realized it was really hard for me to keep it up since I had sort of turned it into a job instead of a hobby. I started writing the way I thought other people wanted me to and stressing myself out over deadlines when... I literally didn't have to take request if I needed a break?

Wack. I literally was putting invisible rules on myself and my own blog haha.

That being said... I'm back! Or- okay not back back but I'll be slowly posting writings. Inbox will stay closed for now, I plan to work through a few request rotting in my box but it'll be in between my own personal writings.

It'll be a little slower because my work load is crazy right now and I only have like... An hour at most to work between some classes and my job but I do actually want to write and I finally have some motivation.

I just went back and cleaned up some of my previous writings (apologies for everyone who reblogged the chucks of dialogue and typos I used to rush them at work :') )

But I hope everyone will appreciate the stuff that comes out until I'm ready to take request again 🥰

[mediocreanomaly]

Amen.

Priest!Wolfwood x Reader (NSFW)

**GN!Reader**

Authors Note: I have an issue. Yes Priest!Wolfwood sparks joy, so please enjoy 4,539 of depravity as my welcome back, small note at the end!

**Content Warning: I grew up religious so I'm using real scripture here, if you're religious or that makes you uncomfy this might be a skip for you, if you're depraved like me read on**

Being raised Catholic was a one-way street to spoonfuls of guilt being shoved down your throat. Most everyone in the church was more or less aware of that fact, whether they acknowledged it or not.

However, there’s a warning they don't bother to put on the good book. A warning about the more...complicated relationship you develop with religion once the guilt that's swelled up in your chest has nowhere else to go.

"Then God said, 'Take your son to the land of Moriah and kill your son there as a sacrifice for me. This must be Isaac, your only son, the one you love. Use him as a burnt offering on one of the mountains there. I will tell you which mountain.” Church sometimes God ask things from us, things that seem...unimaginable, unbearable, but we are not led blindly. No, quite the opposite, God-' " Father Wolfwood emphasizes by pointing to the rafters of the church as if the big man himself was sitting there, watching. "He has a plan, a plan so great and magnificent that we cannot begin to comprehend. With that understanding Abraham takes his son, because he trust, church, he trust God enough to follow-"

The sermon is drowned out. To anyone around you you'd look devout. Pious even with how well you focus on Father Wolfwood, but it's not the bible that makes you show up every Sunday. It's the dark black tousled hair that trails into stubble lining his cheek. It's those big brown eyes wide and confident as he preaches to the congregation. It's those hands, large and calloused, that make you wonder what life he must have lived before this as he moves them around with his speech. It's his skin, perfectly tan and forehead beading with sweat from the insufferable heat of the church, no doubt that cassock isn't helping. It's his voice, deep and raspy with that perfect cadence that makes you wonder what it'd be like if he said your name while bending you over-

"Y/n?" The altar boy who you didn't even realize had come to your pew ask. He's holding out communion in a way that tells you he's been there for a second.

"Oh! Uh-" you reach out for the wine when a hand around your wrist stops you, you blink a few times and look up to see the man you were just ogling at meeting your gaze with dark eyes.

"Why don't you pass that out to the other pews, y/n is joining me for a special communion after church, they had something they wanted to pray on with me" Father Wolfwood says easily.

"I do?" the words fall from your mouth dumbly which causes Wolfwood to raise an eyebrow at you as if you're stupid. You let yourself swallow and bow your head as if scolded, you wonder what part of being a priest blessed him with so much sass.

"ah- right! Yes I had forgotten, thank you Father Wolfwood" you correct. You had not, in fact, discussed anything of the sort with the Father, but there was clearly something you were missing here.

He gives you a curt nod before softening his eyes and turning back to the young boy.

"Go on" he insist. He does, continuing to the next pew with all the confirmation he needed and Wolfwood finally lets go of your wrist. The warmth of his hand that lingers isn't lost on you as you wearily glance up at him.

"Special communion?" You try hoping to gather a bit more information on the situation you'll be faced with after Mass.

"mhmm, God has called me to you. Something weighs on your mind, perhaps a repentance is in order?" his face gives away nothing, although you swear his eyes darken as he watches you with a pleasant smile that stays locked on his face.

Alarm bells ring in your head. Did...did he know? You had done your best to hide your less than innocent gaze as worship. Thinking back on it, perhaps you were less conspicuous about it than you thought, that or God was the worst wingman ever.

"Father Wolfwood I-"

He holds up his hand to pause the word vomit that was about to stutter out and shakes his head.

"Later. Best to confess without prying eyes, no?"

He lets you simmer on that as he makes his way back to the front of the church. When he leads the church in prayer you do take it upon yourself to pray for once. You pray you'll sink into the floor or be struck dead before the end of the sermon.

By the time the church doors are opened and people file out, you're sure your heart will burst anyway. You stay seated in the front pew, not moving an inch because if you stand it'll be to bolt out the door and... well technically nothing was keeping you from it. It's not like the goddamn (sorry God) preacher would shoot you if you attempted to run. He had simply suggested you confess. Easy. He probably hears people's fucked up sexual fantasies all the time sitting in that booth. You knew the sheriff’s wife was sleeping with the banker, and you knew the sheriff was sleeping with the widow down the street, so it's not like the stuff that’s pulled from the great Catholics of No Mans Land weren't anything he hadn't heard before.

That's the thought you try and let comfort you as Father Wolfwood finishes up thanking people for coming to church and shaking hands.

The church doors shut with a thud that makes you jump in your seat; you press your hands together firmly and feel your fingernails dig into the skin there. This was fine.

"You know," Father Wolfwood folds his hands politely behind his back and takes agonizingly slow steps down the aisle, "People with guilty conscience are more likely to be startled by loud noises."

You keep your head bowed slightly in what must look like a mock prayer, but you aren’t praying anymore; you're just doing everything possible to not throw up on the church's nice red carpet, carpet that is interrupted when two black dress shows come into view.

"y/n?"

That voice. It makes you press your lips in a firm line, scared of what filth might come out of it if you speak. Instead, to show you're listening, you slowly raise your head to meet Wolfwoods eyes, the likes of which seem clouded in some strong emotion. Were priests always this intense? Well, the easy answer was yes, but this was a different type of intensity, not the kind that filled revering words but one that more closely resembled a predator zoning in on its prey.

"Y/n" he says it again, albeit softer this time as if coaxing forward a scared animal. "You have something on your mind, don't you? Something that plagues you?"

You feel your fingers instinctively move to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. If the heat from the church was unbearable before then this is downright swelting.

"Don't you usually do this kind of thing in the booth?" a poor attempt of a smile graces your lips in a desperate attempt to lighten whatever mood was starting to suffocate the air.

"Usually yes. This is a special case I believe though..." he leans down and your heart slams against your chest, his breath fans against your cheek. You can smell lingering cologne and... was that smoke? Surely not, if your local priest smoked it'd be the talk of the town, although now that you think about it those plush lips would look perfect balancing a cigarette between them, and they'd look even better if he used those teeth to-

"I almost forgot! You haven't received communion." He straightens out in an instant and claps his hands together, nearly scaring you out of your skin while your face heats up from pure embarrassment.

You watch as he crosses from the pew to the table behind the pulpit and grabs a small cup of wine and bread. Just as quickly he's back in front of you with the objects. You reach out to accept them when he pulls his hands back.

"ah ah ah, I said this was a special communion didn't I? I'll deliver it unto you, you just sit and do as you're told."

Oh. Yeah, that definitely didn't do anything to you. Nothing like a gruff handsome man in priest wear telling you to obey in the house of God. This was for sure not bubbling up any worrying realizations about yourself. Nope. Not in the slightest.

He steps back putting a little bit of room between the two of you before his eyes flicker from you to the carpet in front of him.

"Kneel."

You go instantly and willingly, a bit too willingly. Your mind flashes with Father Wolfwoods sermons about the disciples who kissed Jesus’ feet. You wonder if this was an elaborate way to get you to read the bible more because you're beginning to understand what was going through their minds now as you sit on your knees in front of the priest.

You aren’t sure if Wolfwood expected you to be so eager. He pauses for a moment before you swear a hint of a smirk plays at his lips. He raises the glass and the bit of bread slightly.

"Listen to me closely, we wouldn't want to spill and stain the carpet now, would we?" he ask.

You shake your head no. He makes a satisfied hum and continues.

"Tilt your head back.”

You do as you're told, tilting your head back until your eye level is forced to be centered on the man in front of you.

"Open your mouth.”

Your mouth begins to salivate despite the fact there’s nothing in it yet. Perhaps it's due to the fact that what he's about to put in it isn't want you’d like to have resting on your tongue.

"Good. Why don't you stick your tongue out a little bit? I don't want you to dribble."

Fuck him. Fuck him so bad. There was no way he didn't know what he was doing but if had any hint about this sadistic game he was playing with you he gave no indication, he remained at stoic as ever as if you weren't having the most unholy thoughts imagined about your fucking priest.

There’s no going back though. You follow his instructions and let your tongue loll out of your mouth. You swear something flickers in his eyes, but it's gone as soon as it arrives.

He raises the glass and bread more as if offering it to God.

"Close your eyes.”

You do. You let the light of stained-glass windows be blotted out by your own blind obedience.

“Corpus Domini Nostri Iesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam....Amen."

You feel him press the small bit of bread onto your tongue, you close and eat. You don't need to be told before you're opening your mouth again.

The wine follows right after, poured into your mouth and you swallow it down focusing on not letting any hit the ground with the speed at which the contents are emptied down your throat.

What realistically could not have been more than a few seconds feels as though it's lasted a lifetime. You take a deep breath once the bitter wine has settled in your stomach and before you can even think about getting up and excusing yourself from the church Wolfwood puts a hand on your shoulder, signaling for you to stay in place.

"Good. Why don't we get that confession out of the way then?"

Right. The reason he had probably pulled you aside for all of this in the first place. Had he seen through you? Seen how hungry your gaze had become? Probably. Looking back on it sitting in the front row was probably not the best idea when the entire reason for your Sunday visits was for potential fantasy fuel. There didn't seem like any reason to lie though, it's not like a priest could tell anyone about these things and outside of church Father Wolfwood was a bit of an anomaly to the town.

He didn't have any friends that you knew of, didn't gossip, or hang out at the bar, the man lived in this church which was making you feel a bit more guilty about your infatuation now that you thought of it but hey, if you weren't guilty about something then were you even a catholic?

"Forgive me Father I have sinned..."

With a grimace, you realize why the damn confession booths were so popular. Admitting this to God or a wooden wall was a little too easy. Admitting this to Wolfwood was like someone slowly peeling off your skin.

"I see, well, tell me child what is your confession?"

a swallow, then a leap.

"I have been...ah having inappropriate thoughts about someone. Someone who I go out of my way to see to add to these...fantasy's I have."

He listens closely and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head.

"I see...lust then?"

You nod in response, and he makes an affirming noise.

"And what do you imagine happening in these...fantasies of yours?"

The silence in the empty church is so loud it's deafening. Your hands scrunch and unscrunch the fabric of your pants.

"I...I imagine him pushing me down against these very pews, Father. That one day as I'm standing up to leave mass, he'll shove me right back down and take me against the wood."

It's said strained but even you must admit maybe there’s something to this confession shit because you feel a bit lighter with it off your shoulders. Father Wolfwood looks less light. In fact, he looks like you've just damned him to hell.

"Is that all?" he asks but it comes out breathier than he means it to.

The tone sends something to your core, oh you see it now. Lamb and shepherd your ass, you were still most certainly the lamb but the Father was no shepherd, he was the Wolf. Maybe God himself had put that divine foreshadowing into his name.

You shift on your knees and press yourself flatter trying to rub your thighs together. Wolfwoods eyes flicker down to the action, then back up to your face. He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

"No Father. Sometimes I imagine him taking me on the stand in front of the whole congregation. Still preaching while he finishes in me, holy words even in his most sinful act. But...do you know what I really want Father?"

Wolfwood swallows, his fingers trace along your face, and you fight every instinct to lean into it. He looks like this is paining him, He's all gritted teeth and square shoulders as he speaks.

"What do you want?"

Hook. Line. Sinker.

"I imagine he'd keep me here after church, that he'd have me kneel before him still while wearing his holy clothes, that collar, the rosary...and I wish he'd undo his belt to-"

"Enough."

Your mouth snaps shut, scared you've pushed too far. You can feel heat bloom across your face in embarrassment now that your words are catching up to you, this was meant to be a confession not a shit porno, maybe you DID need God...

"You drive me insane you know that? Every day you come in here- the house of god mind you and stare at me like..." He clicks his tongue and motions to you.

"Well like that."

You aren't sure what to make of his tone, it's scolding and firm but hinges on needy at the end. You're starting to worry you broke the poor man before he makes an irritated noise.

"Fine. You want to repent so bad?" Wolfwoods hands go to his belt and with a soft clink of the metal it comes fastened. Your eyes flicker to look towards the door to make sure that no one was about to walk in on the scene that'd put Judas’ sin to shame when you're snapped out of your thoughts.

"Pay attention sweetheart, you were doing so good before, what happened?" The mask of a holy man cracks and gives way to something cockier, more taunting, more...Wolfwood.

"Unless you need scripture to keep your focus?" he works to undo the button and the zip of his dress pants as he tilts his head.

"Then here's something for you, 'the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” When Eve saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom..' "

He frees himself from the confines of his pants. You feel your mouth water and although your knees are starting to hurt from kneeling for so long you have a feeling you're about to get your real communion.

" '...and she opened her mouth, and took.' "

In beat with his preaching you let your mouth fall open. In all honesty, you get it now. You get how appealing that lush fruit must have been to Eve, you get why even after being promised paradise, she gave in to temptation. The weight that settles on your tongue as Wolfwood presses into your mouth makes your eyes roll back, and an involuntary moan escapes your throat. Wolfwoods breath stutters.

"God..." He groans and if your mouth wasn't currently full you might have made a witty comment about using the lords name in vain but a quick hand lacing through your hair from Wolfwood serves well enough to sever whatever thought had flitted through your mind.

You flatten your tongue and take more, allowing as much as you can to the back of your throat but when tears prick your eyes and you gag slightly on the sensation he pulls you off with a wet pop. You whine slightly at loss before Wolfwoods hand grabs your chin while he uses his thumb to wipe up the drool leaking from your lips that you hadn't realized was there.

"Patience, don’t you listen to a word I say up there?” he muses, you sheepishly look up at him through your eyelashes and it’s answer enough. He pulls you back in front of his cock, "Be good then, swallow every drop and I might forgive you"

You don't have much time to argue as his hand guides you back. You're more prepared this time, the way you sit on your knees...you’re a picture perfect saint and who's here to judge you for your sin anyways? Wolfwood? Sounded like a setup to a joke.

"Fuck, yeah baby just like that. So good-" His words break off with a grunt and his hips stutter forward, he pulls your head forward and you reach up to steady yourself with his thighs. He rocks his hips to your mouth as he face fucks you in the middle of the church. When his breathing speeds up and he mutters out a sting of gentle curses you know he’s close. You close your eyes and let him use you as he spills down your throat. You're desperate to show him you can listen, you swallow down as much as you can trying to not let a single drop of cum hit the floor.

When the rough handful of hair is released, you pull back to try and catch your breath, a worthless endeavor it would seem considering you're just as quickly being lifted up by your arm. You feel yourself being tugged up the steps towards the pulpit and make peace with the fact you're officially the worst Catholic ever...well besides the priest who's currently the instigator of this depravity.

"Not done yet sweetheart, the grace of god doesn't come with a blow job surprisingly" Wolfwood huffs amused as he presses down on your shoulder to force you to bend off the wood stand.

"Are you even a priest?" wrong question you guess because Wolfwood makes an irritated noise.

"Aren't you supposed to be repenting?" His hands grope at your thighs, spreading them apart much more slowly than you'd like, as if he's savoring it...reverence, you think.

"Father-"

He chuckles lowly at that.

"Father" he imitates "you let that name fall from your lips like it doesn't turn you on just to say it"

His fingers ghost over your thighs, then around the area you want him most before sliding up under your shirt to explore flesh. It's so hot in the church, and when you peer out across the wooden pews, you see the stained glass window casting rainbow light that sprawls out across the floor all the way up to your body.

"Focus on me" Wolfwood corrects your wandering mind by nipping along your neck and your body instinctively shudders against him. You press your hips back to feel his growing hardness pressed against your ass. His hands slide your shirt up over your head and he begins to focus on trailing kisses along your back.

"Thank you, Lord," His lips move against your shoulder blade.

"For delivering this sinner unto me, so that I may show them rapture."

His fingers hook along the hem of your pants and tug them down your legs until they rest right at your knees.

"Despite that, I must confess, I have sinned."

His fingers trace along your entrance before slowly sinking in. You groan and press your head to the wood in front of you, fingers scratching against the surface.

"I have lusted for someone of my own congregation. I have imagined them kneeling for me and worst of all I have imagined me taking them, devouring them until there is nothing left to fill them but me"

Another finger lazily joins the first and he begins a slow rhythm of pumping them in and out. You attempt to wiggle your hips back to chase the feeling, but his other hand keeps your waist flush against the stand.

"But I am only a man so with my mortal body I will show them euphoria"

You feel his fingers pull out and whine at the loss only to feel the blunt head of his own cock begin to line up with you.

"Amen"

Wolfwood doesn't give you much more warning before roughly pressing in. You moan as he sets a backbreaking pace, thankful that he at least prepped you before. He's leaned over your body; his hair tickles the back of your neck slightly as he pants in your ear. You imagine your own noises can't be much better as his left hand, the one he's apparently wrapped in a rosary, comes up to catch your chin, two fingers press into your mouth as he supports your head. His other hand stays at your hip, bringing your body back against his with every thrust.

It's so hot in the church, sweat beads along your body and you can feel your hair beginning to stick to your forehead. Your mind feels foggy and you lap absent mindedly at the fingers invading your mouth. Wolfwood groans and pushes you down further against the stand and it'd be uncomfortable if you could focus on anything other than the priest fucking your brains out. He produces an ungodly amount of precum, you can feel it making a mess between your thighs right as drool begins to leak from the corners of your mouth and bead down to the wood below.

Wolfwoods hand shifts from your hip to where a blooming warmth has begun. You nearly cry out with relief babbling nonsense around his fingers, hell maybe even a few prayers. His own mouth is becoming less of that of a reverend and more of that of a ravenous man, mouthing and biting at what he can reach. The fingers press deeper into your mouth, and you feel the smooth beads of the rosary as you toy with them with your tongue. You're close, you tremble beneath Wolfwood and he catches on because both his hands pull away to once again fit along your hips. You nearly sob from the new lack of stimulation as he rocks into you.

"Beg for it," Wolfwood says so firmly you'd have sworn he was once again leading the congregation. Your mind is halfway to mush right now, so it doesn't take much convincing to do what he wants.

"Please please please let me, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I repent" you babble out hoping you’ve said the magic words.

His hand comes down firmly on your ass as he thrust into you then finally finally reaches to touch between your thighs.

It sends you over the edge instantly, your legs trembling as you whine and moan, Wolfwoods own obscene noises match your own as he finishes inside you, letting you milk him for all he's worth.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, you become aware of the fact your priest is pressed up against your back, trying to catch his breath from fucking the ever loving daylights out of you. You whine slightly and Wolfwood responds by nuzzling his face against your neck.

"Are you okay?"

You do actually laugh at that one, letting your forehead rest against the podium.

"The priest I've been fantasizing about fucking me for a year now just has. This has been the best lay of my life and you want to ask if I'm okay?"

"You're awfully vulgar aren't you?"

You snap your head up to make several points about the irony of the statement but when you turn you see a shit eating grin on his face. You playfully hit his chest and groan.

"You've got to be the worst priest ever"

"Can't say I'd deny that claim" He leans forward and kisses you, you go into it easily but the taste of his lips reminds you of something, when you pull away you raise an eyebrow

"Do you smoke?"

He shrugs and keeps his hands on your waist.

"I prefer to keep certain things in my life separated from the church"

"and me?"

"Consider yourself a special case." He smirks and takes hold of your chin between his fingers "Although I do hope this was enough to keep you coming to my sermons?" he ask

You swallow at the dark look in his eye and place your hands on his chest.

"and miss the holy word? Perish the thought"

He chuckles lowly at that as your hands begin to play with the collar of the cassock he wears.

"Although Father, I fear I may not have properly confessed."

He raises an eyebrow and eyes you "No?"

You shake your head "See I only...repented for two out of three fantasies I had also mentioned being taken against the pews"

Wolfwoods hands tighten around his hips and his smile widens.

"Well...let's fix that, shall we?"

Author's note: ahhhh I'm back! I've been storin this little beauty away for awhile now. This is my welcome back post because I feel like I lost the way I wanted to organize and write for a little while and this was the first piece that got me back in the flow of things. I missed you guys! We're back baby! (I'll add my spacers in later I'm missin the files rn and I don't feel like searching for them)

[mediocreanomaly]

Starting To Like You

Authors Note: Gang! Bit of a different type of fic, I'm having really bad writers block brought on by S.A.D. which I get in the fall/winter so this is just a little drabble of me and my friends DnD characters who are currently in a slowburn romance lol. (Sorry it's all thats sparking joy) I'm not dead and the account isn't abandoned promise. Sorry for the very self pleasing fic! If it's not ur cup of tea I'll be opening x reader fics as soon as I'm vibing promise!

This was bad. Reverence may not have been known for textbook intelligence, but his experience in numerous battles had honed his instincts. He recognized the shift from when something had gone from "bad" to "downright shit", it was currently the latter.

Insects blanket his body — centipedes, roaches, spiders, and worms wriggling and squirming wherever they find a foothold. He can feel legs crawling over his skin, down his tail, under his shirt, some threatening to creep into his ears. In fact, the swarm is already so thick that it obscures any vision he might have had of the hotel room he shared with Mort and-

Eight.

Eight had been standing right next to him when that...thing came in right?

As if waiting to confirm his suspicions he can hear the Orc making noises of distress—reminiscent of someone frantically trying to rid themselves of something repulsive, a sound that’s quickly garbled by bugs.

He needs to slow down, to think, to get the two of them far away before the situation escalates from a "get the fuck out of here" to a "we are utterly screwed" scenario. "Go through the facts, Reverence," he scolds himself, swiftly replaying the scene.

Eight had roused him in the dead of night, frantic hoping he could help because that's what he did, he was the paladin. He was meant to take the hits, not the Gods damned warlock. Then the thing came into the room draped in robes and wearing a mask. Attempting to look human but with the amount of creepy crawlies spilling out from the clothes Reverence had been instantly sure that it was anything but. He hadn't even had time to get out of the bed before it'd raised it's hand (bugs?) and covered the pair in an unholy amount of wriggling insects.

As if the situation weren't dire enough, the bugs all seemed to bite down simultaneously. The prickling sensation of a hundred pinchers sinking into his skin forced him to grit his teeth. Determined not to make a sound that might invite a mouthful of bugs, he struggled against the onslaught. Then the bites were followed by the feeling of magic seeping through his viens. He'd felt this pain before, not this exact manifestation, but the draining ache was unmistakably necrotic. It was one of the many reasons he had such a distaste for the dead, they enjoyed feeding on life. His body is being drained of vitality and in the midst of it all Eight screams.

Everything snaps into place at once, like hearing her in pain had jolted him awake him from whatever haze he was in. Blindly reaching for the nearby sun blade, he fumbles until the cool hilt meets his fingertips. His options were limited but they were there, barely. With a swift motion, the blade of pure radiance springs into existence. A few of the bugs make noises as they hit the blade to his satisfaction, but the bugs covering him are hardly a concern when the thing controlling them can just replace hoard.

He can’t see through the swarm of legs and bodies but he swings nonetheless. He can feel radiant power flow from his body to his fingers insuring a smite that he hopes puts the fucker in the ground. The impact yields a symphony of crunches and oozing noises from the bugs, followed by the unsettling skittering of more insects rushing to replenish whatever void he just carved. Fantastic. He had been reduced to an oversized bug zapper. Another swing, another crunch, another nauseating sound of bugs running to restore its form. The bugs hurt, whatever it is that controlling them is sucking his life right out and filling their tiny bodies with it. Does it even matter if he hits it, considering it can effortlessly replace its own life force with his?

"Druvithar!" Eights voice is barley registers in Reverences head as she manages to expel enough bugs out of her mouth to cast a spell, and suddenly Reverence is falling back. Pulled through to somewhere unseen and his back hitting hard ground. The smell of hay and both the sound of Leah’s Pegasus and Anders hell hound horse making curious noises has him realizing Eights teleported them (or something to that effect) to the stables.

He rolls and uses his hands to begin brushing off as many bugs and possible, spitting and shaking vigorously to get every last one off his body and out of any orifice they might have crawled into.

"Reverence!" Eight yells for him and his head whips around, the bugs cling to her like glue and her body jolts as they bite again, no doubt attempting to drain as much life from her as they can before she can get them off.

"Hold on Eight-" Reverence is trying to help peel them off, stomping on any of the little ones that scurry past but her breath is slowing down and her hands stop their frantic swatting and start to go limp at her sides.

The bugs are off of her, but her body goes slack. Reverence shakily presses his fingers to her neck but her pulse isn't there. She's dying. He doesn't even have to think twice before a soft infernal curse leaves his lips and he's pressing his hands to her chest and letting any healing energy he has left enter her body. The glow of light seeping under her skin has her gasping awake, coughing and sputtering.

Reverences hands are shaking. That's never happened before, he's been scared, he's watched people die on the battlefield more times than he can count so why does this feel...different?

"Well, that wasn't too bad, all things considered," he offers. It's not the right thing to say, not to mention it's a blatant lie, considering he still feels like he's about to puke, and the thought of her limp body is etched into the back of his eyes. Yet, she looks at him wide-eyed with enough relief that his heart aches.

"I think I'm starting to like you" she laughs, and he joins in because the situation is absurd and the type of thing only adventures with a death wish get into. Yet, they're alive, Eight's alive, and everything is fine.

****

The steady clip-clop of various steeds fills the silence as the party moves down the dirt path. A wind blows through the trees, and Reverence shudders. Cold season was approaching; the leaves were starting to turn and fall. He imagined that in a few more moons, there would even be snowfall. It didn't help that they were headed toward the top of a mountain, so with every passing day, the higher altitude serves to chill his metal plate armor even further.

He shrugs the edges of his cloak on further, then reaches up to pull up the hood, which limply falls back down after it refuses to stretch over his horns. Reverence sighs and reaches to attempt it again. Tailors never bothered to consider any tieflings that might buy their precious clothes, but most of the world didn't consider tieflings at all for any reason. He tugs harder, hoping to stretch it enough to stay, but the fabric pools back down once again. With a click of his tongue, he accepts his fate.

"Gods, come here and stay still," Eight scolds, her tone reminiscent of a parent reprimanding a child. Reverence complies, bringing his steed to a halt next to Eight's. He follows her instructions, accustomed to the Orc's authoritative demeanor. If he was being honest, he preferred direct people who knew what they wanted. He wasn't sure if it appealed to the soldier in him or something deeper, but he preferred not to ponder on it.

Eight reaches around her waist and undoes one of the many strips of fabric that she hooked around her hips. For belly dancing, she'd told him once, he's never seen it before but now he was wondering when a good time to ask would be.

She grabs the edge of hood, yanking it up as far as it will go around Reverence's head. After examining his horns, she deftly ties the fabric up around them and secures it around the top of the hood, ensuring it stays pushed up around his head.

Reverence is sure he looks a bit silly with the makeshift bonnet, but his head is warm and it's a surprisingly...kind gesture. Reverence reaches up to run his fingers along the hood and smiles.

"I knew we were friends," he muses, a hint of excitement lacing his voice. She stares at him as if he's lost his mind, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she turns away.

"I said I was starting to like you. Don't push your luck." With the tap of her foot her horse rides on and Reverence enjoys the rest of the ride in warmth.

****

"Gods Damn...are we there yet?" Reverence groans as the parties steeds trot along. One fight against a fake dragon that devoured radiant damage like candy was enough to exhaust the Paladin to the hells and back. He'd hoped they could just set up camp in the woods but after a vote it had been determined a town would be better. The only thing that had managed to lift his spirits is the fact their new found friend, a loud ass dwarf, had offered to pay for the first round of drinks.

By the time they finally reach the town, there are only about twelve buildings in total, with a population of probably 100 or less. They dismount and make their way to the town hall, which also doubles as a pub and meeting area. They clamor inside, hopeful for somewhere to stay and something to drink.

Eight pulls her cloak tighter, attempting to conceal the fact that she's a full Orc, but her imposing stature looms even over Reverence, making her efforts mostly unsuccessful. He observes a few people hastily scurrying out, and others let their eyes wander over to him. Having learned a long time ago that hiding his identity did little against close-mindedness, he gives a stiff nod in their direction and heads to the bar. They, too, scurry out.

After an undisclosed number of rounds later, the party begins to set up for sleep. Eight's patron granted her the ability to go without sleep, but for added safety, the party decides to have people on watch with her. They organize three watches: Ander for the first, Leah for the second, Mort for the third, with Eight accopanying all three.

Reverence is just relieved to finally get some sleep; he's had to take a watch the last five times, and he was missing sleeping through the night.

"g'night Eight." He yawns setting up an area behind the bar which the town had been gracious enough to let them stay at granted they give up some coin.

"...Goodnight Reverence" Eight says plainly, she'd set up a make shift fort with tables should anything break in. The tiefling responds with a pleased hum and settles on the floor. It's a bit of a rough spot, with only a sleeping mat to soften the hard floor and his cloak to provide warmth. However, having slept through worse five times over, he falls asleep on the spot, despite the lackluster conditions.

One by one, the rest of the team succumbs to sleep, leaving the night watch to fulfill their duty—keeping an eye on the others. In the stillness of the night, they remain quiet, listening for any signs of potential intruders.

Then, in the darkness, while everyone sleeps, Eight stands up. Ander watches boredly, anticipating her to shift the tables or stretch her legs. Instead she suprises him by digging through her bag of holding and producing a blanket. Quietly, she moves behind the bar and gently lays it on top of the tiefling, careful not to wake him. Returning to her chair, Ander raises an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Not a word," Eight says, already anticipating Ander's questions.

"And you think he won't find out when he wakes tucked in?" Ander muses, leaning back against the wall of the rickety wooden building.

"No, he won't. I'm removing it before morning."

Ander wears an amused expression but shrugs.

"Not my business."

"No. It's not."

The sound of Reverence shifting in his sleep has Eight holding her breath, fearing he might catch onto her actions before she herself is ready to accept them. However, a soft snore coming from his mouth releases the tension from her shoulders. She runs a hand down her face and peeks through her fingers at the way the paladin now curls up in the red cloth, looking much more snug than he had minutes prior. Eight had decided something; if dragons, liches, and the Gods themselves didn't kill her by the end of this, Reverence would.

"Idiot." Eight scoffs. No one hears it but she doesn't intend for any one to. Besides, she wasn't sure if it had been directed at him or herself.

[mediocreanomaly]

Jelly, ofcourse, does it again. I will never tire of dad!Vash fluff.

Papa's Here

A Trimax Dad!Vash Drabble

Rating: G

Summary: A quiet moment between Vash and his baby. Vash reflects on the miracle in his arms and the gratitude in his heart. Word Count: ~760 A/n: As if I could resist. This is another little snippet from my Trimax series. This drabble takes place a few days after Vash returns to his s/o (f!reader) and daughter on the floating ship following his imprisonment on Knives' ark.

In all his years of life, Vash had never experienced anything like this. The tiny, warm bundle of joy laying against him is one of the most miraculous things the humanoid typhoon has ever felt. So soft, so bright and so fragile. Vash can’t believe that someone like her came from someone like him.

A quiet gurgle breaks the new father from his thoughts. Smiling softly, Vash looks down lovingly at his little baby girl nestled cozily against his chest. Vash holds her with utmost care, making sure that her tender, plump little cheek that is smooshed so adorably against him is far from the metal grate over his heart. 

His daughter. His starlight. His Nova. Vash never imagined he’d ever have someone like her. Yet here she is, and here he is—the love that Vash has in his heart for her swelling to degrees beyond all measure. Vash adores her, would lay down his life gladly just to see her smile. He never wants her to know coldness, harshness, or pain. He wants her to feel loved and happy. Always. 

As if she heard his thoughts, Nova’s tiny fingers tighten, gripping a handful of her papa’s shirt as she snuggles in closer. Vash’s expression softens as he presses a gentle kiss to the top of his daughter’s head, breathing in her scent, basking in the melody of her breaths. It’s quiet moments like these where Vash sometimes feels like she isn’t even real. But whenever he doubts, all Vash has to do is look at his little girl to know that he isn’t dreaming. She’s here, she’s real, she’s perfect—and she’s smiling.

“I have to say, I’ve never seen a man so happy that his baby wakes him up at 2:00AM.”

Vash’s gaze turns towards the door leading into the ship’s common room and is not surprised to see Brad leaning against the doorframe. His eyes are tired yet relieved and brimming with accomplishment. The young man must have just finished one of his numerous projects.

“I’m always happy to take care of her,” Vash smiles, beginning to rub his daughter’s back up and down soothingly. His heart melts when Nova hums a little sound of contentment, jaw slackening and eyelids fluttering. She’s in a deep and soothing sleep. Cradled in the safest place in the world.

“She can wake me up anytime. She knows her Papa is always there for her.”

The half scoff, half chuckle that escapes Brad’s lips widens Vash’s smile, and he watches as the young man makes his way into the dim common room, taking a seat in one of the couches opposite Vash with a heavy sigh.

“I never knew the humanoid typhoon could be such a sap.”

“And I never knew that you were such a good babysitter, Brad.”

Brad seems taken aback as Vash smiles knowingly, eyes and heart alight.

“My mayfly. She told me you and Luida helped take care of Nova while I was gone. Thank you for that. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

The pink flush that spreads across Brad’s face from the outlaw’s words inspires a blush of Vash’s own to spread. And as the two men sit in that comfortable and cozy room with that slightly awkward silence, Vash sends up a little prayer of gratitude to whomever would listen. 

He’s thankful. So heart wrenchingly thankful. For Rem, for Wolfwood, for Meryl and Milly, for Luida and Brad, for all of those people who had been so kind to him. 

For his mayfly. 

For Nova.

Vash had seen the deepest pits of despair, but now he knows the highest and most miraculous of joys. He’ll hold fast to those joys in the days to come. To drive him forward. To push him towards that happiness that he always wanted, but didn’t believe he deserved.

He’ll do it. He’ll fight for that happy life with all his might. 

For them. 

For her.

Brad clears his throat, redirecting Vash’s thoughts and attention back to the man opposite him.

“So,” Brad rumbles. “Did she ever call you ‘Papa’ again after that one time?”

“No. Why?”

“Don’t want to miss another chance to see you pass out cold.”

The hearty and warm chuckle that bubbles out of Vash’s throat is hard to contain. He tries his best for fear of his laughter disturbing Nova–but despite his efforts she shifts, brows furrowing as she nuzzles against him yet again.

“Shhh,” Vash coos lovingly, rubbing her back with soothing circles once more. 

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep. Papa’s here.”

divider source

[mediocreanomaly]

Prompt idea I am Soft™ for: the first time Prince Astarion kissed his knight *is dreamy over that AU*

a  love  that  will  last  forever

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 5,422 content warnings: astarion is soft here and unlike his depicition in "everything i see" as he is younger, implied underage drinking ( setting appropriate ), references to tav being raised as a child soldier by gortash,  tav is gender neutral other tags: alternate universe - royalty, character study, porn with plot, pwp, vignette, developing relationship, getting together, love confessions, mi.ssionary style archiveofourown: here. sequel:  everything i see, everything i feel (you are my universe)

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack be added to the taglist here

summary:  4 times Astarion wanted to kiss you, and the one time he did.

i. You would recognize the sound of his laughter anywhere  —  a bubbling and bouncing symphony down the cobblestone walls of the Lower City. The prince passes by a different unsuspecting guard flanked by Karlach who is also laughing, but unlike him, she wears no disguise. She darts by you first, and then you’re sliding an arm around Astarion’s thin waist and twirling him towards you. He grips your shoulders and yelps from the force. His giggles abruptly stop as his arms wrap tighter around your shoulders. When you meet his gaze, Astarion’s flushes.

‘And who might you be running from, my prince?’ you ask, voice low.

Astarion stares at you with wide, guilty eyes. He’s wearing a disguise to hide himself so that he might parade around the city in peace. Once he recognizes you, the slight panic in his gaze dissipates and he smiles as brightly as he can. He smells like a cluster of aromas. Wines, smoke from the cookshops, and his own personal perfume that’s crafted for him to attract an ardent admirer. A gift from the sickly king. Astarion leans towards you distractingly, snorting carefreely as you support his weight.

‘My favorite knight,’ Astarion says breathlessly.

You contemplate your choices. You could drag him back to the Keep kicking and screaming and sequester him to his bedchambers as you were ordered to do or… Karlach stands away from you, idly shiftinging. She looks sheepish enough. On her back is her broadsword and at her hip is a small axe. You bite the inside of your cheek.

‘Your highness,’ you greet him.

‘Please,’ Astarion whispers vampishly.

You meet his eyes. He is so open, so honest with you in these darkened streets. He leans forward and brushes the tip of his nose against yours. It’s so out of character it catches you off-guard. He weasels out of your grip then with a hideous cackle. He grabs your hands and holds them in his and pleads with you silently, eyes earnest. Please let me pretend to be nothing for one evening … You trust Karlach to keep him safe.

‘Please,’ Astarion insists. ‘For me.’

You free your hands from his and reach for the knife at your hip. You unfasten your belt and slide it around Astarion’s lithe hips instead, buckling it and tightening it so that he’ll have it if he needs it. You ruck up his shirt so that it falls gracelessly to conceal the weapon.

‘Take care, your highness,’ you murmur. Astarion’s grin is nothing but teeth. ‘But do not allow me to catch you again this evening. There’s a Keep in the room calling your name.’

‘And if I want you to hunt me?’ Astarion asks softly. You do not reply.

Astarion backs away from you with reluctance, knocking into Karlach who starts snorting with laughter. You trained with Karlach. You learned the blade and the bow and the lance at her side beneath Enver Gortash’s careful tutelage. She is the only one you trust to keep the prince safe when you are not at his side, so for tonight, you will allow it.

This is a moment of victory for Astarion. Away from the Keep, he is free to be a boy. He wears no crown and bears no royal crest. He simply transforms beneath this freedom. This is something you can understand now that there is no longer a boot crushing your spine. If there is a moment where Astarion could laugh and drink without worry of his father’s council snatching away the fun, you would give it to him again and again.

You watch as Astarion anxiously fists the knife at his side, and for a brief moment, you regret your decision. He looks every part the charlatan he pretends to be as he shifts his weight to play at being a danger, and you hold your hands up playfully, glad that your heavy helm hides your smile.

You remember Lord Gortash’s words. A dog should not be soft. A dog should not know this affection.

‘Thank you,’ Astarion says. ‘I won’t forget this.’

You lean against the stone wall and turn your chin. You try to forget how handsome he looks clothed as an urchin, no longer weighed down by the finery and regalia of the Ancunin name. Your heart aches at how well he fits in with Karlach, at how well their laughter mixes as they begin darting through the streets once more. You wait until you can no longer hear Astarion’s song on the wind before you begin making your way back to the Keep.

Ser Thorm is waiting for you when you arrive. You aren’t sure how long you’re reprimanded for, or how you narrowly manage to avoid worse consequences but it’s worth it, you decide, when you stand watch over an empty room until the early morning. Astarion sneaks back in through a secret passage and opens his door behind you, and you stand still as a statue as he slides his hands around your waist to return your knife. His fingers hesitate, and your heart stutters. ii.

  The castle is packed with lords and ladies, nobility and their children, and so much music that you cannot hear Astarion over a symphony of a hundred voices.

He looks like the perfect prince tonight. His hair has been brushed to perfection, his clothes measured so they fit him snugly, and his crown recently shined yet he dances with the Open Lord’s daughter with the most miserable expression on his face that he can get away with. Astarion had made you practice this waltz with him. Jealousy takes root in your stomach.

His father’s council has thrown a ball to commemorate his seventeenth nameday, and there are still many waiting for their turn to dance with their prince. They stand at the sides of the ballroom and coo as he twirls his partner, and no matter how hard you try to tune them out, their awe rings in your ears. You hatefully remember watching as he filled his dance card with name upon name until he realized it would be hours worth of trotting.

You’ve always prided yourself on how easy it was for you to swallow down your envy. Lord Gortash had done his best to rip it out of you, only allowing certain matters to still bring you a quiet sense of joy. You will never know what it is like to dance the Luskan Waltz with Prince Astarion of Baldur’s Gate.

You were not allowed to dance. It’s not something Enver Gortash ever trained you to do, nor was it something the crownsguard was allowed to participate in. Astarion had asked you desperately all morning between the maids fussing over dress and food, and you had denied him every time. You were meant to watch, to swallow your pride and your feelings. Denying him had made it feel as if your heart had shattered into millions of pieces.

Astarion looks as downtrodden as you feel, but when the Open Lord’s daughter peers at him wistfully, he smiles back at her with such finesse that it would be impossible to not believe that he was happy. The light of his smile never reaches his eyes, but those who dance with him will never understand that.

This malaise and ennui is not new to you. It is good that you wear a helm. No one can see how you press your lips together to keep from pouting.

The swell of the music comes to a decrescendo, and you watch Astarion excuse himself from the dance floor. He pushes past the other nobles clawing at him for a chance to speak with the crown prince, and he’s graceful with the way he denies them the opportunity. He pushes through an ocean of people to make it to you, but you don’t turn your head to acknowledge him as he grabs a fresh drink from the banquet table. Astarion holds the glass of wine out to you first.

‘Drink,’ he commands.

You take the delicate glass from his hand, careful to avoid touching himso that you might not pollute him, and lift your helm so that you might taste his Neverwinter red and wait. After a few heartbeats, you return his cup to him and he drinks his fill from the same place you drank yours. You close your eyes and pray the rush of nervousness goes away.

‘I’m bored,’ Astarion complains. He chokes down the rest of his wine and crinkles his nose in disgust. ‘This is the worst party I’ve ever been to.’

‘This is a celebration of your life, my prince,’ you say carefully. ‘There’s no better party to be had.’

‘Ha!’ Astarion snorts. ‘Haha! If it were you and I and our closest companions at the Blushing Mermaid, I’d be inclined to agree. But everyone here either wants to fuck me or wear my crown or both. I feel like meat.’

Astarion presses closer to you as if seeking your protection. He fusses with the dance card around his wrist, fumbling with it to count the names left. He groans and begins to reach for another wine before stopping himself. He looks at you, mystified, and runs his teeth over his bottom lip.

‘I need fresh air,’ he tells you. ‘Come with me to the balcony.’

‘As you command,’ you say. You allow him to pass.

‘It’s not a command,’ he pouts. ‘You could refuse if you wanted to, you know.’

You don’t know how to respond. You guide him away from the party as requested, and it’s easy to confess that the breath of fresh air is good for you. Astarion is unusually quiet on the balcony. The world is much different away from the music and the crowd, and you can’t help but feel despair as he stares across the distance at the Lower City. He flops onto a bench carelessly and reaches his hands upwards to the stars.

Your throat tightens. You don’t know what to say to make things better. To be truthful, you’re equally as frustrated as he is. What you wouldn’t give to slide off your armor, to match raiment with him, to dance to the violins and cellos as all others have. You sit on the ground next to him and peer between his fingers to watch the shooting star he’s framing with his fingers as it passes through the sky.

‘Make a wish,’ Astarion says, glancing at you. ‘I’ve already made mine.’

‘As you command,’ you repeat. His bottom lip trembles. iii.

  When the Sickness of Spring breaks through into Baldur’s Gate, your first concern is the health of the prince. The crown had ordered the ports closed, yet somehow the mysterious disease had made it into the castle walls. The king remained safe, and yet…

You should have known better.

You are ambitious and resilient  —  yet every inhale of breath is like a thousand razors sliding down the flesh of your lungs, and your coughs are getting harder and harder to conceal. You are simultaneously certain you’re going to burn to death inside of your chain mail and that you are going to freeze to death.

Your skin is nothing but gooseflesh and you haven’t stopped shivering since you woke up. Your head feels as though it’s about to burst. You twist to catch your breath, but the world is spinning all around you through the small vision in your helm and you collapse in the garden instead of managing a tactful retreat. Astarion immediately rises from his game of lanceboard and rushes to your side, scrambling to pull you into hi slap and shove your helm off. His fingers are like open flame against your skin.

‘Help me!’ Astarion snaps at Gale.

It should be funny watching as they struggle to lift your body, but laughing makes the pounding in your head worse. You try to breathe carefully in and out of your nose as they work to carry you. No one steps in to help, too afraid of catching it themselves. You hope they’re taking you to a healer, but the first thing you notice when you’re able to open your eyes is the exalted extravagance of Astarion’s private bedchambers.

‘No,’ you say weakly. ‘Not here.’

‘It will be fine,’ he says, ignoring how you shove at his chest as he climbs beside you. ‘I’m an Ancunin,’ he adds. ‘We don’t get sick.’

That you know of, you want to say. You’re too tired to open your mouth and too feverish to stop him as he slowly strips you of your armor. He lets it clunk against the ground when he removes it then fights to force your limbs beneath his blankets. You want to tell him to go, to seek shelter elsewhere, but the smell of hm is comforting enough that you decide to be selfish.

For the first day of your sickness, you aren’t truly conscious. You occasionally hear Astarion and Gale’s voices through the fog of your stupor. Apparently Shadowheart and her Order have been working on a cure, and now that you’re sick, Astarion is more involved in the process. He struggles to pick up where his father’s council has slacked. He paces your bedside and when the others finally leave, he crawls in alongside you and hardly sleeps himself, torn between pouring over paperwork for potential cures and checking your pulse like Shadowheart taught him.

The second day of your sickness, you are aware of every single hair on your head. It hurts so much you spend most of the morning crying. The only relief for the pain comes when Astarion massages your scalp, rubbing his thumbs in tiny circles until you’re able to enjoy the touch without flinching. While you cough and choke, Astarion is as healthy as he can be. That knowledge helps you relax.

‘You are doing so well, my love,’ Astarion murmurs one night when he thinks you’re asleep. ‘If anyone can beat this, it is you.’

He continues whispering nonsensical things. He tells you about his dreams for the future. None of them involve the kingdom or the happiness of the smallfolk or the truth of the matter. When you try to focus on the sound of his voice, you realize Astarion is mentioning nothing but you in his soliloquy.

He proclaims that you will no longer be just a knight. You will no longer be away from him or barred from finding your own happiness. He says, it will be you and him and happiness until the end of the world. When you cry, you get to pretend it’s because of how heavy your chest is from the moisture in your lungs rather than the overwhelming desire that causes you to feel drunk. Astarion hushes you.

You feel the soft kisses he presses into your unwashed hair, and for the first time since this sickness overcame you, you believe him and his vows. Astarion holds your hands in his and sleeps nose to nose with you, and after two weeks of sickness when you’re finally able to stand, he takes you out to his private balcony so you can experience the fresh air and feeds you honeyed toast until you’re full. iv.

  Years later, when Astarion is eight-and-ten, you come face to face with the man who sold you to the king. ‘Please,’ Lord Enver Gortash says disdainfully. ‘There is no need for your mutt to be here. This is a meeting between men  —  you and I.’

Years of servitude beneath Lord Gortash prevents you from meeting his gaze. You stare at your boots and try not to move a muscle. If you close your eyes for too long, you can hear steel meeting steel in practiced battle over and over and the sound of his voice as he dehumanized you. It makes the pit of your stomach feel bottomless with fear. You’re thankful that Lord Gortash only regards you coldly.

‘Do not presume to tell me where or where not I can take my Shield when I walk around my castle,’ Astarion says with mute irritation. ‘Do not forget who I am, Lord Gortash. I am not some slaver seeking to buy troops. I am your prince.’

‘I would never, your highness,’ Lord Gortash acquiesces. ‘Please, forgive me for speaking out of turn.’

Astarion appraises him. ‘I will consider it.’

You stand beside the door while they talk about the trouble brewing at the border. A rebellion is looming, or so Lord Gortash fears. Those in the Lower City are not pleased with how the Sickness of Spring was handled by the crown. Many had died, yet… Astarion’s father, the king, has not been well enough to see to the council meetings in years and Astarion ia not yet permitted by Lord Thorm to attend them in his stead. He was still a boy, Thorm said.

It’s so political that you feel as though you really shouldn’t be there. You were a mangy mutt who had been presented to the crown prince as hardly more than a child, and now you were delving into a world that you could never possibly understand. You too had been expressly forbidden from attending the meetings, though that order had come from Lord Gortash. He would not allow hounds to roam the halls in his presence.

Astarion hums and nods and listens to the information being presented. His body positioning is rigid, his spine straight, and he responds to everything Lord Gortrash says with a resigned annoyance in his voice. These were not men he approved of. Astarion hates them almost as much as he hates the parties, the lords and ladies that they so desperately wish he would marry so that he would no longer be a problem for his father’s council.

They talk, and they talk, and they talk of other things but you begin to realize why Gortash is really here. He is looking beyond Astarion and at you, and although you do not raise your chin to challenge his gaze, you know that you have repulsed him beyond repair.

Perhaps you were to chime in and offer your praises of Lord Gortash’s goodwill and outstanding, but you know more than anyone the kind of cruelty he has instilled in his gifts. He means to yank your chain and force you to bark, but you resist the only way you know how. You say nothing at all.

You are nothing but a mad dog, he told you once, and you will never learn what it means to be loved. On your knees and do not bark, dog. Your punishment awaits.

With the state of the city nowhere near perfected, Lord Gortash rises from his chair with feigned repentance. He bows his head to Astarion and then brushes past you with not a word spoken. Still, the ghost of his torment causes you to flinch away from him as he passes andyou’re met with the fiery blaze of Astarion’s disgust as he watches Lord Gortash leave. Once he’s stepped from the threshold of the door, Karlach joins his side mournfully and trades you a solemn, disappointed glance. Your collars have both been tightened this day, it seems.

You dare not wave goodbye to her, and she dares not say anything to you nor the prince as she follows behind her lord.

‘I hate that man,’ Astarion says darkly when Lord Gortash has left the hallway of the Flaming Fist. He turns to you, disgust on his face. ‘I should send a catspaw to slit his throat and be done with it.’

‘Lord Gortash has been a friend to the crown,’ you tell him quietly.

‘A friend would give aid to those who need it,’ Astarion says. He grabs your wrist. ‘I know what he has done to you and Karlach. I know of his fighting pits, and yet  —  ’

Astarion squeezes your wrist without thinking. His touch grows sterner and harder with every minute that passes. He is incensed, disgusted. You can tell by the way his hands shake that he cannot express his words well enough, yet he tries his best to reach out to you the only way he knows how. Astarion has never lied to you. You trust him more than anyone.

‘You have not looked at me since he arrived,’ he says mournfully. ‘He has taken your life and filled you with fear, and I cannot bear it any longer. Do you understand?’

You look at him shyly then. His piercing eyes are brimming with tears of frustration and anger, and his lips are twisted. He pulls you closer to him and then hesitates. He struggles, and you struggle too. These are waters you have never waded through before, and you are playing a dangerous game with which you have no experience. You do your best to hold your head above the grey ocean and seek your salvation in a halo of silver.

‘Let us go somewhere more private,’ Astarion says. ‘There is something I must speak to you about.’

‘Of course, my prince,’ you reply.

If only you knew what he had meant when he said those words. Your life, reverent, in his hands changed forevermore. v.

‘Please,’ Astarion says. ‘Tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t know any other way  —  ’

Astarion kisses you hurriedly, both of his hands on either one of your cheeks, and the touch is so overwhelming that you almost pull away. He takes your breath away and replaces it with something else: devotion and unwavering loyalty. You aren’t sure what possesses you to forsake your vows as you have, but you grab at him just as desperately and cling, a hysterical sob escaping your mouth before you’re stumbling into his bedchambers and the first thing you ask is:

‘Is this real?’

Astarion laughs wildly and grabs at you. He makes short work of your armor in no time.

But it isn’t until you’ve been shoved back onto the bed that you realize this isn't your imagination or some feverish dream. Astarion is crawling over you, and the expression on his face isn’t the typical pride and self-admiration that he normally wears. He is reverant and seeking, and you’ve never seen him look at anyone this way before. He slots his body nicely against yours and leans forward, kissing you again and pressing you further into the mattress until you feel like you’re falling.

‘Thank the gods,’ he whispers hoarsely. He nudges your nose with his. ‘I never thought it would end this way.’

‘My prince?’

‘Say my name,’ Astarion says.

He searches for something in your eyes, and your chest feels as though it’s empty. You watch your hand slide against his cheek and card your fingers through his thick curls and thank the gods that this is your home. You don’t know where you would be without him. You tremble.

Without hesitation, you say, ‘Astarion.’

It is everything your dreams are made of. You pull Astarion towards you for another kiss and wonder if the Lady of Love had heard your wish all those years ago and granted you this happiness. To be with him, to be his, to be allowed to dance and sing with him even if it was only in private.

Astarion smells like bergamot and rosemary, and though you can’t sink any further into his sheets, you’re overwhelmed by it all. You laugh, and Astarion laughs too. It’s all so intoxicating that you say it again over and over. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion . Astarion pulls at your clothes clumsily and you pause only slightly, grabbing onto his wrist nervously.

‘Do you mean it, Astarion?’ you ask softly, and he does hesitate. He looks so innocent about it you feel silly for asking.

‘I’ve never been more sure of anything,’ he says and encourages you to touch him.

You experience a lot of firsts tonight. Astarion teaches you to kiss, his thumb against your chin as he guides your mouth with his, and in truth, it’s a little strange the way he licks into your mouth with such interest your entire body goes warm. Once he’s had his fill of your lips, he finds your tenderest spots. There’s a place alongside your jaw that you almost purr when he pays attention to it, and it goes without saying that him nibbling your ear causes you to melt.

For all his bravado, Astarion’s hands stay relatively polite so you guide his fingers along your chest and waist and hips, stuttering when his fingers trace the inside of your thighs curiously. He chews nervously on his lip to the point where you kiss it to make better, and someone you end up kissing his chin instead of his lips, and he laughs like he’s drunk. His head falls forward onto your shoulder, and you find yourself tangling your fingers into his hair again.

‘You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment,’ Astarion says, shaking his head. ‘There’s no one in Faerûn that I want to do this with. I want to protect you, I want to make you forget, I want  —  ’

It isn’t real until you’re naked and he is too, and your body is pressed warm and flush against his. You admire everything that he has to offer. A svelte form with skin that pinkens easily when he flushes and that looks gorgeous when you suck a bruise against his clavicle. Astarion can’t keep his hands away from you either. He’s obsessed with the smoothness that your body has to offer, interested only in hearing soft little noises slip from between your lips.

It’s rather easy for him to do. Everything he’s decided to do with his mouth and hands has made you feel dizzy, from tasting the skin at your neck to sliding all the way down, making patterns against your stomach and hips and then at your very core. It won't do you any good to be shy about it, but it’s something you’ve never experienced before, something you never thought you’d get to experience with him .

‘This,’ Astarion says, rutting desperately against your hip, ‘is what I want. If I have this, I am willing to be a prisoner to my fate. Every day  —  Every night I have yearned for this, and now I have the opportunity to ask you to be mine.’

You feel a shiver run down your spine. Astarion always talks so much about whatever he likes, but it’s different now that his attention is on you rather than some unimportant soirée filled with the lords and ladies who sought to wear a crown. You turn your chin away in embarrassment, but he grabs your jaw and kisses you passionately.

‘I am not a summer’s child,’ he tells you. ‘I know what I want, and what I want is  —  ’

‘Take it,’ you say.

Astarion shakes his head, and you press your warm cheek against his and trail your hands down his spine, only feeling satisfaction when your hand is braced against the small of his back. Inside, you think but he has stolen your words leaving you only with your thoughts. He kisses you again and it tastes like heaven.

‘Give it to me,’ Astarion moans softly, pausing to bite at the pulse in your neck. ‘This isn’t…a prince who was bored so he found the first person he could… No, this is… This is what I want if it’s what you want.’

If you hesitate, you will destroy it. So you do not. You lick into his mouth and reach for his cock, shyly guiding him to that place between your legs. All you have to do is tell him that you’ve dreamt about this too, so you do, closing your eyes to avoid his expression. You’re afraid of what that honesty will bring.

You have a sacred vow, an honored bond, and to destroy that would be to destroy the covenant you have crafted. You are a Shield and a Sword, and he is the Crown Prince.

This is your world.

He is the only thing you have.

But as he sinks into you, inch after inch, you can feel him tremble in your arms. His moan is low and sweet in your ear, and just for you. The thought enchants you, mesmerizes you, fills your head with nothingness and happiness and you gasp only at the end when you and him have become one.

It’s easy to get lost in Astarion. He’s charming, a delight, the prime display of princely charms. But he moans while slowly frotting against you, a sound so sweet and unfamiliar, that you can’t help but cherish it. You toss and turn with him, weeping sweetly as he cradles the back of your hip in his hand to guide you against his cock as he glides into you, and you pull him closer and closer until there’s nowhere else for you to go.

‘Mine,’ he breathes selfishly, sliding his teeth against your jaw. ‘Please, please. Say it.’

‘Yours,’ you agree.

He blasphemes and caves as quickly as he started everything, rolling and pulling until you’re laying against his chest, one leg thrown haphazardly over his hip, while he continues to grind his cock into you lazily. He’s greedy with how often he gropes your skin, obsessed with how it feels to touch your waist and your hip and the curve of your ass. Your forehead presses against his, nose to nose. He kisses you. You watch as his eyes flutter closed and press your fingers against his lips. 

His tongue darts out, and he laps at your fingers. It’s so shocking that you moan sharply, hiccuping against his arm, and chase your release while he murmurs encouragement into your hair. Astarion nibbles the pads of your fingers before jerking away from you, and you get to watch as his stomach flexes and he cries, his cum spilling prettily over his lower belly.

‘Gods,’ he groans.

His mouth is swollen and his cheeks are flushed,  but he looks at you as though you have replaced Sune in the pantheon. Whatever care Astarion might have about the mess is promptly ignored as he kisses you sloppily, hands tenderly cupping your jaw, nose bumping yours. You hide the last of your moans against your palm.

‘You are incredible,’ Astarion tells you.

‘I am  —  ’

‘  —  everything,’ he interrupts, dazed by splendor. ‘You are everything. Perfection.’

You press your tongue against your bottom lip and feel how swollen it is, and swallow the painful knot in your throat.

Astarion smooths his knuckles against your cheek. ‘I know what you must be thinking,’ he rasps, voice hoarse from your endeavors that evening. ‘ I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm, or whatever the bloody thing is. But that’s not all you are, not really. Gortash might regard you as a mongrel but you have never been nothing to me.’

‘I love you,’ you confess.

‘And I love you,’ he says with a half-smile. ‘I have ever since we met and… If this is what you want then I want it to, but I can never go back to pretending you are only a shield. You mean too much to me.’

It’s the first and last thing you’ve wanted to hear. To know that you are Astarion’s weakness, to know that you are Astarion’s strength… It is as terrifying as it is intoxicating.

Being in love with Astarion changes nothing about your job. If anything, it gives you more of a reason to follow as a shadow in the light. You seek him when he rises in the morning, and he seeks you when the moon hangs overhead. You attend his meetings, and slowly with a little uplifting, your fear dissipates.

It takes eight years to overthrow the council that has polluted the crown. It takes eight years to watch Astarion form a coy, playful persona to hide the softness that permeates his heart. It takes eight years for you to ascend as Sword and Shield to become the first Consort that Baldur’s Gate has seen. Astarion becomes King and it is like a veil has lifted, and for the first time since his birth, the people see peace.

That is   —  

Cazador Szarr raises his banner in rebellion in the winter of the year Astarion is crowned King, and the Shield of Dawn cracks beneath the weight of his Woe and Rhapsody.

[mediocreanomaly]

Creature!Vash train continues! :D

May we have some nsfw with mer!Vash please?

Authors Note: Yes of course! Sorry for the delay my creative brain was fried. Also theres alot of build up so uh...smut with feelings? Sorry if thats not your jam but Mer!Vash has customs you know. Enjoy!

GN!Reader!!! I don't go into detail about the readers uh...equipment so you can read it as either or

Read the SFW Pt.1 Here!

Mer!Vash X Reader NSFW

•It had been a tedious process for Vash to court you. He was doing everything in the book to show off how good of a mate he would be.

•He brought you lots of fish (dead this time after the last incident) to show he could provide food

•He scavenged lots of shiny objects to show you how good at finding resources he was

•He'd make you sit at the rocks and watch him swim for hours to prove how strong of a swimmer he was, and despite his missing arm, he was in perfect health! He'd be a great mate for you, see?

•You seem receptive enough to the advances, always eagerly accepting the courting gifts, bringing him new foods to try when he visited, you had even bought a few cookbooks to figure out what he liked and although you hadn't gotten him a courting gift since the gold earring that currently hung proudly from his ear lobe he knew. It was time to make you his.

•There was one final step, a courting ritual custom for merfolk to see if you'd finally take him to be your one and only mate. He was equally nervous and excited pestering all the other merfolk he considered himself close with about it for days on end.

•Wolfwood is admittedly uninterested not caring about anything human related in the first place, luckily Meryl and Milly are more on the excited side letting Vash ramble away about his perfect future mate. Meanwhile, Nai is fully against it, angrily telling him off anytime Vash even brings it up… but you can't please everyone!

•So Vash steels himself, pulling himself up on the rock the two of you have deemed your meeting place, only this time he has something special planned

"Come here!" He calls to you in his own choppy mimicking of human language, although he was getting better at it, he still preferred merfolk speak.

•You hear Vash’s voice and trail out of the lighthouse, confused as to why Vash is calling you out so late. Vash makes an excited chirp noise when he sees you and slaps his tail against the rock to encourage you to come closer

•You laugh and stagger over the rocks to get to him, but before you can reach him, he dives into the water, swimming under into the dark. It's hard to see him this late at night but you sit down on the rock trying to make out the outline of the merman

•You were admittedly confused at the mermans antics. Vash had become more and more clingy lately, although you secretly didn't mind. You enjoyed the company more than you probably should and luck for you Vash seemed to enjoy you just as much if the increasing visits were anything to go by

•You were a bit confused about what he was trying to do, though. Waiting for him to resurface so you could sheepishly admit that you couldn't see whatever it was he was doing under the water

•That is until you do see him. Bioluminescent markings begin to shimmer through the water, a light blue running along his body, showing the intricate patterns that Vash swims in. Your eyes go wide, watching as he swirls around streaks of blue dotting through the water. He moves so gracefully, it's mesmerizing. You can't seem to take your eyes off him when he begins making noise

•It's high pitched, but it's sweet. Like a lullaby you had forgotten, was he singing? He must be. You had heard him make all sorts of chirps and trills but this one was different, more melodic and pleasant. You let your eyes flutter shut as you listen to the song. For some reason, you feel like you know the tune despite having never heard the song in your life

•After a couple minutes of listening to his song you hear the sound of splashing. You peek your eyes open to see Vash has popped his head above water, he looks...confused? Or maybe expectant? He sings again letting his song fill the air around you then he pauses looking at you waiting. You blink dumbly at him for a few seconds before you find your voice

"...oh! It was very pretty Vash I didn't know you could sing like that, is that all you wanted to show me?" you ask.

 Vash blinks at you before his brow furrows as he makes frantic chirping noises. You startle, slightly caught off guard by the merman's distress. Did you say something rude? Before you can get an answer to that question Vash's glowing tampers off and he dives into the water leaving you alone on the rocks. You wait for a moment wondering if he'd pop back up after half an hour like with the earring, but hours pass and the dark is starting to make the air around you chilly. You frown and count your losses wondering what had gotten Vash so worked up.

•Vash is heartbroken.

Had he misread the signals? You didn't seem to reciprocate his mating dance or his mating call at all! He had tried so hard too! Was his song not good enough? He was sure he didn't have the prettiest voice out of the merfolk but surely it was decent enough, right? Or maybe it was the dance? Perhaps he should have swum a different pattern? He had been practicing for weeks though...

•Nai is the one that finds him pouting making weak sad chitters as he lays dramatically on the sea floor.

•Nai is no help. Telling him the merfolk equivalent to "I told you so" and suggesting he just find another merfolk to court if he was so desperate to have a mate.

•But he wasn't desperate to have a mate, he was desperate to mate you. For the next few days Vash is a sorry sight, slowly drifting around the ocean, frowning every time he finds something shiny since he'd usually just give it to you. He just doesn't understand what went wrong...he shakes his head, he couldn't give up that easily, he had to try again, you were the only one for him, he was sure of it.

•You wait on the rocks till sunset again, hoping to see Vash swim up and explain in broken English that he had been busy or that he was off collecting rare human items. Then at least you could scold him for worrying you, then at least you could see his face

•Ever since that night Vash sang to you, he hadn't come around. You still weren't sure what you had done to upset the merman so much but whatever it was you didn't think it dictated getting the cold shoulder

•You began to wonder if maybe you were boring him. He was always coming here, sitting on the rocks, or pulling himself into the sand to entertain you. Since you weren't merfolk, there were just some things you couldn't do; maybe Vash was starting to realize that maybe you hadn't tried hard enough. You stew in the fact that maybe you and you alone was what had chased Vash off

•It's two weeks later when you've determined Vash isn't coming back that he shows his face again. You aren't even looking for him, instead coming back from the night market when you hear a familiar chirping noise coming from the lighthouse

•The second you hear it you take off down the gravel path to your home racing to see if it's who you think it is, and there he is. Perched on the rocks, blonde hair, red tail and that damn gold earring still hanging from his ear, he looks apologetic and abashed as he makes soft cooing noises towards you which you think is supposed to be an apology.

•You dive for him, wrapping your arms around his wet shoulders trying to starve off the sobs you feel building in your throat.

"Vash! You scared me half to death! What if you had got poached! Or hurt! Or-"

•Vash cuts you off by nuzzling closer to you making a quick series of chirps with broken "I'm sorry’ s" mixed in. You grumble, not yet ready to let this go, but you're more than glad he's safe. You sigh and run your hand through his hair and he gives you puppy dog eyes and a toothy grin. Idiot.

•Just as you get used to the weight of him lying against you, he shifts against the rock to get your attention before diving into the water. Again, his body begins to glow, the light glimmering under the surface, and again his song begins. The soft melody fills the air

•Ah, he was...playing again? You take a deep breath not wanting to disappoint him this time, you stand up on the rock and it seems you’re doing something right because Vash looks up at you excitedly, he sings the melody to you again then watches you, you blink and he grimaces before repeating the same notes-

•Wait a second. You tilt your head and try singing them back, mimicking the tune to him. His eyes go wide and a smile breaks out on his face and he makes a loud trill noise swimming in an excited circle before singing again, now that you know what to do you laugh and do your best to sing along

•He swims in lazy figure eights and you walk forward dipping your feet in the water, despite still swimming Vash keeps his eyes trained on you as if waiting on something, you pad into the water giggling thinking you finally understand this weird merfolk game when about waist deep in Vash grabs you

•You yelp as Vash drags you deeper into the water, trying to keep your head up. He's making excited noises nuzzling against your throat, you feel his tail begin to wrap around your legs as he presses you up against the rock, his clawed hands reach down the swipe along your shorts ripping them off in a single clean motion

•Oh. Oh. Everything clicks in your head all at once, the weird gift giving, the flustered state he was in when you gave him the earring, the dance the singing, Vash didn't see you as a friend, he saw you as a mate

•You blush at the idea but your mind is currently reeling from the merman currently being very eager about running his webbed fingers over your sex.

•You moan, a little nervous about the claws his nails tamper off into but it seems he’s also mindful of that, using his tail to keep you up in place against a flat rock as he focuses on pleasing you, making soft coos and trills as your writhe in pleasure under him

"V-Vash, don't tease," you manage to whine out, pawing uselessly at his shoulder. He mimics a human laugh, and nuzzles against you, but luckily complies, he ruts against you and from the slit that sits pretty along his tail, what you assume to be his cock emerges, it’s a bit different than a human one, longer, thinner at the tip but it thickens up the further down the shaft it goes, and it's coated in something slick he seems to be producing

•It makes your mouth water, and you wonder what it would be like in your mouth...another time maybe, you'd have to ask him about it. As of now Vash lines the tip of himself up with you and you’re a little apprehensive about the fact he's about to do this with no prep, Vash seems to notice your apprehensiveness and makes comforting cooing noises before purring lightly and nipping gently against your neck, the vibrations flowing from his chest serve its purpose as you relax in his grip

•Slowly he presses in, it's actually not bad, the further he sinks in the more noticeable the stretch is but he goes slow enough that it's more erotic than it is painful. Vash finally bottoms out, pausing and cocking warming himself with you for a moment while you adjust, he makes various clicks and chirps that you’re pretty sure translate into some sort of merfolk praise. He could probably talk if he wanted to but from the way his irises are blown wide with lust, you’re pretty sure his minds is too far gone to try and mimic any English right now

•After you settle and the ocean water lapping at your body begins to get a bit cold from the lack of movement you pat the blonde's shoulder to try and signal him to move, he chirps and begins to slowly pull out, you whine at the loss now used to full feeling Vashs cock was providing you but it doesn't last long, as soon as it leaves he's thrusting back into your warm heat

•You aren't sure what you expected, perhaps considering the gentle way Vash treats you you had expected something soft and slow. Something that, in foresight you should have known would be a falsity considering he was acting on instinct. A fact that was becoming evidently clear as he growled, movements fast and a little sloppy as the clawed hands holding you up begin to lightly sink into your shoulder and hip, the snarls only broken up by needy keens as he ruins you

•It's hard to think like this, the sounds of the waves mixed with the equally wet sounds of you and Vashs body meeting repeatedly is making your mind melt in the most wonderful way, the cold of the water, the warmth that’s blooming between your legs, you don't even realize your drooling until Vash moves his arm away to reach down and touch where you need him most

•You wail, scratching at his back while he makes equally loud noises, somehow speeding up even more as he chases release. You feel yourself teetering on the edge, near your tipping point as your body tenses in what’s sure to be the best orgasm in your life when your feel Vashs sharp teeth clamp down along your neck and- oh fuck

•You scream his name as your body milks him for all he's worth, mind blanking as you cum, Vash finishes with you, pressing in as far as he can as thick ropes of cum are pumped into you filling your impossibly fuller. He doesn't seem eager to let it escape either, staying in you even after he finishes trembling slightly from the over stimulation when the waves jostle your bodies together and licking over his mating bite in apology, purring and cooing at your body he carefully cradles in his arms

•You groan, recovering from...well everything when you lazily turn your head to look at the cursed merman, he offers you a sheepish smile a bit of your blood still staining his lips but the pride that's currently shining through his eyes lets you know he doesn't feel that guilty about the situation in the slightest. You huff in mock annoyance and kiss him, something he eagerly accepts, chittering happily against your lips only to sport a dopey grin when you part, causing you to laugh

•Well...there’s plenty of fish in the sea, you're just lucky you ended up with this idiot

[mediocreanomaly]

Me every time a fellow writer complements my work because I can't comprehend it

[mediocreanomaly]

Oooh uncanny Vash! Yes! May we have hsfw hc with him?

Authors Note: I'm so sorry I turned this into a drabble instead of a HC list- if you guys still want general HC's lmk and I'll write it but hit with inspiration after a week of writers block. oh uh also no beta (we die like wolfwood?)

*Gender neutral reader but AFAB anatomy used. Inhuman genitalia, general uncanny bf stuff*

Uncanny Vash x Reader NSFW Drabble

Vash swallows, he knows you can see how hard he's staring. He couldn't count how many times you'd playfully shoved his face away with a smile on your lips.

"You know the reflection of your eyes gives you away every time," you'd tease.

You don't laugh right now, not when you're lying in front of him on the bed in nothing but your underwear, watching him through hooded eyes. God you'd be the death of him he was sure of it.

"Vash?" your voice is velvety with need "I want you"

He makes a high-pitched keen at that. The two of you had been talking about tonight for a while, but he was still a bit apprehensive. You knew about his less-than-human traits, and you loved him anyway. You never pulled away when his too-long fingers laced with your own, nor did you flinch when his body made noises it probably shouldn't. This was different though, he didn't want to hurt you, didn't want to be the cause of anything but your pleasure.

You watch as Vash's iris dilates, watching you intently; he could see better than any human could in the dark, something he was currently using to his advantage. Yet despite the longing look on his face, he doesn't move, just lets his fingers flex and unflex at his sides as if it's causing him physical pain to not be touching you. That won't do at all. You reach out gingerly and take his hand in your own. His skin is cool to the touch, it's honestly a bit refreshing considering how obnoxiously warm all of Gunsmoke is. Although his fingers would feel better other places.

"You won't hurt me, Vash, I trust you," and you do, more than you probably should.

Vash's breathing stutters and another whine bubbles up from somewhere in his chest.

"Mayfly...what if I go too far? What if I-"

"You won't" you interrupt. "And we have a safe word remember? Even if something happened I'd just say donuts! And we'd be done"

He weakly smiles at that, the silliness of the word easing a bit of the anxiety that's surrounding him but you can tell he needs a bit more convincing. You move forward and run a hand under his shirt, tracing out the scars that litter his body. He shivers and you can hear the creaking of his limbs as he leans forward.

"Mayfly..."

Whatever he was going to say dies on his lips as you push his shirt up and litter kisses along his abdomen trailing down his blonde happy trail lower and lower until you stop right above the sweat pants he has on, luckily he was smart enough to have changed out of the ridiculous leather outfit for tonight...not that it didn't look good on him.

Vash can feel his willpower slipping away. He should be stronger than this, but he's not. You've barely even touched him and his mind is going fuzzy with thoughts of you being bare under him.

"Vash?"

He glances down at you, the room suddenly feeling too hot. He blinks lazily, and you get a glimpse of his extra eyelid clearing his eyes.

"I need you." You let your breath fan his hip and have to rub your thighs together when a low growl rips through Vash.

He drags you up further on the bed and you feel his body straightening out. Vash is already tall, but he has a habit of hunching so humans don't realize how tall he really is. You can hear the snap and groan of bones as he hovers over your body, seven feet at least if not more.

His hands roam over your body's cool skin, making you shiver as he pulls your underwear away to expose you fully. Any protest about you being the only one bare is fully interrupted when Vash makes an eager chirp noise. He opens his mouth, revealing a row of razor sharp teeth and is it sick that only makes you more aroused?

An abnormally long tongue darts out of his mouth to drag across your aching sex. You whine throwing your head back as Vash eats you out, moaning when the thick muscle presses against your puffy walls. It reaches deep inside you, Vash seems fixed on mapping you out, exploring every part of your body he can. You mewl which causes drawn out clicks from the man- or plant between your legs.

He pulls his head back and you make a soft protest at the loss but it doesn't last long. Vash focuses his tongue on your aching clit as two fingers move to replace the empty space his tongue left. You cry out, thanking every god you can think of that Vash's fingers are longer than most, or at least certainly longer than any normal persons ought to be as he curls against a spot that makes you see stars.

"Mayfly, please, need to taste you," he begs, proving his point by burying his face back between your legs, assaulting your bundle of nerves.

You shudder as you cum, burying a hand in the mess of blonde hair that's adamant about taking you apart. It's almost comical when Vash looks up at you. Eyes so dilated there's almost no white or blue to be seen, mouth lulled open too far, putting his teeth and serpent like tongue on full display, faint feathers already beginning to peak out along his cheeks. Something probably meant to be an apex predator watching you as your own release drips off his face.

Vash makes a trilling noise and crawls on top of you, long limbs framing your form as he leans down to kiss you. You can taste yourself when he presses his tongue into your mouth, you reach up to card your hand along his under cut rewarding you with a purr as his chest rumbles against your own. Speaking of which, you lazily peek your eyes open to see he's undressed, when did he even do that?

He pulls away to look between the two of you and you finally see Vash fully. Something akin to flower petals sits between his legs, they flare out, thin lines of some sort of bioluminescent slick string from petal to petal. There's a slit nestled among the flower, when something wet begins to protrude from it. It reminds you a bit of a tentacle although it looks smooth and is covered in the same substance as the petals. You tentatively reach down and the member wraps around your hand, it pulses slightly trying to chase release. Vash's chest rumbles with a growl as he buries his head against your neck bucking his hips slightly, an embarrassed keen joining his sounds of pleasure.

"So pretty..." you breathe watching the way Vash's body so eagerly reacts to you.

"Mayfly please- no teasing I can't take it" he whines, although it sounds a bit off like two voices slightly delayed over each other. That was new, what else could Vash do?

You guide Vash to your entrance and he's all but panting, his body creaks and groans as his real form shows through more and more, you can see the bones of his hips and spine jut out against his skin but he seems too out of it to notice, not that you want him to hold back. You want to show Vash he can be himself, that you won't run.

He lifts his head to look at you, his eyes widening when he sees your face. You look intoxicating, your cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing, eyes hazy with lust. He swears something shortcircuits in his brain, his instincts screaming claim. He can't help it, he jerks his hips forward sinking into you in one motion.

You moan at Vashs sudden movement, he doesn't give you time to recover either, growling and whimpering as he fucks into you.

"a-ah m'sorry Mayfly, can't help my-myself" he whines between noises, you can't respond but you show him you're okay by crashing both your lips together, moaning into his mouth which he dutifully swallows down.

His body is vibrating, a deep rumble coming from his chest paired with the sound of something snapping and ripping. Multiple pairs of large white wings sprout from his body reaching up high enough to touch the ceiling. Some of them curve out in pleasure while others wrap around your body as if protecting you from the outside world. Vash's breath catches, and he mewls as he thrusts before biting down against your neck.

You arch into him and he tightens his grip on your hips, fingers long enough they almost fully wrap around your waist. He makes a cooing noise as he licks up any of the blood beading from the wound soothing it down.

"Mine" he snarls in your ear, you moan squeezing down around him making his wings flex as a needy whine leaves his mouth.

You can feel his cock moving in you, fucking itself even deeper into your wet pussy, it's a bit odd but certainly not unwelcomed especially when you can feel the tip of it's blunt head massage at your womb.

You can hear the bed creak from how rough Vash thrusts against you. His body shivers and he makes a shrill noise. His hand flies down to grip at the sheets, you hear it rip he cums with a cry.

It's warm, filling you to the brim and he pumps you full of it. It doesn't seem to stop, continuously leaking out of him as he shows no sign of slowing down.

"May-mayfly cum on me- want to feel it, want you to feel good too"

His movements are desperate and you can feel his own cum frothing at your entrance as he spills into you then fucks it back in. You reach up to claw at his back and he shivers when you touch along where his wings meet flesh. His hand moves between your bodies to press against your clit and it's all it takes to send you over the edge.

You tremble crying out his name as you finish. Vash howls at the feeling, burying his face against your neck as he finally spills all he has left into your pussy. You can tell the blanket is soaked from how much Vash came but you're too tired to do much about it but shift slightly out of the wet spot.

The two of you breathe when you hear a small whimper from your boyfriend. His kisses along the bite he left and looks at you teary eyed.

"I'm sorry Mayfly was I too rough? Did I hurt you?" he ask looking you over, you silence his worries with a kiss. He melts into it with a pleased hum, loud purrs starting back up.

"I love you" you stroke your fingers softly over the feathers that still cover his cheek and temples, a happy chirp leaves his lips as he turns to kiss your palm.

"I love you too"

[mediocreanomaly]

@ everyone on this blog 

The anon button is not for hate. The anon button is for horny and embarrassed about it.

[mediocreanomaly]

Man, that angst is top notch!! I love how you wrote the rejection! Although I think I hurt my own feelings cuz Vash’s quiet acceptance killed me. And how Wolfwood tried taking all the blame. Thanks for the delicious angst!

So glad you liked it! Always good to break up the fluff with a spoon full of angst, Vash and Wolfwood...are both prone to taking blame for things. They can be happy in our dreams :')

[mediocreanomaly]

me every time I have a half finished drabble in my drafts 

Im just feeling a certain way rn

[mediocreanomaly]

Cuz I’m a sucker for angst, what would happen if in your soulmate au, the reader rejects the boys because of all the pain they put reader through??

Authors Note: I'm so sorry for putting this one off I just didn't want to spoil pt.3 !!! now that I have it out of the way here's my hurt no comfort version of how pt.3 could have gone. Basically an alternative time line where you break these boys hearts :( (Please read the other parts for this to make sense)

For Context: Vashwood Soulmate AU Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Vashwood x Reader Soulmate Au, Angst

"I hate you" It's what comes out of your mouth. It's not your fault really, this is all too much too soon you didn't even know if you wanted soulmates, at least, not the kind that made your life a living hell since you were seven and yet here they were, stumbling into your clinic like this was acceptable or remotely normal.

"You...what?" the blonde ask. It's quiet, so quiet you'd almost miss it if it weren't for the kicked puppy expression he's currently wearing.

"Vash they don't mean that, I said mean shit too when we found out" Nick huffs. Vash and Nick huh? You almost wished he hadn't said the kicked puppies name, it'd make it easier to forget them when they left.

"No...No I do mean that" this gets both of their attentions, The dark haired man's brow furrows while Vash takes a sharp breath obviously steeling himself for whatever your about to say next.

"You two...you two made my life hell. I found out about you on my fucking birthday because I thought I got shot."

Vash winces at that.

"I had to be taken out of school because I cried all the time- hell I couldn't get out of bed! My parents had to look after me I nearly died myself from malnutrition because I couldn't stop screaming from how bad it all hurt!"

Nick shifts on his feet, squaring his shoulders, guarded as if it'll physically protect him from your onslaught of words.

"My dad left because he couldn't watch me suffer- my own mother prayed I would die. To be honest I kind of wanted to, I don't even know how I stayed sane, I don't laugh like I used to I don't- I hurt so fucking bad every day." your voice breaks.

You don't know what the two look like anymore, their forms get blotted out by the tears pooling in your eyes. It's good, you don't want to see their expressions anyways.

"I hate you! I wish you two would've just died!"

It's silent besides your own sobs that you try to muffle with your sleeve. If there was a god, he was a cruel one. One that played tricks and hurt for the hell of it. Because if there really was a god, why you? Why did you get the two people who hurt with abandon? Why did you have to be the one to send them away?

"We never meant to hurt you" Vash says softly, he's not crying. In fact when you glance up at him he's offering your a weary smile, it looks tired and fake.

"But you did"

Nick looks like he wants to say something but he reaches for his pack of cigarettes' instead, grabs one and lights it. Filling his lungs with a large inhale of nicotine. You can feel the burn when he holds his breath for too long.

"I'm sorry" the blond offers in a broken sort of tone, this bristles the other man but this too he doesn't comment on. He probably knows it's a losing battle anyways.

"I am too. Like I said, we're closed." You gesture to the door and that empty smile on Vash's face falters, you swear you see tears beginning to prick at his eyes too but it's too hard to tell with those yellow glasses.

He swallows the lump in his throat and nods slowly reaching for the door, he doesn't bother on waiting for his companion as he walks out shoulders lower than when he came in.

The man holding the cross watches you for a moment, expression hard to read under his dark shades.

"What" you say bitterly

"...He's right, we never meant to hurt you. Don't think we don't feel bad about it. I was mad too when I first met him but you shouldn't- you didn't even give us a chance"

"a chance? I've given you chances since I first felt the two of you. Every single day I gave you a chance, praying it'd be the last time I was shot or stabbed or fucking ripped apart." you snap back

He sets his lips in a firm line letting smoke curl up towards the ceiling.

"That "ripping" apart sensation was all me doll face. You want to be mad? Fine. But don't take it out on him, he likes to play martyr and I hate it just as much as you do but only because he loves too damn hard. Because he does love you, you get that right?"

It's your turn for your expression to sour. "Loves me? he doesn't even know me"

"Well that's just the type of person spikey is. He loves with abandon even if it get's him hurt, even if it ends in his own soulmate turning their nose up at him. If you want to be mad be mad at me."

"Why do you even care."

"Because we're your god damn soulmates! As much as you don't like it god or the universe or whatever the fuck picked us. Us. All three of us to be together"

"Well I guess god makes mistakes then huh."

He stills at that. He's angry, or defeated, or tired, you don't know which, or maybe its all three but there's something akin to recognition in his stance. You were right, he knows when to pick his battles.

"Yeah...guess so." he scoffs "Sorry 'bout the smoke."

You don't say anything when he opens the door to leave.

There's a pull, your soulmate connection telling you to follow, to beg them to come back but you shake your head. Maybe God makes mistakes but you won't.

***

It doesn't take Wolfwood long to find Vash. He's leaning against the clinic still, watching the stars. He doesn't really know what to say. He'd known this would happen, had known since they felt you pinch back all those months ago...but what can he say? The needle noggins optimism had rubbed off on him, he had forgotten that their lives were a tragedy, doomed by the narrative from the start.

"It's not your fault spikey so quit makin that face" Nick huffs, he wished he could say something kinder, more reassuring but he wasn't built for kindness. Vash knew that though, had felt it.

"Isn't it? I'm the one that's always diving in front of bullets, always getting hurt, letting myself get hurt I- I've hurt them so bad Nick. I don't deserve them, I don't deserve you either." Vash sniffles

Nick runs his tongue over the end of the cigarette in his mouth. He knew that if you had turned Vash down this would happen. He had a self deprecating streak like no other, not that he was one to talk. Nick reaches out to gently press his knuckles to the other mans temple.

"C'mon tongari none of that. These things take time, I nearly rung your neck too when I found out we were soulmates. 'sides, if we wanna play the guilt game I win by a landslide. The eye of Michael-"

"Nick-"

Wolfwood holds up his hand to finish "-The eye of Michael messed me up real bad blondie. That's not your fault or theirs. It's just a fact. So quit actin like this is black and white."

Vash quiets, he's not satisfied, but he won't pick at the wound more than he has to, not now at least.

"What do we do we do now?"

Nick eyes the other man and shrugs.

"What we always do. Keeping going and maybe...maybe one day we'll feel a pinch and know it's time to come back."

***

The next day they aren't in town, Gary tells you all about the two odd strangers who asked him about you last night. Ask if they ever made to the clinic.

"No they didn't but I closed early, must've missed them." you say

"Must've not been important then since they left so early, probably journalist" he chuckles, you just nod along.

"Yeah, probably."

You feel a pinch as you walk home, light on your right arm. You had caught a glance at Vash's- the blond mans left arm. Prosthetic, so the feeling must be from him. You don't pinch back.

There's no hurt after that, you move through your day painless, no bullets, no stabs, no pinches, no burns. No trace of you ever even having a soulmate.

Your life goes on like normal, although you have gained one new habit. Every night when you close the clinic, you double check to make sure the door is locked.

[mediocreanomaly]

Good Boy - Hybrid!Wolfwood x Reader (NSFW)

Authors Note: Welcome to Wolfwood Wednesday 2: The Wolfoning (also known as Zero started a drabble thinking he could finish by yesterday and then he didn’t) 

Anyways this is what happens when I read too much of @demxnscous post and I’m crediting you even though you said you didn’t need it because I got lot of inspiration from your post. (Also I hope you’re doing better :( sending good vibes ur way) 

You aren’t sure how you got in this situation or- no, that was a lie. You knew how you got here. It was just hard to believe it was actually happening. It started the day your bleeding heart took in a stray. A mutt that looked more wolf than dog who was surprisingly eager to listen to you and what the hell, who doesn’t want scary dog privileges? That was until two months later you had came home from work to find a full grown man lying in your bed rather than your beloved pet. You had screamed until he jumped up, startled, when you noticed a familiar set of pointed black ears and a fluffy tail. It had been an adjustment to be sure to find they were one and the same, and when he had hung his head low, ears drooping, you couldn’t kick him out, you couldn’t because...he was still your Nico, right?

Then things got complicated. Nico still had a lot of his animal habits, whether that was normal for hybrids or based on the fact he had stayed in dog form so long you didn’t know but he was always there. At your heels, hovering, sitting by your feet trying to make himself look small, laying his head in your lap, nosing along your throat, along your belly. Half the time you were sure he didn’t know what he was doing to you always being this close. It didn���t help he was attractive, the kind of man you were sure wouldn’t give you the time of day had circumstances been any different and yet he was always trailing you desperate to be good. 

Maybe that was your real undoing, that look he gave you when you could tell he was trying so hard to obey, to listen, to please you no matter what, to behave. Maybe you were the real animal because it made something in your brain light up, made your knees weak, and your tongue feel too big in your mouth.

Then...there was today. Today when you came home from work early to find Nico nude on your bed, used panties in his hand as he inhaled your scent, pillow tucked between his legs as he humped with abandon, chasing after his high with your name on his lips. You should have closed the door, left and pretended you never saw him but you couldn’t deny the rush of heat that blossomed between your legs at the sight.

When he had seen you he had been startled, instantly ashamed, ears flatting and a whine in his tone as he apologized, waiting for you to scold him or finally kick him to the curb. What he hadn’t expected was you climbing into his lap, gently kissing at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s okay... is my poor Nico in rut?” you mummer, it’s a little embarrassing hearing those words come out your mouth but the way Nico’s eyes glaze over with lust and his breath stutters you’re sure you won’t regret it.

He whines and nods, those big brown eyes watching you with something like admiration? No...reverence maybe. Like a righteous man standing at gods feet, but you weren’t god and if your Nico was so eager to worship, who were you to deny? Yet he waits. He’s good like that, he always is.

“Please, Nico,” you breathe out by his ear, pressing a kiss along his jaw for reassurance.

He’s on you in an instant, not rough just eager to please. His calloused hands slide off your clothes with ease, Nico nips along your throat oh so careful not to bite minding his teeth but greedy enough to let himself mark your pretty skin. Because despite the thick black leather collar currently around his neck (the one thing he left on) he needs to know, needs to know he’s yours, that your his, that you don’t need anyone besides him. 

He lays down and before you can ask what he’s doing Nico claws at the fat of your thighs, dragging you up up up to his waiting mouth. You yelp at the action trying to balance yourself on your knees but he doesn’t give you much time to adjust, bullying his head between your thighs, stubble scratching at your skin as he dives in. He gives quick licks against your already wet sex. It’s sloppy at first, the excitement of Nico finally getting what he wants making his thoughts hazy but when you whimper and try to grind down on his face he gets the message pretty quickly.

He grabs at your thighs and brings you down, movements more precise as he laps like a man dying of thirst making you mewl and writhe in pleasure. He makes a pleased hum at the noises he manages to pull from you and the added vibrations only add to the warmth building in your gut. You won’t last like this, you can’t, not when Nico’s doing everything he can to make you fall apart. You feel his soft ears flicker against your thighs and then two of his thick fingers press in curling against your sweet spot. You finish embarrassingly fast, the sensations too much for you to keep up with. You moan trying to move away from Nico’s tongue which keeps moving, overstimulating you past your release but he doesn’t relent, he’s finally gotten his treat and he isn’t passing up the opportunity. 

When he does finally pull his head from out between your thighs you dumbly think that it’s over when he flips the two of you, letting a firm hand press gently against your back moving you so that you’re face down against the mattress. Doggy style, how original. If you weren’t just as desperate as Nico you might’ve even made a snide comment. That pillow he was humping is placed under your hips now giving you something to grind against while giving Nico the added benefit of your body being angled up, presenting yourself to the man behind you. At this point you’re starting to wonder if he really is in rut. 

Nico presses himself against your back, his warmth and weight both grounding and mind numbing at the same time. He reaches down to swipe his cock along you once, twice, then presses in only barely just the tip and for a second you wonder if he’s trying to tease you until he whines. 

“So pretty...so good, let me make you feel good baby? Please? I’m hurting for you, didn’t even get to cum earlier want to put it in you so bad, I’m so hard for you”

Despite the pure filth pouring from his mouth...it makes your own mouth water. You’ve never been more sure that you’ve needed someone the way you do now, the way he’s begging, strong arms keeping his body weight on top of you. Because of course he was asking first, he was your good boy and even though you can tell it’s taking all his self control not to just take you he has to prove it, has to prove how well he can obey.

“Nico~ be a good boy and fuck me” you breathe 

The control that he was hanging onto snaps.

“fuck- ah, shit so good baby, feels so good” Nico pants in your ear. You want to focus on what he’s saying, really you do, but it’s hard when his warmth is draped over your back, his strong arm around your waist is the only thing currently keeping your shaking legs up as he sinks into you to the hilt.

The stretch is there but your eyes are rolling back in your head at the feeling of being so full. It doesn’t help Nico’s leaking precum like a fountain, making a mess out of both your thighs, was he really this riled up over you?

“Been wantin to do this for so long- shit, s’good sweetheart taking me so good.” he nips at the shell of your ear and yeah you’re going to hell but if you can get Nicholas to fuck you like this a few more times it’ll have been worth it.

His hips set an unrelenting pace right off the bat, yet even now as he mouths along your neck, presses in deep enough to ruin you for anyone else, heavy balls slapping against you with each thrust, he never hurts you. Why would he? He’s good, he’s obedient and he’s yours. He wants to show you, needs to show you how good he can be, how good he can make you feel.

Noises that sound like a mixture of a growl and a moan spill from his mouth; the metal of his dog tag feels cool against your neck. One arm wraps around your waist, pushing and pulling you along with his motions dragging you down on his cock over and over again. The other glides up your chest then stops once it reaches your chin, holding your head up as he pants in your ear. His hair is getting long, you can feel the ends of his shaggy curls tickling the back of your neck, that and his hot breath fanning against your back. 

You can’t think straight like this, each thrust spilling out more of both your slick. The walls echoing back the perverse sounds of both your moans, sloppy noises of skin meeting sweat slicked skin. Nico’s tail is wagging slightly and you’d think it was cute if he wasn’t fucking you stupid right now. A familiar heat is beginning to curl in your stomach, you roll your eyes back and feel a bit of drool begin to spill down your lips. 

You’re close, god you’re so close and you can tell Nico is too, actually you think he’s been close for awhile now but he’s not going to be satisfied until you are. 

“N-Nico please” you don’t know what you’re begging for but luckily he does, suppose that just goes to show how devoted he is, he knows you better than you know yourself.

He reaches between your thighs and- fuck your dripping, you weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it, maybe you were so distracted with the mess Nico was making you didn’t stop to consider your own. Either way, you’d have to change the sheets later.

His fingers press against that sensitive spot that aches and you swear the breath is knocked out of you. 

“Nico Nico Nico-” his name falls from your lips like a prayer and he whimpers, thrust getting more frantic more desperate as he tries to pull you to the edge.

“Please angel please, cum on me wanna feel it need you to feel good” this is so far from the cagey stray you brought in but then again...Nico always was so much more gentle with you. He sits at your heels, he nuzzles against your stomach he-

“Fuck Nico I’m gonna cum” you whine 

“Cum fuck- cum please baby need it” Nico pants fingers dipping again to work an orgasm out of you.

And it does. Your orgasm comes crashing into you like a train, a broken sound that you think is a half hearted “Nico” choked off by your own moans. Your legs tremble and Nico’s hand flies down to rip at the sheets as he makes his own desperate noise. It’s animalistic, a deep throaty moan that tampers off into something like a howl. 

He doesn’t stop, thrusting into you as his cock twitches spilling hot cum until you swear you can taste it. It doesn’t help your body is eagerly reacting to it, walls twitching, trying to milk him for all he’s worth, earning you a few more lazy thrusts as his release begins to spill out of you from the sheer amount of cum he’s just filled you with. 

You both pant trying to recover, your body is limp under Nico and you aren’t sure you’ll have the strength to leave the bed for the next week with out fucked out you feel.

Nico leans down to nuzzle against your neck and face giving you an apprehensive lick against your cheek. 

“Good?” He ask flashing those puppy dog eyes at you. You know what he really means, “Was I good?” “Did I please you?” “Did it make you feel good?” 

You reach up to lazily scratch against his mop of black hair and around those fluffy ears. You’re rewarded with the feeling of Nico’s tail wagging keenly.

“Yeah...you’re my good boy Nico” you hum tracing along his collar, he shivers and you can feel his dick twitch in interest. 

“Insatiable” you huff pushing his face away, he flashes you a smile with those sharp canines and nudges your hand out of the way to nose against your temple.

“You have no idea” 

It seems neither of you are going to be leaving the bed anytime soon. 

[mediocreanomaly]

*holding your head in my hands* never EVER apologize… any day can be Wolfwood Wednesday. Its all about having the right mindset. <3

Ur right, it's about to be Wolfwood Wednesday 2 (return of the wolf)