#> behold. fic be upon ye!

[waloeders]

golden rays and pitch-black nights

"odin hesitated.

he could feel the Eikon within him, hesitate. the same Eikon that had driven him to such heights, to sit upon his throne, to conquer, to dominate and control an entire continent -

odin, warden of darkness, hesitated before killing and barnabas found himself doing the same."

ship: barnabas tharmr/kosmos, {future} sleipnir harbard/kosmos and {implied qpr?} barnabas tharmr/sleipnir harbard

word count: 3,420

warnings: ff16 spoilers, religious talk (of fictional religions), mentions of a dead mother, manipulations (thanks ultima), character death (kind of? he's fine, dw abt it), mentions of being very high up on a tower (the one shown above) and some general vague fighting described

notes: YELLS A LOT!!!!! this is set before my other fic and is a like, big important turning point for quite a few chars :3 so much fun to write!!! also the image is where this is set (on top the reverie, which is the tower). notable things are- ultima loves manipulation + being praised/treated like a god so thats a big tw. also ryder/kosmos uses he/they. i hope u enjoys :3

"what manner of betrayal is this?" ultima's dissonant voice called out, feet not quite touching the floor as it floated in place, "you have brought an atrocity to us, odin."

the Kings' eyes flicked over to where the man in question stood, then back to the ground before him, kneeling before his God.

"i would never betray you, my Lord." was his only response, unable to conjure a sufficient explanation to the being before Him - or to himself. why had he brought ryder?

it wasn't as if he truly required a hostage to escape the hideaway. shiva, though powerful, had her wings clipped by logos- mythos, he reminded himself - and mythos was far away in the corners of sanbreque, if the young man he had brought along was to be believed.

if he was being truthful with himself, barnabas couldn't explain what it was, why he had made this choice. there was simply...something. something about ryder that intrigued him, that led him to believe their word, to trust they spoke truthfully, that led him to take them with him back to the reverie.

a small distance behind him, he could sense sleipnirs' smallest motions, fidgeting in place, and, without looking, he knew that the egi was in the same position as him - that he kneeled before their Lord.

"answer me, odin." ultima tilted its' head, turning to him.

there was a frustration in its voice he'd never heard.

"he is a gift to you, our Lord." sleipnir spoke up, piercing the silence that his leige had left, and it struck the King that his egi had never spoken directly to ultima before - that he had merely stayed silent, docile and obedient, if he had even been in the room at all. despite being as much a part of odin as barnabas was, his Lord often skirted around the egi.

"a gift?" ryder blurted out but quickly threw a hand up to cover their mouth and forcibly avoided eye contact. they hadn't knelt alongside the King and his egi and instead stood off to the side, inching away from the three of them as much as he could while atop a tower thousands of metres tall.

it wouldn't have mattered if they ran or fell - sleipnir would catch them, barnabas mused.

"a contemptuous gift at that." it floated away from the duo, approaching the younger man, "and you? we had thought you long since dead - how unfortunate that we were proved wrong."

the King risked a glance.

his Lord towered over them- floating or not. despite the slight shaking in their hands, ryder glared up at ultima from behind strands of dark hair and thin-rimmed glasses. their hand drifted, hovering over the empty scabbard attached to the dark brown leather belt he adorned, and clenched tightly into a fist.

the familiar sight of his Lords' tattered capes fluttering in a non-existent breeze and a flicker of motion from its' head had the King staring at the ground once more.

"are, uh. are you sure you mean me? only, we haven't actually, you know, met before now." the young man stumbled out and he knew, without looking, they were doing some kind of hand motion (they always were), "not that- i mean, not that i know of, uh, mr ultima."

their voice trailed off.

"come now, kosmos. this pretence brings us little amusement. we are most curious how you yet live - and in a physical form at that."

"i... what?" ryder mumbled, "what are you on about? like, actually, what are you talking about?"

a shudder ran through barnabas, kosmos? he had heard the name before, in whispered, heretical stories, in the mouths of non-believers decades ago - but there was no truth to them, no substance.

and his Lord would speak of this being, would verify such heresy? would name this man, kosmos?

"we tire of this failed deception, kin. show yourself to us, so that we might converse freely." ultima demanded and for once, he didn't fight the urge to stare at their interaction.

"i-i don't know what you're on about. i'm not kosmos, i don't even know who- what that is!" they threw their arms up in exasperation.

it tilted its' head again.

"then allow us to shed this mortal shell of yours."

it lifted a hand up, summoning a spell with ease, and let a ball of swirling blue light engulf the man. he only had a chance to step back, covering his face with his own hand, before being consumed.

a word caught in the Kings' throat, held back by some invisible force, strangling on the idea as it drowned him.

as quickly as his Lord had summoned the spell, it dispelled, letting the aether collapse into dust motes as it lowered its' hand.

he found the breath he hadn't known he was holding falling out; ryder was fine - or they appeared unharmed, albeit, confused.

"what the fuck did you do to me?" he growled out, hand falling back into a fist at his side, the other flung out to emphasise their point, "i mean, seriously, what the fuck is your problem with me?"

"how unexpected." it stared, eyes unblinking as always, "you cling to this form, this life."

a flurry of its' familiar blue aether had ultima slipping into a rift and reappearing in front of its' statue, before odin.

"it is of no consequence. kill them." ultima commanded.

a moment of silence fell across the reverie, carried on the soft breeze that lived so high in the atmosphere.

barnabas stood, bowed to his Lord, then turned to face the young man, summoning zantetsuken to his hand with the same ease of slipping out of bed.

"wait-" their face furrowed, stepping back as they raised their hand ever so slightly, and heaved a breath, "i don't want to fight."

from the sidelines, sleipnir snorted - at some point, he had stood too - and he folded his hands behind his back, watching intently.

"oh, this will hardly be a fight." the egi smirked, his thick waloedian accent looping through the words.

"rude." ryder mumbled, then spoke up, "all this for a guy who hates you, i mean, really?"

the King took another step forward, eyes following keenly as they matched his motions, stepping back. and then, they paused. a feeling slipped over their face, too fast for him to identify, that steeled into anger.

"or, FINE! do what he says, be nothing more than some silly, lied-to, puppet on a string and never amount to anything but a fucking footnote in a history that won't remember you. who gives a fuck!" the young man yelled out, hands frantically thrown upwards. his own motions almost disrupting the glasses he wore and he pushed them back, voice returning to a mumble, "this place sucks anyway."

odin hesitated.

he could feel the Eikon within him, hesitate. the same Eikon that had driven him to such heights, to sit upon his throne, to conquer, to dominate and control an entire continent -

odin, warden of darkness, hesitated before killing and barnabas found himself doing the same.

zantetsuken shuddered out of existence, the aether blown away in an instant. he could feel, more than see, the way sleipnir shifted in his spot, unwilling to draw the attention - or perhaps ire - of their Lord and yet wishing to move closer, to act on his behalf, to move where he stopped, to act as an extension of himself - as he always did.

"this... is kosmos?" King Barnabas frowned, glancing up and down at the man before him. if this was kosmos, as the forbidden scriptures described, his Lords sworn-enemy, a being as powerful as Him... this man was a threat to his Lord?

a footnote in history.

"you are our sword, odin; yielded as we see fit. kill them, so we might begin primogenesis. mankind must be rid of his wretchedness, so we might usher in the new world." ultimas' voice drifted over his shoulder and he watched ryder roll their eyes at the words.

"you do not believe in our Lords' word?"

"i know he's a liar. humans have no place in the 'new world' - and you know it too. he told you, told clive!" they growled out, glaring at it, "i don't know shit about this kosmos thing, i'll admit, but the new world is a fucking lie. grow a spine and admit it to yourself!"

a laugh found itself in his chest, clawing its way out and he grinned wickedly.

"grow a spine?"

he watched their face drop, swallowed by the fear that took over and... a thin glimmering stream of golden light pulsed up their neck. it was faint, barely present, and he doubted that the others could see it from such distance.

"golden aeth-...?" the words caught in his throat and recognition settled into a growl, "kosmos."

ryder took another step back.

laughter crawled out of him once more, keeling him over and throwing his head back. he could feel sleipnirs' gaze on him, the burn of his steel blue eyes and how the concern twisted through their bond.

it was all so absurd.

his laughter finally settled into a giggle, and collapsed into the King heaving air.

he stood upright and raised a hand once more, palm flat up as he gestured to ryder, "THIS is kosmos?!"

"why do you hesitate?"

his egi tensed, hand slipping to rest on his swords' hilt, by habit or choice - neither could tell.

"why?" barnabas spat out, twisting to glare at ultima, "to even speak the name is heresy. yet here you stand, asking of me to end a being who should not exist; by your grand design, he should not exist!"

"i see." it began floating the smallest amount higher, looking down on the three humans, "you cannot rise above your station, odin. you have failed us."

"you lied." he hissed out.

a twisting pain shot through the King, atoms shuddering under the weight, and he fell to his knees, blue aether beginning to swirl around him as an ashen-grey dust crept up his hands, caught under his skin.

"ohhh, shit." ryder muttered, finally broken from their trance, and they watched as waloeds' lord commander lept forth, standing between his King and their lord, sword drawn.

"you would dare harm my liege?" he cried out, form shimmering in a spattering of swirling purple darkness as he semi-primed into a set of ornate, silver armour.

"you are less than an insect to me, egi." it raised a hand, throwing out a familiar, but smaller beam of light and aether that sleipnir dodged with ease.

in one swooping move, he launched gungnir in retaliation, leaping high into the air to avoid another shot of unaspected magic, and the battle began.

the young man glanced between the three of them and the exit, catching the way the egi faltered on one of his attacks', physical form flickering in and out of existence, yet quickly recovered to feint into another crushing blow.

ryder groaned, swearing under their breath, and hurried to the Kings' side.

"com'on, we gotta get outta here!" they crouched beside him, hands grasping at his deep blue tunic to try to pull him up. strands of the aether and crystal curse clung to the air, seeping into their clothes, onto their skin, into their lungs, "barnabas, get UP!"

"i have failed my Lord." he mumbled, staring down at hands coated in ash. the crystals' curse that he had avoided for nigh-on five decades now catching up as his Lord released some hold on him - as his lord allowed it to catch up to him.

"are you fucking serious right now- get up!" ryder groaned and reached up to force the King to look at him, their other hand still clenching his tunic, "you're odin- barnabas tharmr, king of waloed, conqueror of ash - you're the scariest, strongest guy on the fucking planet, come on!"

a yelp drew both their eyes upwards, to where ultima had seemingly had enough of the fight; its' hand clasped tightly around sleipnirs' neck, dangling him over the edge of the reverie, and, in one swift move, crushed his form into a smattering of aether-dust.

"pathetic."

the lord commanders' sword clattered to the ground, mere feet away from the pair.

ryder glanced at the King, who was staring into the abyss left behind where his egi had been, and swore. he threw himself forward, barely upright as he grabbed the hilt of sleipnirs' rapier, and hurried to the standing-ready position that gav had taught him.

ultima scoffed.

"kosmos. when last we fought, we were evenly matched. now? you are weak. you lack the will to prevail, as you always have."

"right. well." the young man shrugged, blurting out some nonsense noises, "what about that, huh?"

"such childish nonsens-"

"-says the fucker with his grippers out, get outta here!"

"ENOUGH!"

a burst of aether echoed from it as it spoke, the force shoving them to the ground and ripping the sword from their grasp.

ryders' vision blurred from the impact and he could taste faint copper-iron on their tongue; they watched helplessly as the rapier slipped over the tower-edge.

if it made a noise when it landed on the ground, no one atop the reverie heard.

"we expect such petty behaviours from mankind - but for you to indulge yourself so, kosmos, is unbecoming. you are as much a slave to fickle emotions as mankind is."

they moaned, reaching a hand up to find blood coating their forehead, and winced at the thought. slowly, ryder forced himself up onto his hands and knees, blue eyes slipping over to where barnabas had been.

the King still drowned in aether and ash, his atoms struggling to grasp one another under the strain, yet he had hardly moved - now sat on his heels, head thrown back to stare into the pitch-black night sky lingering above, lips moving in a silent prayer.

"odin. we had thought the sin of free will had been understood by you, but it would seem we were mistaken. one cannot forsake their nature, human as you are." it finally landed in front of barnabas, replacing his view of the night, and a pale hand reached out to grasp his head tightly, forcing him to stare at the being.

"it is fortunate that mythos now beholds odin. this act of defiance cannot, willnot stand."

he stared up at his Lord, eyes searching for any sign of meaning, purpose, of anything that might provide a path to salvation.

it released its' grip on him, hand moving to cup one side of his face, and for a moment, ultimas' form shimmered before him, twisting and contorting into a familar face.

"you know what you must do, barnabas." her voice, soothing and patient as she always had been, had his stomach twisting into knots.

"mother..."

"do as our lord commands." her dark brown eyes flicked to ryder, still struggling to get off the floor, "kill kosmos."

the churnings of the crystals' curse paused, aether calmly falling to the ground around them- snowflakes of another nature.

his eyes remained fixed on her, unable to pull away, and a light tug on his cheek had the King blinking away the familiar, deep grooves of misery he lived in.

"do as our lord commands, barnabas, and we shall speak again, in the new world."

the new world?

"the scripture..." he mumbled, breath catching, "it is heresy. kosmos cannot be, mother."

"then end them."

barnabas' head turned to the young man, zantetsuken springing to the hand at his side, and he pushed himself to stand.

they were on the ground. ryder hadn't even looked up, eyes tightly clasped as he heaved air; thin lines of golden aether running through their veins once more - yet stronger than before, as if their injuries had emboldened the ambient magicks in the world.

odin's sword found its' mark with ease.

the image of his mother shattered in an instant, torn asunder by the inhuman shriek of ultima crying out, one of its' arm revealed to have been split in two.

the King of Waloed found himself pushed back by another blast of aether as it screamed, sword ripping into the ground in an attempt to drag him to a halt, and he ended up on one knee, hands clenching the hilt of his sword, as he stared at the being before him.

"YOU!" it howled, even as it drew aether into itself, reforming the lost limb of its' incorporeal body.

he could hear kosmos curse beside him but his eyes remained on the Lord - his Lord, who he had just betrayed. he had injured- betrayed his lord.

salvation from such an act could only be death.

"we have offered you naught but everything and you would reject us? you have no place in the new world, odin." the god-like being hissed out, raising its' newly rebuilt hand to summon the same light it had used against ryder, that started the whole affair, "as such, your mortal skin shall be shed. you shall be undone - just as all mankind shall be, as was always meant to be."

he closed his eyes before the light, surrendering to the darkness behind his eyelids, to where he knew odin lingered, and his mind fell into the eerie, empty space, welcomed by the silence found only where odin was.

yet, he was interrupted by an unfamiliar warmth, the faint sensation of warm, human touch, of hands grasping his waist, clutching onto him tightly as if he would blow away in a faint wind.

in the abyss, barnabas was met with gold.

atop the reverie, he blinked down at the man hugging his waist - kosmos. the glimpsed golden aether had found its place in their blood, pulsing through them, and from their back, they sprouted ghostly golden-opaque wings (not terribly unlike garudas', he noted), that surrounded them - a warm light that blocked the cold blue of ultimas' spell, splintering it into a thousand light-beams around them.

"kosmos...?" the King uttered, drawing their attention. their eyes stared blearily into his, possessed in the golden glow, streaks of molten aether flowing down as tears upon their cheeks.

it took him a moment to recognise the feeling upon their face; the way they looked through him as if he were a thousand miles away, an emptiness sat behind the golden glow consuming them, taking over them. he had seen Eikons take over their dominants before, seen them lose control and rage across the lands, the seas, reigning destruction unbeknown to man - it was the closest match he could find to the sight before him.

then, the energy around them collapsed, exploding outwards with an ear-shattering boom and a cascade of iridescent light burst away from them, waves upon waves collapsing, leaping over themselves through the night, further and further until it stretched past the horizon.

barnabas frowned, releasing the breath he held captive, as he watched the waves of light, eyes briefly slipping to where ultima stood, even its' cape frozen in place.

a small noise drew his attention back to kosmos, who continued to stare up at him, cheek stained with tears of golden aether. gently, he reached up to brush it away, but found the magick seeped into his hands, up his arm and through his entire body, soaking in warmth.

"...what is this?" he mumbled, seeming to awaken something in the man in his arms. they blinked away the gold in their eyes, the blue seeping back in and tilted their head at him, a small "oh." falling from their lips.

silence broken, the golden waves shattered into dust. far below the reverie, it seemed to be snowing.

"kosmos." ultima finally spoke and they tensed up, eyebrows furrowing.

in a confusing instant, kosmos shoved his head into the Kings' chest, as the familiar purple darkness of odin drew around them, surrounding and overtaking both of their vision in a swirling vortex.

when it finally settled, barnabas blinked in confusion.

they were no longer atop the reverie.

they were back. in the hideaway, sat on the dusty ground of the Fallen ruin. kosmos still wrapped around him, motionless, and he realised he had moved to hold them in turn, hand gripping the back of their black tunic tightly.

their golden-opaque wings had began to fade out of existence, leaving only the dazzled, familiar faces of cid and myt- logos staring at the pair.

"well. so much for rescuing a hostage, aye?" cid remarked.

thats all ty :3

[polarisbibliotheque]

Nemesis (Vergil x Reader) - Chapter 4

Nemesis

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: The Abyss opening is a rare occurrence. In his youth, Vergil wanted to harness its power, but never thought he would meet his greatest adversary along the way. Years later, the Abyss is once again open and that might call for some rather unlikely alliances.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 (you are here!)

Age restriction: 18+ - there’s a lot of blood, violence, cursing and all those things people want to forbid younger audiences of seeing. Also, cosmic horror is a thing here. Procceed with caution.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: You beat each other's asses. There'll be blood and injuries :)

Author's Notes: Quite a small chapter but hey! It's been less than a week (I think) from chapter 3, so hooray! I am afraid, though, this will be the last time Vergil will appear on his blue coat glory - next appearances will be during black coat era.

What I will say, is that our beloved demon in red will probably appear on chapter 7 ;)

And I love kicking Verge's demon ass

Chapter 4

You had changed. Vergil could see it in your face – you looked sturdier, with those eyes burning like fire and resolve still in your soul. That tired protector you once were, doing all you could to save those weaker than you, had now become a skilled fighter.

Your hands gripped the silver sword with grace and technique, your chin slightly high in the air. The arrogance he met in you many moons ago was still there, but you looked more experienced – not just a warrior anymore, but a hunter.

“You have something of the Abyss within you.” Vergil’s words were slow and calculated; that serious smirk never leaving his lips. “I will let you go without the humiliation of defeat once more if you give it to me willingly.”

Your expression didn’t show how confused you were with that statement of his – after all, you went to another realm, but you would be able to feel if it was the Abyss. The book, perhaps, could be that piece of ancient energy he was talking about and, suddenly, the feather weighted heavier in your pocket.

But of course. You now had access to the best source of knowledge on the Abyss, something that blue demon also searched for. With a convinced smile spreading across your lips, you couldn’t help but to raise your head in superiority: you had the upper hand in that department.

And, for all you cared, he could writhe with the pain of never being able to access it. In a matter of fact, you would make sure he would.

“Well, well, demon…” Your voice carried all the condescendence that made Vergil’s blood boil – even if his expression remained as unreadable as ice. The demon inside him, though, wanted to make sure you, a simple human, knew your place in the natural order of things. “Whatever it is that you want from me, you will have to take it. I will never give something to you, let alone willingly.”

“Hmpf. You could save yourself the shame of being subdued one more time.” Vergil scoffed, seemingly dismissing your comment. His eyes pierced through the darkness, meeting yours with a kind of savagery that didn’t match his icy demeanor.

“Last time, I was already injured and close to death.” This time, even if you continued smiling to maintain your upper hand, you already felt your blood running hot inside your veins. Soon, you would have to remind him why humans were far superior than his pitiful kind. “I wouldn’t be so sure of your victory in a fair fight with the same conditions.”

“We will never be on the same conditions.” He almost growled back at you, still maintaining his calculating look even if his voice showed the rage under still waters. “I would have to hold back so you could even have a chance.”

“Hmpf.” It was your turn to scoff, seemingly dismissing his point. Only your heart knew how much his words and hubris affected your pride – as much as yours affected his. “It sounds like you are scared of losing to a human.”

“Enough.”

Now your words had cut through his pride like the sharp blade of the Yamato – already glistening in the dark as Vergil quickly unsheathed his sword and plunged into a swift attack.

You responded at the same speed, gracefully holding your silver sword with both hands and blocking his attack. Meeting his eyes above the blade of your swords, Vergil’s silver gaze maintained yours before both of you repelled each other and jumped into the fight once more.

You didn’t protect your knowledge of the Abyss more than Vergil attacked you to take it for himself – your swords clashed so both of you could defend your pride.

Your years of hunting showed up in your fighting. You were smarter, quicker, with enough dexterity to make Vergil focus even more on the movement of your feet and the grip on your sword. Now you had a sort of streetwise experience to match your technique – making you more difficult to read and harder to beat.

Vergil, in the other hand, had grown more aggressive. Years ago, you observed how he stalked and attacked, sometimes even seeming to think too much before an attack. Now, he had given more room for his rage, showing it through his fighting style. Still technical, still skilled beyond everyone else you had fought in your life – but with a hate that threatened to make even the sturdiest of demons bleed.

You blocked one of Yamato’s piercing attacks, making you break your stance and stumble towards one of the mahogany bookshelves. As you hit your back on it, dust filled the air and some books fell on the floor, while you kept your eyes glued on the blue devil’s form as he sheathed his sword once more.

“There’s a lack of balance on your feet.” As always, he was full of himself, lowering his stance and holding the hilt of his sword, ready for a swift killer blow. “I should’ve never been able to break your stance with such an easy attack.”

With those words, Vergil released the Yamato, unleashing a thousand of cuts in the void to your direction in the blink of an eye. If your reflexes hadn’t been quick and you hadn’t rolled to the side, you would’ve ended up in pieces – just like the mahogany bookcase, now slowly falling apart amidst a rain of cut paper and dismembered books.

“You broke it with strength, not skill.” Your voice grabbed his attention, making Vergil quickly spin to his left. You, in the other hand, had already prepared yourself: raising from the floor, you took the opportunity to kick his torso with all your strength, making Vergil roll to the other side of the hall. “You lack attention on your enemy. First lesson: never lose sight of your opponent – as you gloat how good you are, they can kick you down in no time.”

That smile. Vergil wanted to take that smile out of your face with the slap of a hundred summoned swords as he got up from the floor. What you had just done to him wasn’t just a fair move on a fight – it was humiliation.

Once again, you rolled on the floor to escape his bright blue summoned swords, thrown at you at lightning speed. Up to that moment, you had only fought with swords and none of you thought of using anything else. Vergil’s rage, in the other hand, made him slowly give in to all he had available in a fight – and soon, he would forget you were human and wouldn’t hold back anymore.

Kneeling on the floor, it was time to take your guns out and have that demon taste some of the silver bullets you carried for hunting. You shot expertly, aiming with dexterity and firing quickly – but Vergil deflected all those bullets in a move you had never seen before: spinning Yamato in front of him, everything you shot was cut in half, hitting books, papers and shelves, but never him. Vergil remained in place, barely fazed by your fire power.

You had to bring him down with your sword then.

Plunging back into battle, you yielded your silver sword as Vergil readied for deflecting your attack. He tried a counterattack, but you blocked with expertise, almost too quick for a human. Indeed, the more he fought you, the more he realized you had excellent reflexes, timing and precision – if Vergil couldn’t feel you were entirely a human, he would doubt it.

But the blood that ran through your veins smelled exactly like his mother’s – vulnerable, sweet, completely human. When he was a child, Vergil quickly learned to distinguish between his mother’s and his father’s scent – and later, he learned it was all in their blood. Eva could be compared to flowers next to the scent of a demon; Sparda was like a strong bottle of whisky, a mix of smoke and burnt wood. The worse demons, though, reeked of rotting flesh and vinegar, something quite unbearable to his nose.

You, in the other hand, had no other scent aside the sweet notes of human blood. That same flowery fragrance of Eva, whether she wore perfumes or not. You didn’t need that for Vergil to know you were nearby – and for him to know there was nothing demonic or supernatural running through your veins.

Which only made him more furious inside when your silver sword managed to wound his right cheekbone.

You froze in your place as Vergil’s hand slowly raised to his face; the crimson blood staining the tips of his long fingers. You remained in silence as his head gradually turned to you, hand still raised, blood running down his hand. Vergil’s silver stare pierced yours with rage and shock – while you had a mix of fear and pride in your chest.

After all, you managed to draw his blood. Even if his eyes promised to unleash hell on you, your heart gloated with the pride of finally hurting your archenemy. He had no reason to talk you down anymore: it was more than obvious that you were on the same level as him and that made Vergil’s blood ready to explode.

“I hope you are ready to face the consequences of your actions, foolish human.”

His eyes glowed in the dark, his teeth now sharp with fangs. You knew he was a demon, but you had only seen him as a human – for the first time, he was about to show you his real form, how he looked when he was ready to kill. His nails sharpened and you tightened the grip on your sword. However he looked, however powerful he was… Now it was time to fight him in his true form.

At least, that was what both of you had expected before the floor trembled and the walls shook with a rumble that crossed the entire city. It was like you were brought back into reality – the Abyss would soon close, and you both had been so caught up in your fight, you had forgotten everything else.

Vergil’s eyes were back to silver, his nails and teeth suddenly human, as your eyes turned to the aisle that took you back to the outside. With another rumble, a shriek echoed through the city, piercing your ears.

You had never heard a sound like that before – and, as you stared back at Vergil, you saw in his eyes the same was true for him as well.

As you stepped on the old library’s roof, you and Vergil observed the city now under the bright light of the blue moonlight. You tried to find the source of such a shriek – and it didn’t take long to locate it: near the crack of the Abyss, in the distance, a ghostly figure crawled out. It resembled a woman, with black holes for eyes and a mouth glowing in red. Its legs were useless, but its body was massive, dragging itself out of the Abyss while commanding a swarm of humanoid demons – mere dolls to its own desire.

“It cannot be…” Vergil muttered under his breath, standing side by side with you for the first time. “That creature is a Hell Puppeteer…”

“They were extinct centuries ago. The Codex Daemonica says the last apparition of a Hell Puppeteer was in ancient times; that’s impossible.” And you couldn’t believe your eyes – even if the Puppeteer dragged itself right in front of you, controlling its many demons to its will, it wasn’t supposed to be there. You had only seen it in illustrations and descriptions.

Vergil slowly turned his head towards you, eyebrows furrowed. He too had only seen those kinds of demons in books, drawings of old describing how those vile and ancient creatures had been extinct even before his father decided to escape Hell for good. As you met his smart eyes, you raised one eyebrow.

“What? I’m a Devil Hunter now, I have to know the Codex by heart.” You stared back at the horror show right in front of you. “I find it baffling there’s nothing on the Abyss in the Codex, especially if its harboring that sort of thing.”

“Indeed. The entry on the Abyss is unsatisfying to say the least.” Vergil turned his attention back to the problem you had in hand. It was the first time he heard a human mention the Codex – when he was a child, Sparda made him and Dante study it thoroughly and he was proud to say he knew it by heart. Just like you, apparently. “Although, it also doesn’t have much on extinct species like the Puppeteer.”

“Well… It’s time to figure out how to kill that thing, then.” You took a deep breath, sheathing your sword and reading yourself to run towards that creature in the distance. Vergil just stared back at you once more; you just sighed in response. “I don’t expect a demon like you to do the right thing, you guys have no honor. I was hired to save the people in the city and at least try to keep it in one piece and not allow it to go to hell like mine was. You can do whatever you want, I’m fighting that thing and I’m killing it. When I write it on the Codex Abyssae later, you can have a read and learn something then.”

Taking the emergency stairs, you started climbing down the building while Vergil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You had to be the most unbearable human he had ever met in his whole life.

Because the most unbearable being was his stupid little brother.

As your feet touched the streets, Vergil simply landed by your side with a swift jump from the building, ready to walk with you.

“Bold of you to assume I am going to allow someone like you to write a Codex Abyssae.” He scoffed as you started making your way towards the Puppeteer.

“Huh. I do carry something of the Abyss with me, remember?” You teased with a cocky laugh, making him stare back at you with eyes so sharp they could rival the Yamato. “Don’t go thinking you’re the only one interested in the Abyss. Whenever you think about entering it, I’ll be there to stop you and close it for good.”

“And you dare say humans have some kind of honor.” He rolled his eyes, keeping his own pace and forcing you to catch up – you seemed to be able to stand by his side without effort, though. “With such hasty judgment, I doubt your research will have a good result.”

“You assume too much too quickly. I wonder what kind of judgement you have.”

Vergil scoffed back but made no comment. You were both researching the Abyss for two opposite reasons – while he wanted to harness its power, you wanted to close it. You would only join forces for one time to defeat that Hell Puppeteer; after it was over, you would go back to being archenemies.

There was nothing that would stand between Vergil and his search for power. Not even the scent of flowers.

**

To be continued...

[rai-knightshade]

Last Line Tag Game

Alrighty! It's been a hot minute since i did one of these but luckily I've actually got a wip i can use for this! (You'd be surprised at how infrequently that's the case 😅.) Thanks for the tag, @erinsworld ! I hope you're, uh... Ready for a rarepair fic for a completely different fandom 😂

The last* Line--written for chapter 2 of "these hands had to let it go free and--(This Love came back to me)":

'This man is still all of those past versions of himself that you knew so well; but now, he's also all the past versions of himself that you never got to know. (And when he breathes your name, it sounds the same way it always did.) "Beca." "...Jesse."'

*-yeah so this is actually the last several lines cause. Well. You can see why a single word/pair of names doesn't exactly make for a compelling final line without, ya know, context. So. Context.

For a more in-depth discussion of what this fic is (vaguely) about, + some relevant art, check out this post i made announcing chapter 1! But the tl;Dr is that this is a Pitch Perfect fanfic exploring the nature of love, relationships, and what "inevitable" really means... Through the lense of a rarepair 😅. And not only that, it is to date the longest (single story) fic I've ever written (currently clocking in at 20,200 words total between both chapters--and im nowhere close to finishing chapter 2) as well as, quite possibly, the queerest fic I've written in terms of themes (the Brady verse was queer by the nature of it centering around a gay couple and their children, plus the handful of other queer relationships around them, but it's more of a family narrative than it is a truly queer one; in contrast the ideas on love explored in this fic are very queer, as are... Just about every character i mention, no matter what canon says about them). It's a doozy! I'm quite proud of it so far tho 😁.

Now, to tag... Alright, how about @impossiblepluto @zeldaelmo @demonicsoulmates @readingwriter92 @wanderingnightingale and @lizartgurl ! No pressure ofc, but I'd love to see what y'all are working on!

[am-i-interrupting]

Arcane omega verse fic NEOWOOOOOOWWWWW

General headcanons: Caitlyn, Ekko, Jinx, Lest, Sevika, Silco, Viktor

Caitlyn

She is an omega.

She constantly, consistently is defying what people think that means for her. Namely by joining the Enforcers.

She takes hormone supplements.

She only has heat once a year instead of the normal four times a year because of this.

She knows it’s coming because she starts to nest. She also starts getting very clingy.

Constant nuzzling in your neck to scent you.

She has a fairly high sex drive anyway but it goes from a delight to more of a need.

One day every year, she’ll wake up drowsy and hot and see you about to leave. She’ll immediately jump into action and grab your collar.

“No, stay.”

She won’t give you time to answer, just pushes you up against the wall and starts kissing you with a need.

Hooks her leg around yours so she can bend your knee and grind against it.

Ekko

An alpha.

He is not anywhere near close to the aggressive alpha stereotype.

He’s so sweet at all times.

He will find himself subconsciously rubbing his wrist against your neck though.

He’s not possessive. Not even when near his rut.

He’ll want you close to him but he always does.

He always asks if you want to stay with him during his rut, he never assumes.

If you need some distance, that’s fine.

He will request some clothes of yours though.

If you stay, he’s absolutely delighted.

He’d be happy even if you stayed and didn’t have sex with him, just letting him look at you while he strokes himself off.

Jinx

Omega.

She constantly steals your clothes so she’s covered in your scent.

She had a period of years where her depression and anxiety and all her other mental health issues caused her to stop showing any signs of any type of secondary sex.

For years it was assumed she was a beta.

She presented late. Very late. Not until a couple months into being Isha’s guardian did she present.

Which, made sense in a way.

She finally felt stable, with a reliable support system. She was nesting which she hadn’t done since before the explosion.

Isha gets dropped off with Sevika during her heats.

She is jumpy and excited during her heats. Not a moment of stillness. She will run you dry.

Even when you’re done, she’s sitting on your dick (fake or real) just for the feel of closeness, lazily doing circles around her clit as she kissed your skin and whispers for you to go to sleep. She’s fine. She’s got this.

Expect very horny dreams though because she’s staying on your dick the entire time you’re asleep.

Lest

Beta.

It helps her with her job to remain ambiguous.

She’s able to rub on fake hormone sticks against her skin and fur and deliver whatever her clients need.

If you’re an omega or alpha though, she’s taking a break from work sex in order to focus on the sex she prefers.

She’s purring the entire time.

So much praise from her but also some degradation, just playful though unless you’re into that.

It surprises her though that when she offers to put on hormones you tell her no. You don’t want her scent to be covered.

In no one’s presence but her own, she slumps with the knowledge that for once, someone doesn’t want her to put on some act.

Sevika

Omega.

Not what one would suspect but don’t let it fool you.

Upon first look, one would suspect her to be an alpha but they don’t know her like you do.

Yes, you are the arm candy, sitting in her lap like it’s a thrown while she’s gambling and smoking a blunt or cigar and you definitely smell more of her than she does of you but she’s possessive.

Her heats are something to behold.

She is grabbing you and pinning you against a wall, waiting for you to turn it around on her.

She loves it when you push her down and start biting on her skin, hard enough to leave her skin bruised and sore.

Silco

A beta.

He’s supposes that it’s because he needs to constantly remain level headed.

He envied Vander when he was younger of his alpha status but as he matured, he saw it as a blessing.

He was not forced to be motivated by emotions or bodily needs. He didn’t need to take a week off every three months because he needed to mate.

What a horrific fate.

If you presented as either of those, he pitied you. Truly.

Now, he wasn’t going to be with you the entire time. He had things to do, he was a busy man.

However, he would stop in occasionally to tease you, degrade you.

Viktor

Alpha.

Viktor often felt inferior to other alphas when he first presented. He wasn’t physically capable.

Then, as he grew so did his definition of words.

It never truly sunk in until the moment you called him a good alpha and he was.

He was a bit flippant with his own needs but for yours? He never faltered.

He was always aware of the slightest change in you, physically or mentally.

Not always aware of how to help, he was no stranger to asking you for what you needed in the moment from him.

His declining physical health didn’t allow him to go into ruts on a regular basis. He was lucky to get one a year.

That didn’t mean, he didn’t take off if you went into a heat or rut because he did. He would be right beside you for it, even if he couldn’t keep up with your stamina.

What he could do was make you breakfast and make sure you were staying properly hydrated.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

The Face I Cherish

erik destler x reader

i lost the request by my own stupidity but the basic plot was that one part in the phantom of the opera books, where erik reveals his face to Christine (in this fic, reader) he says something along the lines of 'im a handsome man, arent i", in this version, reader shows him love instead of hatred

tags/warnings- slowish burn, tender angsty fluff

word count- 672 words divider by- floriseu

Erik stood before me, the darkness of the candlelit room casting long, jagged shadows on the stone walls. His breath was ragged, as if he had fought to reveal his face, a battle within himself against a lifetime of torment and disgust. Slowly, with shaking hands, he reached up and tore the mask from his face.

His disfigurement was exposed—half of his face twisted and scarred, the flesh marred by a cruel fate. The other half, though, was breathtakingly beautiful: sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and piercing eyes that flickered with an intensity I had never seen before. He glared at me, challenging me, waiting for my inevitable recoil.

“You see?” His voice wavered, a mixture of bitterness and vulnerability. “Look upon me and behold the monster I truly am.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My heart ached for him, for the man who had spent his life hiding behind shadows and masks. His expression darkened as he mistook my silence for disgust.

“I’m a handsome man, aren’t I?” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, mocking his own reflection. He was daring me to lie, to pretend, to do anything but look at him for who he was.

But I didn’t see the hideousness he expected me to recoil from. Instead, I saw the years of loneliness, the pain etched into every scar, and the desperation for love in his eyes. Without thinking, I took a step forward, my hands trembling but not from fear. His sharp inhale was audible, but I ignored it. I reached out, my fingers gently cupping his face—both the unmarred side and the scarred side, treating them both with the same tenderness.

“Yes, you are,” I whispered softly, my thumbs brushing over the rough patches of skin, feeling the warmth beneath them.

Erik froze. His whole body went rigid, as if my touch was something foreign, something he didn’t know how to comprehend. His wide eyes met mine, searching for some hint of cruelty or pity, but there was none.

“You are beautiful, Erik,” I continued, leaning closer. “Not because of this—” I gently touched the scarred side of his face, “—or this—” I moved to trace the smooth lines of the other side. “But because of who you are.”

His lips parted, a sharp intake of breath that he seemed to choke on. His hands hovered in the air, unsure whether to push me away or pull me closer.

Before he could decide, I leaned in, pressing my lips to his forehead, just between the ridges of his scar. His skin was warm under my lips, and I could feel him trembling beneath my touch.

I moved to kiss the side of his face, planting soft, lingering kisses along the jagged lines of his scars, treating them with the same reverence I gave to the unmarred parts of him. “You are beautiful, Erik,” I repeated, the words punctuated with each gentle kiss.

Erik’s breath hitched. He stood still, as if he didn’t know how to react, as if my affection was something he had never imagined could be real. Slowly, tentatively, his hands found my wrists, holding me as though I might vanish if he let go.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” I murmured, my lips moving to his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “You never had to.”

His grip on my wrists tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might pull away, retreat back into the shadows of his mind. But instead, he leaned into my touch, a soft, broken sound escaping him—a sound that was almost like a sob.

“You don’t understand…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking. “I am a monster.”

“No,” I said firmly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You are a man, Erik. A man who deserves to be loved.”

For a moment, his eyes searched mine, filled with disbelief, vulnerability, and something that looked like hope—a hope he had long buried. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine. His hands slid down to my waist, holding me as though I were his lifeline.

“I don’t know how…” he whispered, his voice trembling, “to accept that.”

“You don’t have to know right now,” I replied softly, brushing my lips over his in the lightest of kisses. “Just know that it’s true.”

For the first time since he revealed his face to me, Erik didn’t try to hide. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he held me tighter, his scarred face pressed against mine, as if in that moment, he finally believed that he was worthy of love.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

I See You As You Are - Pt3

aemond x f!reader 

Series Masterlist

Summary: Letters continue to help you and Aemond open up to one another. You both can no longer hide your feelings for one another as your wedding approaches.

Warnings: some playful teasing, they kiss 🤭

Authors Note: i have so much i want to say abt this fic but im also like speechless bc i love it and i love them

Word Count: 4.3k

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

You sit at your desk with a smile on your lips as your quill swipes against the parchment. There’s something so comforting about sending Aemond a letter and knowing he’ll be at your chambers shortly after receiving it. You feel your smile broaden as you look over the words. 

~

Aemond, 

I know the hour is late and forgive me if I’m out of line, but the moon is full and I wish to look upon it and the stars in the gardens. 

Preferably while I’m leaning against your arm. 

If you decline I will understand and be content enough to look out my windows. 

With that said, I patiently wait for your knocks on my door. 

~

You roll the parchment and seal it as you normally do before handing it off to your guard. After you close your door you finish getting ready for a walk in the gardens, trying to settle your nerves about spending time with him during such a late hour. As you wrap your shawl around you there’s telling knocks on your door. You clap your hands together silently before composing yourself and walking over to the door and crack them open. 

“You wish for me to escort you to the gardens now?” he raises his eyebrow at you. “You’ve even dressed as if you knew I’d say yes.” he smiles. 

“You usually do.” you chew your lip, looking him over to make sure you didn’t wake him. 

“It’s been my goal as of late to please you.” he silently delights watching your cheeks redden. 

“Nothing would please me more than a moonlight walk with you in the gardens.” you smile up at him. 

“Then let me keep you waiting no longer.” he offers you his arm and you quickly accept. 

The walk through the halls is silent as you hold onto Aemond. Your heart is beating so rapidly and you have no idea why. You’ve been spending so much time with him, a walk in the gardens shouldn’t cause this much excitement. It might be the way he’s walking so closely mixed with the late hour but you no longer care as you step outside of the Keep and behold the moon. 

Aemond has watched you the entire walk as you nibble your lip as a flush continues to rise across your neck and face. He notes how tightly you have your hand clung onto him and the way your skirts flow behind you. When the breeze flows through your hair when he leads you out of the castle he can smell your sweet perfume and pulls you closer himself wanting to memorize it. 

“It’s truly magnificent.” he turns his full attention to you as you stop to crane your neck at the sky. “Thank you for indulging me.” you turn to him and flush when you see he’s already staring at you. 

He nods once not trusting himself and begins to lead you in the direction of the gardens once more. With every blow of wind you curl into his side and he feels his body heat at your closeness. He’s thankful for your dim surroundings so you can’t see the extent of his blush. He chuckles as you pull him into a small courtyard within the gardens and let go of his arm and turn to him. 

“Some people tell me you can wish upon the full moon for things.” you whisper as if not wanting anyone to overhear. 

“And what do you wish for tonight?” he watches your eyes glance at his lips before turning back around. 

“It’s a secret.” you hum. “Will you wish upon the full moon with me?” you glance over your shoulder. 

“Of course.” he nods with a smile before coming to your side. He watches you smile and close your eyes and he does the same. It’s quiet, all he hears is the leaves and the faint calls of restless birds as the both of you stand under the moon. He opens his eye when he feels you curl in and hug against his chest. “Are you okay?” he brings one of his hands to your back and the other to your head to softly tilt it up. 

“I am.” your words soft as you blink up at him. 

“What did you wish for?” he begins to smooth your hair catching the soft hum that comes from you. 

“I think you will make fun of me if I tell you.” you look away. 

“I will not.” he moves the hand from the back of your head to your chin. “I would never.” he nods his head as you look up at him once more. 

“I asked the moon if,” your heart beats wildly as he softly strokes your cheek with his thumb. “I wish for you to kiss me. I'm pathetically desperate for it even.” your words sit at the front of his mind as he stares down at you. 

“Why?” he watches you open and close your mouth, deciding your words. 

“Because I don’t want to wait another week until we’re wed.” he can hear the desperation in your voice and he doesn’t know how you could feel this way about him of all people. “And I’d like my first kiss to be a private affair and not one in a hall full of staring strangers.” his mind races at your words.

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” his words aren’t accusing, they're baffled. “You’re so beautiful and so sweet. Surely you’ve-

“No.” you shake your head. “I’m sorry if you find it unappealing that I’m inexperienced. I could- no.” you shake your head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” he watches your face fall and he tilts your head further up making you look at him once more. 

“I would be honored to be your first kiss.” the look you give him at his words could bring him crumbling to the ground. “And know that there is nothing to apologize for.” he moves his other hand from your back and brings it to your other cheek. 

“Are you sure I’m not pressuring you? My Gods, I feel so embarrassed.” you bury your head in his chest. He watches you slowly pull back and peek up at him. 

“I would like to kiss you. Very much.” you pull back more to take in his whole face. 

“Really?” a small smile spreads across your face. 

“Shall I tell you a secret of my own?” you nod once. “I’m equally as ‘pathetically desperate’ to kiss you.” he watches the smile grow on your face and feels your fingers dig into the back of his jerkin.

“Really?” he watches you chew on your lip and he brings his thumb down to pull it from your teeth. 

“May I kiss you?” he searches your eyes. 

“I would like that.” you step closer, tightening your arms around him. 

“Close your eyes.” he smiles watching your face relax as your eyes shut. “If you want me to stop, just pull back. I won’t be mad.” he whispers, softly rubbing his thumb on your cheek. 

He takes a breath and tilts your head up slightly before he brushes his lips against yours. He closes his eye and presses his lips to yours with more purpose as you lean in closer. He pulls back and opens his eye and he watches as you slowly blink your eyes open. He goes to move his hands from your face but yours fly to his to keep them where they are. 

“I think I would like to kiss you more.” you feel your cheeks heat. “Please?” his chest tightens at your plea. 

“Shall I show you another kind of kiss?” he chuckles when you nod your head quickly and move your hands to his chest. 

“Are you going to put your tongue into my mouth?” his eye widens at your words. 

“I thought you’ve never kissed anyone?” he searches your face. 

“I had friends growing up.” you softly pout. 

“Mm and they’ve told you of people putting their tongues in their mouths?” he smirks when you roll your eyes. 

“They did.” you raise your chin trying to keep your composure but he’s slowly dipping his head down. 

“And do you want me to put my tongue in your mouth?” he’s enjoying how you tremble in his arms from his teasing as you nod. “I need your verbal answer.” he runs his fingers down your jaw relishing in your soft whine. 

“I would.” you look up at him with lidded eyes. 

“Close your eyes.” he tries not to think about how well you listen to him. 

The second his tongue trails along your lower lip you gasp and his tongue slowly enters your mouth, exploring, coaxing. Your own tongue curiously grazes against his and you hold to him tighter as they begin to move together. He listens to your soft noises and all of his secret longing and desire rises to the front of his mind and he makes himself pull back. You look up at him softly panting, fingers still dug into his jerkin. 

“More.” the word soft and breathy. 

“No more tonight.” he chuckles, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Might you ask the moon for another wish since it’s granted your first with haste?” you reluctantly let go of his jerkin but hold onto his arm. 

“I suppose.” you hum. “As long as you make another wish with me.” you look up at him and see his pink cheeks. 

“Of course.” he nods and turns his attention back up to the sky. After a couple of moments of silence with the moon and stars he cracks his eye open and finds you staring up at him. “I thought you were wishing on the moon?” he looks down at you. 

“I did and then I wanted to admire you.” you watch as he shakes his head. 

“What did you wish for this time?” he brings his eye back to you. 

“That you might dance with me.” you watch a smile spread across his face. 

“Now?” you nod your head. 

“If you would like to indulge me once more.” you look up to him hopeful. 

“I could do that.” he steps back and offers you his hand. 

“You’re like my personal moon. Always granting my wishes.” you take his hand and he pulls you closer. 

“And I will continue to do so for the rest of our time.” your heart swells at his words. 

“Except kissing me more?” you tilt your head with a small smile as he sways you across the courtyard. 

“After we wed I will give you as many kisses as you desire.” he chuckles, pulling you closer, continuing to dance with you under the moon.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Aemond finishes fastening his last button on his jerkin when a knock comes from his door. He smiles knowing that a knock at this hour usually means you’ve sent him a letter. He walks over to the door with a small smile and just as he thought your guard greets him. He places the small roll in his hand before turning and walking back to your chambers. Aemond takes a seat at his table and begins to delicately unroll the parchment. 

~

Aemond, 

We’ve abandoned your early morning training for reading the past couple of days and I must admit my desire to watch you train. 

My wish for the moon: I wish to watch Aemond train while all the other men look at him in terror. 

My second wish for the moon: I wish for Aemond to pull me down an empty hall and claim my lips like he did in the gardens. 

I hope you slept well - you were busy in my dreams. 

~

He reads over your words thrice like he always does before delicately placing it in his side table with the others. The smile spread across his face seems to be permanently carved there as he thinks over your words. He grabs his sword from the table and leaves his chambers to come retrieve you. You answer after one knock and greet him with your smile. 

“How did you sleep?” he offers you his arm as you step out of your chambers. 

“Very well.” you hum leaning into his side. “Did you find sleep last night?” you look up at him. 

“I managed to find sleep after appearing in your dreams.” he watches your cheeks flush. “I suppose I could fulfill your first wish and take you to the training yard.” he starts leading you down the next hall. 

“What of my second wish?” you look up at him. 

“Remind me what it was again. It must’ve slipped my mind.” he watches a pout form on your lips as your flush deepens. 

“Aemond,” you say his name like a curse and he chuckles. “I know very well you have not forgotten.” you look up at him with narrowed eyes. 

“Mm, let’s stop at my chambers so I can read it for us both.” he watches your eyes widen. 

“I’m sure you’ve already discarded it.” you challenge. 

“No, I’ve placed it with your others.” he says matter of factly but then realizes his words. 

“My others? You’ve kept more than just the one?” you watch the flush rise up his neck. 

“I’ve kept them all.” he clears his throat. “But we were talking about your second wish.” he raises his brow. 

“But now we’re talking about you keeping every letter I send to you.” you smile, planning on sending him more. 

“Of course I keep them.” he shrugs. “You took the time to write them to me.” his chest tightens looking at the smile across your face. 

“Do you reread them?” you chew your lip trying not to break out into a grin. 

“No more of this.” he grabs your cheeks between his fingers. “I was teasing you first.” the laugh that comes from you warms him to his core. 

“But you are just so cute when you flush and then pout about it.” he groans and begins leading you down another hall. “This isn’t the way to the training yard.” you turn to him. 

“It’s just a different way.” he nods and turns you into a dim hallway. “Not a path many know.” he hums. 

“Clearly. It’s as if-“ you gasp as he backs you up to the wall. 

“Tell me your second wish.” he tilts your head up to him. 

“It seems as if you remember.” your words hushed. 

“Mm,” he nods and you close your eyes when he dips down. He turns to your ear and whispers, “Remind me.” he presses his lips to your neck and you let out the softest whimper he’s heard and he presses his lips to the same spot once more.

“Aemond,” you hold onto the front of his jerkin. 

“Hm?” he continues to press his lips down your neck listening to your noises and gasps. 

“I wished for you to kiss me again.” you tilt your neck as his tongue trails up to your jaw. His touch is so delicate but it has your body on fire. 

“You used different words.” he smirks, feeling you tremble when he wraps his hands around your waist. 

“I wished for you to pull me down an empty hall.” he nods, rubbing circles into your waist. 

“And?” he presses his lips to your neck once more. 

“And for you to claim my lips like you did in the garden.” he pulls his head from your neck and looks down at your lidded eyes and parted lips. 

“I barely kissed you in the gardens.” he grins, watching you tilt your head up closer to him. “Let alone claim your lips.” his lips brush yours so slightly but it causes you to arch into him. “Mm, mm” he presses you back against the wall. 

“Please,” you try to pull him closer but he won’t budge. “Aemond, please,” you prepare to plead once more until his lips press into yours. You try to step closer but he has you firmly placed against the stone and makes no move to get closer to you. You whine into his mouth frustrated and he pulls back chuckling softly. 

“What’s wrong?” he smiles, feeling you pull against his jerkin. 

“I want you closer. I want more.” he watches your chest rise and fall heavily and he steps back once more. My Gods he wants to indulge you but he can show restraint for two more days. 

“I still must fulfill your first wish.” you sigh and drape against his arm dramatically. 

“Can I change it to more kisses?” you look up at him and he chuckles pulling you along the halls once more. 

“The next time I’m kissing you is after we wed.” he listens to you whine as he starts leading you down a set of stairs. 

Aemond never imagined that you would be pleading and pouting over wanting to kiss him. When he heard you whimper and the way his name came out of your mouth he wanted to- No he has to take you to the training yard. He shakes his head hoping the thoughts will go to the back of his mind until he’s alone in his chambers at least. He’s thankful for the cool morning air on his face and the way you curl into him. 

“I’ll go fetch your chair.” he goes to move his arm but you hold onto him tighter and start walking with him. 

“I want to stay with you.” you mumble looking up at him. 

“Will you take up a blade yourself and fight the men with me?” he chuckles, leading you over to the small alcove. 

“I could.” you purse your lips. 

“Then here.” he pulls his dagger out and hands it to you. 

“Why don’t you use this when you train?” you look over the hilt and trace your finger down the metal. 

“Is that what you wish for me to train with today?” he hums, picking up the chair and leading you back into the main yard. 

“I’ll be content to watch you train with anything.” he sets the chair down and plucks the dagger from your hand. “Do you know how to fight with that?” you look at the dagger in his hand. 

“I do.” he nods and places it back in its holder. “Though I prefer my sword.” he unsheathes his sword and holds it in his hands for you to look over it. 

“So if I were to have..” he watches you chew the inside of your cheek. “I had something commissioned for you.” you continue to look down at his sword. “But it’s a dagger.” you finally look up at him and take in his furrowed brow. “I could have it melted down into a sword if you’d prefer.” you feel your cheeks heat as he searches your face.

“Why did you have a dagger made for me?” his words hushed. 

“As a wedding gift. You always carry one so I thought you could have another.” you sigh when he cups your cheeks. “I can tell them to make it a sword instead. Or anything you’d prefer. I should’ve asked before I just did it but I wanted to surprise you but then I couldn’t- 

“I never expected a gift from you.” he shakes his head. 

“I have so many gifts I’d like to give you.” you hold onto his hand on your face. 

“No more gifts.” he watches you pout.

“I haven’t even given you the first.” he chuckles at your tone.

“Let me train and we’ll continue this conversation in the gardens or library.” his thumb brushes your cheek before he lets go and turns to the training yard once more. 

You take your seat with a huff and finally start thinking about everything that's happened this morning. The way he had you pressed against the cool stone yet you still felt as if you were burning from the inside. His lips and tongue on your neck that felt so.. you shake your head and try to think of anything else. When you hear metal on metal your head snaps up and you watch Aemond begin his dance around the ring. You watch on as his opponent holds his ground for all of a minute until he is bested. The cycle continues as more men step into the ring in hopes of besting Aemond. 

“I’ve had enough for today.” he pushes the current man across from him and begins to walk over to you. He’s been watching you flush and squirm in the chair and he can’t take it anymore. “To the gardens? Or library?” he holds his hand out for you.

“The library.” you take his hand and lean into his side as he begins to escort you inside. “You did very well today.” you look up at him. 

“What, pray tell, were you blushing about when I was training?” he smiles watching your blush revitalize. 

“Nothing.” he smirks watching you keep your eyes straight ahead as he brings you to the library doors. 

“My section or yours?” he pauses as you both step into the libraries. 

“Yours.” you finally look up at him and he can see the extent of your blush. He quickly leads you into his section and watches as you take his seat that he is more than happy to call yours now. 

“I’d like to hear the gift ideas.” he takes his seat next to you. 

“Are you just going to tease me all day?” you whine looking up at the ceiling. 

“I was thinking for the rest of our lives.” you try to glare at him but you can’t stop the smile that forms.

“Well,” you drawl. “I had thought the dagger would be nice.” he nods at your words. “I had then thought of making you a new eyepatch but I would want your input on that.” his heart races at you bringing attention to his eye. 

“Do not worry yourself with such a gruesome part of me.” he shakes his head. 

“I wish to see you.” you turn to him. “I think you are so very handsome and I want to admire all of you.” he searches your face. 

“There’s nothing to admire.” he shakes his head, folding his hands. “Is it not the reason you couldn’t look at me when you first met me?” you frown at his words. 

“I told you I was intimidated.” your words hushed. “In all honesty, the first thing I noticed was your hair.” his head snaps to yours. “I was so jealous, I still am. You have the most beautiful hair I’ve seen. It looks like pure silk.” you hum looking at it spilling down his back. 

“My hair?” he lets out a half hearted laugh. “Not the scar across my face?” he rolls his eye. 

“No.” you shake your head. “You look like a well groomed warrior.” he can’t stop the laugh that comes from deep within. 

“You don’t have to show me now but know that I would like to see. If you would like to indulge me. Or if you’re comfortable. It’s not my desire to make demands that upset you.” he searches your face in disbelief that you truly mean these words.

“I don’t.. I don’t understand how I’ve been blessed with such a gentle and kind woman.” he looks down to his calloused hands and then over to you who’s sitting in his spot with a warm expression waiting for him. 

“You are deserving of gentleness and kindness, Aemond.” you reach your hand out to him.

“Do you wish to truly wed me?” he slowly slides his eye to you. 

“Why would you ask that? Of course I want to wed you.” you furrow your brows. “If I must remind you,” your voice hushed. “I practically begged you to take me in the halls an hour ago.” a smile starts to play on your lips. 

“Yes but anyone could offer you pleasure.” he continues to look at your outstretched hand. 

“Yes but not everyone could read to me the accounts of the dragons and be the rider of the largest dragon. I don’t think they would wish upon the moon with me. They certainly don’t have your hair or your soft voice.” you watch on as his cheeks slowly flush. “And I'm sure no one else would keep my letters to read them over.” 

“I didn’t- 

“I’m not done.” you reach across and grab his hand. “I don’t think anyone would be as gentle and kind with me as you have been. And before you go on about how you were so dismissive when we first met, we both were unsure and that’s okay. We’ve moved past it. So yes, Aemond, for the past fortnight I’ve been counting down the days until we can finally wed.” you nod at him. “The past couple days more so.” you smile, feeling your cheeks flush to match his. 

“Your words have moved me.” he shakes his head trying to wrap his head around everything you’ve said. “I will show you after we wed. I don’t wish to do it so publicly and I can’t very well take you to my chambers now.” you nod, offering him a smile. 

“You can show me when you’re ready. I’ll wait forever if I must.” he swallows trying to settle his emotions. 

“Would you like me to read to you while we’re here?” he clears his throat and reaches for the book. 

“I would like nothing more.” you settle back into the chair and listen to his soft voice as he continues on the accounts of dragons. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌

silently screaming 

i see u as u are taglist: @readerselegance @sinistersnakey 

taglist ✍️

@ka1afbr @ninihrtss @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @alexxavicry @misspendragonsworld @papichulo120627 @ashovertheriver @gabriella-aesthetic @moonymoo1 @faenyra @uwuuness @lizzylovebooks280501 @nostalgiagoth03 @multilover19 @summer-and-sunflowers @eternalwinters @rere10 @sxlsvv

[wicked-barbie]

Death's Bride

Interview with the Vampire: Santiago x fem!reader 

Companion Piece of "To Be Loved by Death"

Rating: Mature

WC: 1.0 k 

Prompt: Temporary Death for @sweetspicybingo (Hurt/Comfort Bingo Collection)

Warnings: Vampirism: lots and lots of blood, feeding, turning

A/n: This old white man has me in a chokehold, what can I say? Ben Daniel did wonders with Santiago. Also there’s a little easter egg in the fic for all those who are fans of the original film ;)

Summary: Santiago turns you

The coven had unanimously voted to let you join, though Armand seemed reluctant in his response. You learned he had never created a vampire in his five hundred years. There was something about him that you didn’t trust, but Santiago led the coven now, and his sights fell upon you, so no one dared argue with him. You half expected Eglee to rip your throat out, but you had no qualms about sharing Santiago with her. You even allowed her to feed on you from time to time.

Finally, the night of your translation arrived in the true fashion of the coven; it would be a spectacle for the public to behold at a premium price.

“My love, are you prepared to confront death’s beckoning this very night?” Santiago inquired, enveloping your hands in his own before guiding you in a slow dance across the stage. 

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Louder, ma chérie. The audience needs to hear your answer,” he smirked, his glowing cerulean eyes locked on yours.

“Y..yes!” your voice quivered, the unease palpable in the air. You spoke louder this time, feeling uneasy as the audience laughed at your reaction. His hands were cold against yours, but you didn’t mind it. You had grown used to his cold embrace, the sharpness of his bite, and the nonexistent beating heart. It was hollow when you rested your head on his chest. You had believed you would fall in love with a man of warm flesh and blood, but instead, you found a cold demon had taken hold of your heart.

“Are you ready to be our bride?”

The coven moved into position, clad in white, reminding you of ghosts. They moved in spectral synchronization, swirling around the stage as Santiago danced you around. The fresh bite marks on your neck throbbed. Ruby droplets oozed from the puncture wounds, stirring the base desires in the ghostly vampires surrounding you. You kept your eyes trained on Santiago. He had offered you the dark gift, and you were willing to accept it and live by his side for eternity.

Eglee moved behind you, her fangs ghosting over your neck as her glass nails dug into the threadbare fabric of your black dress. The tattered garment had been a relic of old, worn by how many before you, you had no idea. It was a funeral dress with a high neck and frayed lace, but it portrayed you as death’s bride. The coven performers circled you, their greedy hands clenching at the hem. You twisted in the grasp until, finally, the gown was torn from your body, leaving you bare before the unfamiliar eyes of the audience and the salacious ones of the coven. Santiago beckoned you closer, drawing you into his arms.

“I am ready,” you whispered to him, then repeated your words louder for the captive audience to hear.

“Then it is time,” Santiago announced before sinking his fangs into your neck—a sweet burn, followed by a pulse of pain before it all became dull.

You grew limp as he drained you, as he lifted your weak body and passed you into the arms of the other members before they advanced on you. The curtains fell as thunderous applause and cheers filled the theater. Santiago ordered the others away, his voice muffled in your ears as you descended into darkness, unable to keep your eyes open. Life slowly drained from your body as your blood filled their insatiable mouths. You teetered into the darkness, letting it swallow you whole.

They suddenly pulled away from you, blood dripping from their greedy lips as Santiago loomed over top of you. His glistening nail sliced through his wrist before he knelt and pressed it to your mouth. You groaned as the ruby droplets filled you. Slowly, you gained your strength and consciousness as he brought you back to life. You grasped his wrist tightly as a voracious hunger surged through you.

“Ah, ah, chérie, that is enough,” Santiago scolded, patting your cheek before pulling his wrist away.

You sat up, your hair, longer and thicker, cascading down your naked body as blood clung to your mouth. Your tongue traced around your fangs, and you watched with fascination as your nails lengthed and hardened. 

“I want more,” you growled.

“Then I would say a hunt is in order,” Santiago smirked, extending a hand to help you to your feet. The coven bristled in their agreement, and preparations were made. You dressed in leather jodhpurs, riding boots, and a red blouse, ready to tackle the City of Paris. The women of the coven decorated your fingers with ornate silver rings, and Santiago pressed his cigarette against your lips. You inhaled deeply, the smoke wafting around you as you tasted ash. The leather scent of his jacket was thick against your nostrils. Everything felt heightened. Enhanced.

��Come, ma chérie, the night awaits!” Santiago announced with a flourish.

The night became alive through your new eyes, vivid and bustling. You could smell everything: the hot blood pumping through veins, the sweet wine poured into glasses, the pungent smell of sweat, and you wanted to taste it all. Your vision was enhanced, making out the small details of clothing worn by the blurred bodies you passed and counting the cracks in the pavement. As his motorbike zoomed through the brightly lit city, your nails dug into Santiago's arm before letting out a whoop of delight. Santiago’s laugh bounced through the air at your enthusiasm. The coven descended upon a tavern on the outskirts, and the feeding began.

Your fangs sliced through flesh like butter, reveling in the warm spurt of blood that poured into your flushed mouth. You tore the throats of three men, draining them to the brink of death before releasing them. You wondered if you would ever feel full enough.

“You are a true creature of the night, chérie,” Santiago praised as his thumb traced around your crimson-stained lips, swiping the droplets away. He pressed the digit to his mouth and suckled it clean.

“I have never felt more alive,” you breathed, lifting your head to press your blood-stained lips to his, savoring in the intensity of his kiss.

His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you into the air as the slaughter continued beneath your dangling feet. It was finally in death that you felt the most alive.

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TEA

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse and more

Read after the cut...

-

For a near week your deceptive submission endures, the hours newly tightened by a schedule your host has contrived to divert you from your anti-appetite.

Days rise from the borderless veil of time like castles from a dawn mist. Made a school child again, you sit before documentaries and foreign art films, take up a journal whose pages bear but glances of your internal woe.

You find yourself wishing that you could write with any particular talent.

As a girl you’d yearned to be an author, never daring to materialise the urge with any substantial effort. Now you can’t imagine you’ll ever be allowed so loose-penned a profession, if any at all, kept covetously home and infantilised until you cannot think beyond a fraction of words.

Why, then, does Hannibal go to such arduous lengths to educate you? Surely it is only so that—before the eyes of peers—you'll be the cultured averment of triumph through therapy.

In the soirees of your doctor's hopes you cleave, willing, to his side, bewitching the throng with smirking witticisms before sucking his cock with that same clever mouth when the last guest steps, merry and ignorant, into the night.

Already Hannibal aspires to materialise that abstraction. You find proof enough of it in the wardrobe he’s amassed for you, which expands as the days progress.

Some of his choices are attractive to you, reluctant though you are to consider this— long velvet gowns in puce, umber, black, blouse and skirt co-ordinations plucked from the runway, some still in boxes emblazoned with designer names.

Others of the selection offend you, however, in their bald intent for closed-door wear. Girlish dresses in light chiffon, corseted silk in flowering lace. Short necks and hemlines, some of them scarcely reaching the knee. Then there are sheer nightclothes stored in perfumed sheets, no practicality but for the sort of sleeping in which no slumber is to be had.

You’re to dress like some obscure young celebrity, a whimsical echo of an era thirty years passed. Still, there is an attempt in this incredible closet to appease you as well as to change, adapting your preferences to a style acceptable to Hannibal’s eye.

It’s of particular note to you that the garments are each the same size, implying that you haven’t gained significant weight since your last awareness of its value. Conceivably the labels might have been replaced, but it’s so unlikely a trick that the theory is quickly thrown out.

Hannibal is inviting you to trust his process with a peace offering of equilibrium, the second-best prize to starvation.

You are not such a fool as to take it yet, though in action you may appear to have done so.

When in the presence of your keepers you remain in unwavering character, an amplified, changeling copy of the child you'd once been. In this way you're allowed your little misbehaviours—pulling a face at food you do not like, or the shrugging rejection of an idle caress.

So long as you sit at meals, and don’t speak in any manner that threatens the illusion of family you are unharmed, and laden with unending gifts. It would be a winning childhood, had you been born into it through a far less insidious violence than that which brought you here.

Still, the awareness that you must simper and lisp for another month before you venture an escape soon wears upon your tolerance.

One Saturday morning, alone in your room, the silence of that cushioned cell amplifies your every thought to a piqued tenor.

You miss when hunger bled like smoke through your skull, ridding its halls of all but its fey shape. With a scalding clarity you behold what you are now: a homunculus, the issue of diablerie, cut small by men’s black magic.

You cast yourself amidst a tide of cushions and mimic your own words upon them in a bitter snarl.

“‘Yes, Daddy’”, ‘no, Daddy’. ‘Little one’. Oh God! It’s all so stupid. Stupid!”

An involuntary laugh chatters through you like a coin thieved from a beggar’s cup, hateful and maniacal. Yet you perform this anger as you do the docile coquette, the bounds between that self and your own a gradient that softens by the day.

It’s become rather easier to be a monster’s daughter than a woman, this you cannot deny. The longer you are extracted from the world the less you’ll remember of how to live within it, if you ever knew, before.

The misery of this thought proves too much to bear.

You cry until your head is as hot about the brow as a horseshoe turned white from the forge. The sobs wrench the muscles of your stomach in two pained halves, and still you weep until you laugh again, thinking how deranged you’d sound to any eavesdropper in the rooms below.

Afterwards you sit very quietly, like an ailing bride in a Victorian novel; you are, after all, very ill, and it suits you well to behave so.

Having nothing better to do, you switch on the television and skim through the channels with neither aim nor interest.

Thin, beautiful women populate the screen, their waists like darner flies, their wrists as narrow as your thumb. Even the history programmes feature experts with trim figures in sensible interview dresses.

Perturbed, you flick on and on until you find something on eighteenth century Paris, hosted by a grandfatherly old professor marked safe from scrutiny in the absence of compare.

You watch until your lids fall, thinking of catacombs full of monk bones, the cloying scent of ancient death, each as forgotten under dust as you are by all those who once loved you, and revered by those who never have.

In the afternoon Hannibal wakes you gently by turning the television off at the set.

“Are you feeling alright, little one?” he asks. “It’s unusual for you to sleep in so late.”

You hum in a noncommittal fashion, scarcely bothering to open your eyes.

Perhaps he’ll let you drowse the day away; you’d dream through all horrors like this, should your insomnia give you reprieve. A week, a month, a year sold to the sandman in exchange for peace— yet the dark would follow you there, also, antlered men in imagined night.

“You’ve been in bed long enough,” says Hannibal, peeling back your sheets with a brisk tug. “Up you get. Alana is visiting us this evening. She’ll have some questions for you.”

Weakly attempting to thieve back the blanket, you say, “I really don’t feel like talking to her. Can’t you do it? Please?”

“Jack won’t be satisfied with a second-hand report. Alana must see that you’re comfortable here. Not a particular incentive for you, but I can provide others.”

You open one eyelid, enticed by this readiness to bargain.

“So what do I get if I say yes?”

“A light dinner,” says Hannibal. “And—depending on your behaviour—perhaps another reward we’ll negotiate later tonight.”

At this you sit up; starving is a precious contraband in the doctor’s abode, worth more to you than every decadent thing under its rafters.

“Feeling better already, I see,” says Hannibal, through one of his charitable smiles. “Please stand by the mirror and allow me to dress you.”

Unbidden there comes the thought of his hand under your skirts, pressing inwards like a starfish sucking at a stone.

“Oh, come on, Dad,” you say, in flustered haste. "Really?”

“There’s a certain picture I’d like to create for Alana’s benefit,” he insists. “One of wellness and serenity. Your selections tend to imply something far more brooding and morose.”

With a testy little sigh you slip out of bed, rubbing your arms free of rising gooseflesh.

“You bought me those ‘brooding and morose’ outfits, remember, Dad? What does that say about you?”

“That I seek to please you,” says Hannibal, touching your mouth with playful thumb. “Today I hope that you’ll return the gesture.”

He holds aloft a pastel blue dress in transparent lace, a beaded line of detailing pointing downwards at the hips in a suggestive v.

“I don’t know,” you say, far more sharply than intended. “It’s short. And I don’t like the colour.”

“The shade will suit you,” Hannibal replies. “And you’ll wear a shift underneath for modesty, if that’s your concern.”

You don’t bother with reproof; he’s guiding you out of your nap-rumpled clothes and into the dress before you can think of an excuse he’ll entertain.

Unresisting, you only glance aside, breathing shallowly so as not to brush your chest against him as he adjusts your collar.

That Hannibal hasn’t made love to you since you shared a bed makes you think that he’s waiting for something, a moment fermented to sweeten the sex. He is, you warrant, as driven by pleasure as any man, being only of a tighter and more methodical restraint.

You can’t decide whether you’re glad of the wait or if you’d prefer he throw you down on your bed and ravish you now to have done with it.

Doubtless Hannibal considers an identical dilemma, turning you before him like a ballerina in a mirrored jewellery box.

“Even the greats couldn’t hope to replicate this image of you,” he says, as he inspects his work. “To attempt it would have them rending the canvas to pieces rather take credit for their failure.”

The compliment is long forgotten when, later, Alana breaches the house, her pretty face above her mulberry blouse like a lily in a violet bouquet.

Her casual manner in kissing Hannibal’s cheek at the door suggests a social visit, as does the gift of white wine under one thin arm. Still, she remembers her duty, taking you aside with a subtle professionalism within two minutes of having greeted her host.

Her kindness is a shingle in a cyclone, dashed away by the futility of its own existence.

“Dr Lecter told me you’re doing a lot better than when I last saw you,” says Alana, placing one of her graceful hands atop your own without comment as to its frigidity. “Are you feeling more positive now, or would you disagree with that?”

Slipping your fingers out from under hers, you say, “Well, I have a TV now. I’m allowed to do a lot more things I’m actually interested in. That helps. Thanks for that, by the way. I know you talked Dr Lecter into it.”

Smiling, Alana says, “I can’t take credit for that. He was already making preparations when I brought it up. He's racked up quite the shopping bill.”

The notion of Hannibal navigating the catalogues of online stores is ridiculous, somehow anachronistic, but then again you’ve witnessed him tapping at a sleek iPad, a jarring sight, on every occasion.

“How about mealtimes?” asks Alana. “I understand you’re working towards a plan that’s easier for you.”

“It’s still hard,” you mumble. “Tough. You know.”

Your eyes are on Alana’s patent court shoes, picturing a blandly organised rack of identical heels in alternate shades. Perhaps ankle boots for the colder days. Simple. Nothing flash.

Alana pauses, quickly assessing your disinterest in the exchange.

“Hannibal says he’d like you to agree to more therapy sessions,” she says. “He feels you’re opening up. I think we both know that’s probably wishful thinking on his side, but don’t shoot him down just yet.”

“I won’t,” you say. “Couldn’t anyway, right?”

Alana rearranges her discomfort into another closed-lipped smile. You can’t envision that lipstick ever moving, striped across her face as yours has been by both of the friends that she holds dear.

“So how are things between you and Will now?” enquires Alana, quite on cue. “Rumour has it you’re getting along like a house on fire.”

Truthfully Will has rather cooled since the night of the seizure, his envy retreating to the black of some inner primordial cave. He seems both caustically amused by your recent performance and cynical of its longevity, yet neither judgement is as severe as before.

The thought of your kindness sits with him, has been taken up with the cagy hunger of an orphan to a heel of bread. Piece by piece you’ve given him more of it in flirting words, but these he’s yet to take, turning each away with a smirk.

“Don’t try so hard,” he’d said, only a day ago, but when you’d thrown an idle foot across his lap as you read a book beside him he hadn’t removed it, only pretended to ignore the intrusion.

“Me and Will are okay,” you say to Alana. “That’s all.”

You must give away something of your successes in your expression, for Alana’s mouth twitches into a coy grin.

“Just okay?”

At that moment Hannibal knocks on the open door, a merciful trespass, setting you free of her.

*

As promised, you’re offered a modest salad while Hannibal and Alana make their way through numberless courses over the gifted wine.

At first you’re too absorbed in the mortification of eating in front of the other woman to pay attention to their mounting chemistry, dragging the same tattered leaf through streams of congealing oil.

It’s only as you’re making a fortress of cutlery across a lump of uneaten meat that you take full stock of the flirting at work before you.

Though attempts are made by both parties to fold you into the conversation they are mild at best, almost neglectful.

Alana glances up into Hannibal’s eyes in frequent, laughing enjoyment, touching his shoulder or forearm lightly; he, for his part, looks upon her lips and the curves of her form and speaks fondly to her, his voice hushed with a want of sex.

You’ve heard it often enough to know it, and should be glad to have his attentions otherwise distracted.

Yet your hands creep under the table, squeezing your thighs and stomach as though to claw out the matter you've ingested through your meat.

"I'm done," you blurt out, cutting across Hannibal's opinion of a recent classical performance he’s attended. "Can I go upstairs?"

It's with difficulty that you bite off the habitual 'Dad' that has replaced 'doctor' in your vocabulary.

Hannibal offers you a near invisible look of disgruntlement at the interruption, quickly mollified by Alana's fingers at his elbow.

"I'm sure we're boring you," she says. "Go on up and relax. You don't have to stick around just to be polite."

You glance at Hannibal, seeking his approval before you stand. His eyes, within so static a face, are black glass in their suspicion.

"I'll come up to speak to you later on," he says, at last. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask for it."

Rather than go immediately to your den above you linger to watch as the couple drink in the parlour, so close as to almost be in one another’s arms.

You see from Hannibal's relaxed posture that he is not ablaze with a fascinated love for Alana as he is for Will; he holds her merely with the affection of an old friend, and, too, with an uncomplicated desire.

He would never rape Alana Bloom; such violence, to Hannibal, is an entry into a cabal of which she has no part. Her value to him is as representation of his treasured comforts, and all that which Hannibal would not willingly change.

Alana is as used for her parts as you are, in her way, and oblivious to it, like some grinning scarecrow blind to the birds that snicker and creep at its back.

Yet as you watch her lean, murmuring, into Hannibal’s neck you feel a tooth of ice grind through your heart and turn away, feeling numbly for the bannisters behind you.

Almost on hands and knees you climb the steps to your bed, brought low by that astonishing cold.

Pausing at the bathroom you prostrate yourself at the toilet’s mercy, still unable to empty yourself of the pain and bile you'd evict to be naked of your jealousy.

In surrender you rest your head on the cool floor and remain there even after the compulsion to vomit subsides.

If you cannot flog yourself for your sins as the saints did then this will do, sprawled before the porcelain God of another degredation.

Presently the bathroom door creaks open, striking an unwanted rod of light across your face.

“Go away,” you mutter, wiping your face with an angry scrub of your knuckles. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Hannibal looks at you with a minister’s pious severity.

"I see. So I was correct. You object to Alana and I having a sexual relationship. Any other father would sternly inform you that it’s none of your business, and as your therapist it’s even less so.”

Raising your head, you snap at him as fiercely as you dare.

“What about me?”

“My friendship with Alana is very different to what you and I share,” says Hannibal, and you snort, wiping a stream of clear mucus across your lips.

“I’ll bet.”

Hannibal turns his head at a quizzical angle, and you perceive the very second of his understanding like the unveiling of some trick.

“You must explain yourself, darling,” he says. “What is it about this that has upset you?”

The logical answer should be that you wish to save Alana from him, that you cannot watch her beaming, black-haired head roll out from under the axe.

Instead, you blurt out, “Don’t you get it, Dad? How it makes me feel? You’re supposed to understand me, and I’m pretty sure you do. You knew that it would hurt me. You did this on purpose the way you wave me around in front of Will.”

Using the sink to right yourself you get to your feet, standing on pathetic, defiant tiptoe so that you might gaze into the devil’s face directly.

“If you have to do this, then please, just me. Just me. I can’t stand it. It makes me feel sick to think about you and her together. Knowing you’ll touch me afterwards. Don’t do this to me. Please."

“I see,” says Hannibal.

He speaks with such calm that you deflate from your anger at once.

“Very well,” he says. “I can make an excuse for Alana to leave. Would that please you, little one?”

This time you don’t answer, only stare at him with huge and terrible eyes until he retreats to the stairway.

“Oh, god,” you say, under your breath. “Amy, you’d really hate me right now, wouldn’t you?”

You hear Hannibal and Alana talking in low undertones, the female voice a coo of thoughtful sympathy. In time Alana collects herself to leave, but only when her car propels itself quietly from the driveway does Hannibal come to you again.

By now you’re sitting at your dresser, making a humiliated attempt to recollect your dignity with cosmetics. You know that Hannibal will not like what you’d made of your face—the eyes painted black, your lips the colour of your heart, a sinking, well-bound stone.

Yet all he says as he stands behind you is, “Look at me, little one.”

Your hand shakes, blotting your eyelid with an errant apostrophe of mascara.

“Don’t want to.”

“I know. I’d like you to, even so.”

The gentleness of Hannibal’s voice is an agony to you. You’ve never hated nor been more drawn to him than you are now, this impossible spirit in the vessel of a man.

Stiffly you turn on your chair, meeting his gaze to find it truly repentant.

“I won’t make love to Alana again,” says Hannibal, and you know as you do the reality of elements that he does not lie. “I see that this triggers your fear of abandonment too greatly. But it might not be possible for me to avoid all romantic advances.

“There are rumours abound as to our arrangement already, and it will seem suspicious if I don’t take a lover. But I’ll do my best to be faithful to our family.”

He pauses, watching you battle to suppress your disgust for him, for yourself, for all things in the bracken of his design.

“For now, I’d like you to relax,” says Hannibal. “This level of distress will make you ill. I’m concerned that it already has.”

Taking you by a hand as clammy as mermaid skin he leads you down to the living room to serve you from a pot of fragrant tea.

Though its calorific value is likely near to air you catastrophize with immediacy, unable to touch the cup, let alone drink.

“I’m not doing it on purpose this time,” you babble. “I’m not, Dad, please, you’ve got to believe me.”

Hannibal raises a hand to caress you— that, and only that, and yet you shrink against the couch in expectancy of a blow.

An appalled look tightens Hannibal’s expression, a hypocrisy of which he seems endlessly capable.

“There, now,” he says. “I can tell the difference between unruliness and genuine struggle. You and I both know that tea is only leaves and water— why do you believe against logic that it will affect your weight?”

“I don’t know,” you say, with a helpless shake of the head. “I feel like if I drink it I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll eat and eat until I’m... big, and then I won’t be able to go back to the way I was. Everyone will see me differently. Treat me like they used to. People can be cruel.”

“And none crueller than you are to yourself,” says Hannibal, and he eases the cup between your hands so that you must take it or scald yourself raw. “There is nothing shameful in having a body of any kind, and any who judge you for that would wear their foolishness like a flag for all to see. Nevertheless, I’ve balanced your weight here, and will continue to do so if that is what’s needed for you to believe in my intentions.”

He aids you to drink, lifting the cup to your mouth over and over until the last drop. From the bitter taste you know it altered by some drug.

For once you do not care.

The night has left you so ashamed of your bearing that you’re half joyful to be done with it, sinking back as euphoria transforms all things that touch you into nirvana.

Your fingers drape across your body in aimless exploration, stopping only as Will enters the room with Hannibal at his side.

The younger man’s eyebrows jump as you giggle and hide your hands behind your back.

“You’re smiling,” says Will. “And I’m not sure how I feel about the circumstances.”

“Our girl is relieved to see you, Will,” says Hannibal. “A familiar face is a balm for even the most taxing day.”

Will looks from you to Hannibal ponderously.

“Alana was here earlier,” he states.

“She was, much to our little one’s chagrin.”

“Do you have to talk about her?” you interrupt, in loose-tongued irritation.

Hannibal chuckles.

“We do not. There are other topics I’d find far more engaging.”

You watch from under heavy lids as the men discuss the Lover’s case in low, library murmurs.

“Tanya Marrow was found washed up by the Patapsco River this morning,” says Will, with a grim regret. “Her wounds were fresh, meaning the Lover only mutilated Tanya and placed her into the doll when he was ready to throw her away. He was content with how closely she resembled the woman he’s desperate to make, for a while.

“But she wasn’t close enough. In the end he had to remind her that she was just a toy to him, and punish her for her lacking.”

The contrast of these dreary horrors with the rainbow light of feeling through your needy cunt should sicken you, but your mind is in disorder, barely one thought akin to the next.

“We’ve made a breakthrough in regards to the dolls,” Will continues. “The well-made ones are expensive; for one person to have so many implies that the Lover is either a wealthy collector, or that he’s able to access them at a considerable discount. Possibly for free.”

“I’m assuming the factory producing these dolls has been identified,” says Hannibal.

Will swallows a mouthful of whiskey.

“There are only four vendors known to produce the style of doll the Lover uses. Jack’s got someone looking into their customers, narrowing down the suspects to buyers in Virginia. Considering how specialised these clients are that shouldn't take long.”

The older man listens with a solemn intensity, scarcely drinking from his own glass.

“I see the Lover almost exactly now,” says Will. “He knows he has to take his bride eventually; he’s circling her, choosing women that are closer and closer to her physical proximity. The next target will be someone she knows.

“It’s a dangerous move, but by now the Lover wants someone that’s stood so close to this woman that he can taste her. Imagine her beneath him when he defiles the inferior victim.”

Fear swims, crocodilian, within you, disturbing your narcotic stupor.

Seeming to sense it, Hannibal says, “Let’s continue this line of conversation later on. I wouldn’t want to give our surrogate daughter bad dreams.”

Will glances at you, watching you fumble idly with the hem of your dress.

“You don’t plan to cast her as our daughter in tonight’s play, do you?” he asks, plainly.

“That would unnecessarily chasten the evening,” says Hannibal. “She’s the woman for whom we are legally responsible, and what we deem fit for her continued health is ours to determine.”

You recline across the couch like an empress, watching the firelight glance shadows across your skin like a garment in a dream. Hannibal slips a hand from your shoulder to your breast, teasing the tiffany lace across your nipple, and the warmth and delicacy of the touch breathes through you a shiver of ermine delight.

Only vaguely do you acknowledge your revulsion, a whisper at a keyhole on the other side of the house.

“What did you give her for her to let you touch her like that?” asks Will, curiously.

His hands play upon the sides of his whiskey glass, and the thought of them upon your thighs or between them drives your lower lip between your teeth with unbeckoned desire.

“I’ve offered her release from her spirited rebellion,” says Hannibal. “Even having promised us fealty, this act she wouldn’t easily endure. I wish for her to experience intimacy unhindered by her mental bounds.”

His fingers glance beneath the neckline of your dress and cross your bare skin as a swan's wing meets the sky, rushing a moan from you more akin to a sob in its juddering resonance.

“Besides,” Hannibal continues, “she’s had a trying afternoon. Her body welcomes this.”

Will’s face, washed honey bronze by firelight, is so neutral that even if you were not high you’d fail to extract the mechanisms of thought behind it.

“We’ve both succeeded in bringing her to climax,” says Hannibal, as his other hand folds your skirt against your pelvis. “But never her consent. Tonight, perhaps we will.”

“In this state she has no real autonomy,” Will argues. “We’re witnessing an illusion.”

Hannibal pauses, his face like that of an antiques dealer slyly unveiling some stolen wares.

“Not exactly,” he says. “Little one: you’ve described me as handsome. Do think that Will is good-looking?”

Your concentration wavers as two digits inscribe an ouroboros in your arousal. The wrongness of it all only enhances the sensation, the thought of being a lovely toy for older men to play with.

Your name on Dr Lecter’s lips recalls his question.

“Yes,” you say. “I— I do.”

You don’t know why you’re honest. Even a child, embarrassed, could lie.

Will smiles, and for a moment there is something almost sweet in his expression.

Then the dark of him slithers behind it again with predatory ease, and he leans forward, knees apart, possessed of a revelation of self-assurance.

This is the self he becomes when challenging Dr Lecter, the arrogant observer of all living things.

“I already knew that,” says Will. “I don’t mind hearing it clarified, though.”

You can’t imagine him ever admitting that you’re beautiful in return. Hannibal would, has done so already in such a succulence of language that your mouth could water with it, but not Will, not in so many words.

All that he will allow thus far is that you are not ugly. Blearily you vow to unwind from him his obsession.

“Puppy love,” says Hannibal, looking into your face with a gentle irony. “You’d like him to touch you, wouldn’t you, little one?”

This you don’t answer, and rather than press you again Hannibal makes you come with three fingers inside you, patient as you cry out and roll your head aside in conflict and delirium.

You cannot decide if he means to reward you for your participation with Will or to humiliate you for that same eagerness. It is bewildering and erotic, this envy they have for one another; to quell it you must kneel to the hierarchy, submissive always to your covetous masters.

“Join us, Will,” says Hannibal, at last.

Briefly you think that he won’t, a scoffing lord, above it all.

Then he crosses the room, sets down his whiskey and kisses you, first your mouth, then your neck, leaving the taste of smoke and almonds wherever his lips meet.

Whimpering, you kick your feet on the couch as each petal of ecstasy comes loose from a branch within you.

Sometimes Will’s teeth push against your flesh, not quite biting; Hannibal, on the other side of your neck, gently does, as though inheriting the expected assault from his would-be lover.

His fingers form a cylinder of delight in you, the pad of his thumb undoing another orgasm in a trio of strokes.

“How gifted we are to receive such delights,” says Hannibal, and as you groan he docks his arousal in your own, filling you so entirely with his cock that you think and feel only the fucking and nothing more, a witless hole.

Will brings your hand to his erection, and there is no uncertainty in that motion, nor in his lips about your breast. His rough tongue, the saliva like a paste jewel on your nipple—

Writhing, panting, you stir through pleasure upon pleasure like the layers of the earth, soft, dark, deep.

Your palm tightens on Will’s cock like a night sea about the lighthouse it yearns to bring down, working him with a knowing purpose. As Hannibal continues his pelvic rolls against you Will draws back, avoiding the early release that your cunning fist would bring.

Not once do the men make contact in a sexual manner with each other, and you don’t understand it, this avoidance of the ultimate lust. Yet perhaps it is that they fuck through you, for when Hannibal achieves his orgasm and moves away Will pushes into you without caution of the other man’s seed still warm in that same place.

He looks up into Hannibal’s eyes as he does it, watching his response as he weaves pleasure from a loom of servile flesh.

But then you make some shapeless sound of need, one hand extended, not quite touching him, and Will's eyes return to you with such intensity that you forget that brief, lost woe.

He mimics Hannibal’s command of your body, hands moving, unrushed, from breast to hip as he opens you further to him. His violence is a mage’s dance, something once done around fire, and charged now through the vessel of a young and studious man.

No wonder, then, that you have neither strength nor will to repel him. You roil, loose-limbed as the dead, only your noise and perspiring response to sensation to evidence your ongoing life.

Hannibal’s arms go loosely around you, holding your head in his lap as Will makes love to you with a brooding fervour. Every touch is like the discovery of a new and indescribable existence, having traversed to some frontier of feeling only sects of pleasure have previously founded.

You know yourself wanted by both men, now, feel it through their mutterings of ecstasy, the unending pressure of mouths and hands upon your skin. They crave your wanting of them in return, lap up your slightest sign of it, tainted as it is by Hannibal’s poison.

Will pours in you his ending, his breath a kiss against your eardrum.

You come again with both men gazing upon you, their faces as close and beautiful together as stringed pearls.

Dimly you fear that they will succeed in their work with you, no matter how fiercely you defy their twofold will.

“Hey,” says the younger man, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Snap out of it. You’re bleeding. Did we hurt you?”

Your first thought is, “yes, of course you did.”

The next, having looked down at the red dart through the milk of semen on your thigh, is the same nip of terror you know from an unexpectedly high number on the scale.

The final cognition—and one almost certainly true—is that this carnival of sex has brought that crimson forth like the incitation of bacchanalian madness.

The shock of it wrings you near dry of the doctor’s drug, a bald winter sobriety.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s my period. I haven’t had one in years.”

[cartierdreamx]

Fire and Desire (18+)

Hey loves! Hope you’re well <3 Just a little fic, I got the idea at 4am LOLLL, it’s my first time writing smut, and angst so I’m so so sorry if it’s bad 😭, but I do hope you guys enjoy, maybe I’ll write a part 2 if you guys enjoy these enough. The fic was also inspired by two songs, Fire and Desire - Drake and Wish You Were Sober - Conan Gray, two different genres of music but I love both songs soooo, which is also one of the reasons why I named the fic “Fire and Desire.” Sorry about the angst in advance hehe. 

If you would like to be apart of a taglist so you know if or when I drop PT2, comment down below too!!

Anyways sit back, relax (well maybe not after reading the angst LOL SORRY), and enjoy the fic!! <3 J 

Pairings: jenna ortega x fem! Reader

Warnings: SMUT (sex, fingering, eating out, dirty talk), ANGST!! 

This fic is STRICTLY 18+, as it involves adult themes, minors DNI, you are responsible for your own social media intake, which includes reading entertainment which this fic falls under, so one last warning- this fic is 18+. Thank you!

~~ 

Her body was my altar where I laid my hands on her sacred space, my body is her holy grail where my oceans is her gift to behold.

If the stars ever aligned for anybody, they aligned for you, for you and Jenna that is. Two naïve women who sought love and lust but could never tell the difference. Jenna was your co-star in a yet to be released romance movie “The Language of Love,” and to your delight, you were each other’s love interest, beforehand, you hate to admit it, but you did have a slight crush on Jenna, I mean, who wouldn’t? You never sought after it though, it was just a silly celebrity crush. Or so you thought, Jenna took a liking to you quickly and the connection you guys developed spread like wildfire, it was like you knew her in another dimension. Of-course, you being you developed feelings, love, or lust? You could never tell the difference, but the stars were aligned for you remember? Jenna felt the same, the only thing is she felt lust, she had an intense desire for you, for your sanction, but most importantly, for your soul. And this intense desire for your soul is why you couldn’t tell if what you guys had was love or lust. Lust. It became lust quick, maybe it was wrong because you wanted more but you had to keep her, you had to have her, and she had to have you. So, you guys did, friends with benefits that is.

 ~~

“Fuck y/n… you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” Jenna breathes, hot, upon your skin.

 She sat on top of your lap; you were seated on the couch, she had control, you were taller and bigger than her, but during sex she had power, a power so strong she made you feel small, she was a goddess, and you were just a worshiper.

 “Y-yes” you panted, you couldn’t take it anymore, you needed her in you. You escape the grasp of her hands that was holding your wrists down beside you and grab a hold of her cheeks pulling her into your taste, she tasted sweet with a hint of salt from the lone sweat that squeezed through gaps onto your tongue, your tongues fighting for power turned into delightful dancing, both organs swaying with each other.

 “Fuck, Jenna, I need you in me.” You pleaded.

“Not that easy, amor, be a good girl and beg, beg for me or I leave.”

 You scoff, looking her up and down, at the same time calling her bluff.

 “Well okay, if that’s what you want.” Jenna kisses your sweaty forehead and hops off your lap, as she starts to walk away you grab her wrist.

“No wait, Jen, please stay.” Staring to beg.

 She walks slowly towards you, enticing you with every step she takes closer. Knowing she wants more, you keep going.

 “Jenna Marie Ortega, I’ve never needed someone so bad, your heat is what I want upon my body, the taste of your tongue is my craving, you run through my mind like a marathon and if anyone could read my mind, they’d think I’m insane, please baby, I need you, I need you inside of me.” You begged.

You begged and she provided.

 “My good girl. Your wish is my command.”

 She sat on top of you once more and spread your legs wide, allowing yourself to welcome her in, you laid soft kisses on her neck as she traced her slender cold digits on your folds, making you whimper.

 “Patience is a virtue, baby.” She states.

 You keep placing soft baby kisses upon her skin, with tracks of your cherry flavoured ChapStick running from her collarbones to the edge of her jawline and your most favourite, her neck. And without warning, she dives in, propelling her ring and middle finger into you with exertion, making you buck your hips and

 “Fuck, Jen, you feel so good.” You praised.

 “Yeah? You like that don’t you, y/n?” She continues, using a come-hither motion, reaching your g-spot every time, with every stroke, your moans grew in decibels. Your ocean lubricates her fingers, making her ease into you even more, your insides pulsate with heat, grasping her as she continues, and for the cherry on top she placed her thumb on your throbbing clit, making you gasp.

 “Mhmh, Buena niña, that’s it, keep moaning, I know you’re close.”

She was right, you were close, your sinuses opened, your muscles tensed preparing for your orgasm.

 “Jenna, oh my God, please, I need to cum, keep going.” You begged.

“That’s my little slut.” She praised. “Say my name, y/n.”

“Jenna, please. Jenna, Fuck.”

“Nope, wrong name.”

“Mommy, fuck, please, let me cum.”

“When I get to 1, hold it in for me, baby. “

“Mommy.” You pleaded.

“5.” She quickens her pace; how could you hold it in till 1?

“4.” She slows down her thumb, making sure to get every angle of your clit, you have to hold it in, you can’t cum before 1.

“3.” She sticks her tongue down your throat, taking her soft organ in.

“2.”

This is it.

“You got this baby, nearly there, say my name, my actual one. 1.”

 Your orgasm crashes into you like a semi-truck, making your legs shake that she bounces up and down.

 “FUCKKK, Jenna, fuck.” You praised and panted at the same time.

 She giggles, and kisses your forehead, slowing down her pace, helping you ride out the high. Once your muscles relax and she hears you gasp for air, she takes her fingers out of you and runs your slick along your jaw and over your mouth, before she places it into her own, licking every bit of you off, but she missed a spot, your mouth. She giggles even more and goes in for a kiss.

 “You were so good, baby.” You praised her more.

“Always for you.”

 She sits next to you and caresses your hand, waiting for both of you to catch your breath so aftercare can take place. But you had other plans. You couldn’t let her have all the fun tonight. So, without warning, you tower over her and grab her neck, each finger found its place around her body part.

 “My turn.” You snicker, she licks her lips and bites it making a soft tut sound, knowing she’ll be in for a ride. Your tongue glides in her mouth, allowing her to take you in, that doesn’t last long as you glide your tongue down her neck, licking her every flavour, slowly making your way down to her abdomen where you spread her legs wide open so your tongue can meet with her clit. You lay your tongue flat on her tongue, making her gasp with delight.

 “Yes, y/n, you feel so good.” She praises you, making your heart beat faster.

 You flick your tongue up, making her jerk with excitement. “Fuck, yes, keep going.” She urges, now her turn to beg, allowing your hunger for her to grow stronger. You feel a warm slick coat your chin.

 “Hmph, you’re wet already? How pathetic.” You tease.

 You continue to suck on her clit, taking her in with fire and desire, with every suck, her moans deepen, her speech stutters, rendering her speechless with every move you make.

 “Shit, baby, I’m close.” She exclaims.

“Already?” You speak with pride.

“Your performance last round had me riled up, but anyways, keep going, don’t stop.”

 You leave her pulsating and wet clit, her being so wet, her juices spread to your tongue. You make your way to her entrance; she welcomes you in by pushing your head closer to her pussy entrance.

 You tease her more, “patience is a virtue.”

 “Baby, please, I’m so close.” She exclaims, while grabbing your hair, the sting hurts so good. You stick your tongue in, going in and out while devouring her juices and folds, sucking with every might you have. She likes it, loves it. Her pulling gets harder and harder, as you go down on her harder and harder.

 “Fuck, yes, right there.”

 And with one final insert, you hook your tongue up, hitting her g-spot.

 “OH MY GOD Y/N, YES, FUCK.”

 You kiss her pussy, helping her ride out the orgasm, as she did you.

 As you both sit up, both of you guys start laughing,

 “hahaha, fuck what a night.”

“I agree, I’m so glad you came over.”

“Always, for you.” You stood up throwing on your sweats, the same ones, Jenna eagerly tore off when the night started, you head towards the kitchen and grab two waters and a few snacks.

 “Here, love, drink and eat up.”

“Thank you, amor.” She reaches out for you, taking you in so your head rests upon her chest, hearing her heart beat with might.

 Your heart matches hers, well to be fair, she has yours, but did you have hers?

 “Jen?”

“Yes, love?”

“You’re so beautiful, you know that.”

She smiles, “I made you cum that good? Haha, you’re beautiful too.” She says back, kissing your forehead.

 “Well, I should probably go, early day tomorrow.” She says to you, while sitting up.

“Wait Jen, why don’t you stay the night?”

“That’s nice of you, love, but you know I can’t”.

“You know,” you start, about to take a very big leap and confess your love to her. “If we were to make us official, we wouldn’t have to hide and sneak around.”

 With an apologetic gaze, she furrows her eyebrows and looks down at her feet.

 “What?” She questions.

“Us, official, no one occupies my heart but you.”

“Y/n… You’re a great friend, and I love you so so so much, but we can’t, I’m sorry.”

 She scrambles for her bag and starts heading towards the door, she turns the handle and as you hear the click, she turns back at you.

 “We’re just sex y/n.”

 ~~

It’s been a week since your unrequited love mishap and not even an ‘I’m sorry from her’, work has been awkward, you’re an actress and so is Jenna, so hiding the way you both truly feel was an ease, feeling the sorrow was another thing, the only contact you and her made was during scenes, however, it didn’t help that you’re each other’s love interests. But lucky for you, it’s Friday, meaning you could wallow in self-pity for the entire weekend, you know you should try to get over her but when the stars aligned for you, how could you get over her?

 That night, after drowning your sorrows in pistachio ice cream a bunch load of gummy candy, chips, and takeout, accompanied by a Twilight marathon. Just before you call it a night, you hear 3 loud knocks, who could be at your door at nearly 2am in the morning? With caution, because you weren’t expecting anyone, when your sight aligns with the peep hole, your heart and stomach drops. Jenna. Confusion takes over you, what was Jenna doing at your apartment at 2am? She didn’t text you either, you see a mixture of rain and sweat on her forehead with loose pieces of hair sticking to her, making you giggle. You open the door.

 “Jenna? What’re you doing here.”

 “Hi, hi.” She says shivering, her arms hugging herself, to keep herself warm, her leather jacket wasn’t doing the job.

 “Oh, yes, sorry, come in, I’ll get you a blanket.”

 She takes a step in and takes off her wet shoes and stumbles her way towards your couch. You on the other hand make your way towards the guest bedroom and grab a spare blanket from the dresser, too occupied to see her stumbling. You make your way towards her and wrap her in the blanket.

 “Jen, are you okay? What’re you doing here?”

 “Hmmm,” she smiles and leans towards your shoulder, “I miss you y/n, baby.” She slurs.

 You scrunch your eyebrows as your realisation sets in, “Jen, are you drunk?”

 “Mhmhm, what a detective you are.”

 “Love, are you okay? How’d you get here?” You raise your concern.

 “Yesssss, duhhhhhh, and UUUUUBERRRRRRR, c’mon baby. I was at the local bar, and the bartender was my therapist, and as each second lingered, the thought of-.” You see her cheeks inflate, that’s not good. You know that sign all too well.

 “Oh! Jen here, let’s get you to the bathroom.”

 “No, I’m fine.” She assures.

 “Okay, fine, but here drink some water and eat something.”

 “You’re too good to me y/n. I don’t deserve you, anyway, the thought of you grew strongerrrrrrrrr.”

 Your heart races, does she know what she’s telling me? You try to brush it off, but your heart grew stronger and the blood in your cheeks rises, making you heat up and your cheeks blush. When you thought she couldn’t make you blush even more, she grabs your face, bringing you an inch away from hers, you can feel her breath and hear her breathing.

 “Y/n, I’m sorry for what I said, I-I was just scared, I love you.”

 With those three words, you were sure your heart stopped.

 “Jen…”

 “Shh don’t speak, just kiss me.”

 “No, baby, I can’t, you’re drunk.”

 “Boooooo, I miss your lips, but like you said, my heart is yours, and yours only, the love I have only speaks your name and the stars aligned for us that day, no soul could compare to yours, the one that fulfills mine.”

 You were silent. So silent, you swear your quickening heart beat filled the room.

 “Y/n, say something, please.”

 “Jen,” you pause, “you don’t mean that, we’re just sex, remember?” You see the light in her eyes sadden, you feel sorry for reminding her, but to be fair, she broke your heart first. “Come here.” You embrace her and provide her with comfort, her scent was heaven, like a vanilla soft serve or freshly baked cookies. She kisses your neck, with her soft plump lips, that alone had you weak in the knees, that alone nearly made you fold, that alone brought your sorrows back knowing she’s drunk and doesn’t mean what she’s saying, it’s just her guilt talking. You keep repeating. You feel her head relax, which means she fell asleep, you giggle, lifting her up and you make your way towards your bedroom, placing her down gently, taking off her jacket and placing your hoodie on her, which was always too big for her. You place a water bottle on the side table and some snacks, in case she got hungry or thirsty, which is a guarantee when drunk. You take a deep breath and take her beauty in, no words could exult her beauty, as you turn away you hear her mumble,

 “Y/n, stay.”

 As much as you want to, you know you can’t, you couldn’t, she wouldn’t remember tonight and she can’t wake up confused in your bed with you right next to her, God, what would she think then?

 “Goodnight, amor, sleep tight.”

 And with that, you leave your room with a heavy heart, you take another deep breath and with that, you pass out on your couch.

 When you woke, you take a second to remember the events of last night, lucky for you, Jenna wasn’t awake yet, so you decide to make some breakfast for the two of you, preparing yourself for any awkwardness that will ensue. You whip up waffles, eggs with spinach, bacon, and some chicken tenders to go with the waffles and a cantaloupe smoothie.

 When Jenna woke, she had a raging headache, no shit, she drank so much last night it could knock a few people out but despite her small stature, she was no light weight. However, there was one feeling that ached her, that was worse than the headache, despair, regret, sorrow, every connotation, she felt it, the smell of sweet cinnamon and savoury bacon calmed her down, knowing it was in your nature to do this for her, it felt like home, maybe this is home, but she shakes the feeling away as embarrassment seeps in. Fuck. What did I do, what am I doing here.

 As you set the food out onto the table she walks out of the room and glances at you with a soft smile.

 “Morning,” she says softly.

 “Morning, Jen, uh, here have some food, and there’s Panadol in the cabinet for your headache, I know you have one.” Taking a soft hit at her.

 She couldn’t help but giggle, she knows you know her too well, and she knows you too well as well, she knows you were watching Twilight despite it not being on when she stumbled into your living room.

 “Uh, look, y/n.”

 That’s not good, last time she said that she was rejecting your love, but either way you brace yourself for what’s about to happen.

 “Thank you for all this, I really do appreciate it, but.”

 “I know.” You cut her off. By now, you don’t know what takes a hold of you, but you don’t stop speaking.

 “We’re just sex, well we were just sex, I don’t know what we are anymore Jen, you haven’t spoken to me this entire week.”

 “Only because you’ve been avoiding me y/n.” She stabs back.

 “And whose fault is that?” Instant regret sets in. You see her eyes water. Fuck.

 “I don’t even know why I came here; it was a mistake.” She exclaims in monotone voice.

 “Well,” you keep going, omg, y/n shut up, before you make this worse. “Let me remind you, you come to me, unannounced, drunk, and a mess, the first time we’ve properly talked in a week, and you pour your heart out, telling me how much you love me and how your love is only meant for me.” You try your hardest to keep the tears in, but Jenna? Tears were rolling down her face.

She sniffles, “yeah, okay, you know what? I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have said those things, I don’t even know why I did, I DIDN’T MEAN IT.” She raises her voice, making your heartstrings snap.

 “What?” You quiver.

 “Yeah, that’s right, I never meant a single thing, my love isn’t yours, I. AM. NOT. YOURS. I never loved you, I was just drunk, nothing I said was the truth, so don’t get your hopes up.”

 Silence.

 “So, now you’re quiet? Pathetic.” She spits. She grabs her jacket and starts heading towards the door, “the stars never aligned for us. It was all in your head, I never loved you, in any way. I just used you, used you for sex, mediocre sex, might I add.”

 “You don’t mean that.” The tears building up, you don’t know how long you can hold it in.

 “Yes, yes, I do. Nothing I said was real, no I love you was. Everything I said was a lie, everything I said last night was an even bigger lie, I just wanted sex and plus I was drunk, did you really think I shared the same feelings?”

 You gulp.

 “You’re pathetic and I’m just a good actress, and apparently an even better one when drunk.” And with that she slams your door shut.

 Your body is filled with so many emotions you can’t even begin to name one, anger, hatred, lust, love, sorrow, despair, regret. But there was one thought clear in your head, even when your heart is collapsing on itself.

Wish you were sober.

~~

@pimpcesskm

[aftgficrec]

Neil & Matt shenanigans?

I gotta wonder if any of these were written from personal experience… -A

previous recs for matt & neil friendship:

Matt & Neil or Matt/Neil* here

Allison & Neil or Matt & Neil** here

Matt & Neil forehead kisses here

‘The Christmas Gift,’ ‘baby, it's cold outside,’ and ‘andreil’s christmas time with dan and matt’ here

‘it's sad but true (how much i miss you)’ here

‘My Best Friend’ here

‘Secrets’ and ‘'ah yes, my shirt will cover this'’ here

‘disarm you with a smile’ here

‘A Form Of Endearment’ here

‘work in progress’ here 

‘I'll Race You There’ here

‘when you are close to me (i shiver)’ here and ‘when you are close to me (the thumping in my chest remix)’ here

‘skylight’ here

‘Clear as Day’ here

‘I Spy’ here

‘Already Taken’ here

‘Bad Apple’ and ‘You are a Fox’ here

‘Scars Like Stars’ here (updated)

‘Someone New’ here

‘I will help you swim’ and ‘Looking in the Mirror Never Felt so Good’ here

‘Wish I Had a River’ here

‘White Hands’ here

‘if i could look past the present’ here

‘I Quit Talking Again, I Know You're Still Listening’ here

‘and when i'm a little unsteady (stay a while with me)’ here

‘Blood Spilled (But None Wasted)’ here

‘Cryptid Serial Killer Witch Man’ and ‘The endless mental math required to simply survive.’ here

‘Sent to Drain’ here

‘Do I want to know if this feeling goes both ways?’ here

‘If You Love Me, Come Clean’ here

‘A Quiet Little Seedling’ here

more shenanigans-y:

*hijinks from Matt & Neil or Matt/Neil: ‘Come Get It Now,’ ‘diet mountain dew,’ ‘tampons’ tumblr fics, ‘Breaking News, the Josten-Boyd Affair,’ ‘do some matt and neil best friend headcanons,’ and ‘a thought.’  here

**M&N hijinks from Allison & Neil or Matt & Neil: ‘chef!andrew trying (and failing) to woo picky eater neil,’ ‘Dare You,’ ‘together…Chapter 22: Too Drunk,’ ‘Matt Boyd and Neil Josten Bromance…,’ and ‘and you’re shining like the brightest stars…’ here

‘I'll be home for Christmas (You can count on me),’ ‘pointless traditions,’ and ‘Merry & Bright’ ch 14, 24 here

‘brosten being dumb and doing stupid shit’ here

‘Mis-Match’ here

‘Perennial’ and ‘Neighbours’ series here

‘Seeing Colors’ here

‘Falling in love in a...Dance Club?,’ ‘Fox magic! Thirty years of virginity can make you a wizard?!’ (updated), and ‘Proper Decorum’ here

‘Spinning Wheels’ and ‘We're A Mess’ here 

‘A Day Out with Dad’ here

‘We Used To Be Friends’ here (completed)

‘The Runaway Game’ here

‘5 times realisation struck Neil & 1 time he acted on it’ here

‘We Can Be Soft’ here

‘Seasons of memory’ here

‘sugar, sugar & everything sugar’ here

‘In the Eye of the Beholder’ and ‘Wait, Neil Has a Boyfriend?’ here

‘call it what you want’ and ‘Andrew scares the waiter’ here

‘12 Ways to Woo a Minyard’ here

‘The Rob Chronicles’ series here

Boys' Night by knoxham [Rated T, 2871 Words, Complete, AFTG Fall Exchange 2020]

Having the evening to themselves, Matt and Neil plan an awesome Boys' Night that consists of movies, a surplus amount of food, and maybe a bit too much alcohol. Everything starts off great, but when they wake up the next morning with no memories, no money, and no eyebrows, they try to retrace their steps to figure out what the hell happened last night and run into a few problems.

tw: alcohol

Neil's Bright Idea by Demi_jos10 [Rated G, 1954 Words, Complete, 2018]

Neil loses his first bet with the Upperclassmen.

I’m sorry, I said Ikea sucks (I just bought a table for 60 bucks) byAcetober (allfortheBoyds) [Rated T, 1715 Words, Complete, 2023]

“Neil,” Matt says once he gets his words back. “Buddy, no. That is an actual crime.” Neil only looks at him in confusion. “It’s just a store,” He argues and Matt does his best not to groan in despair. “It’s not just a store. It’s Ikea. It’s an experience.” or Neil has never been to ikea, Matt takes it upon himself to change that

Lost Cause by Current_hyperfixation07 [Rated T, 7108 Words, Complete, 2024]

The one where Neil Josten faces his toughest challenge yet - finding a date to Senior Prom. Or 5 times the Foxes try to find Neil a date to Prom, and the 1 time he finds a date himself. Neil is oblivious, Andrew is smitten, and the Foxes are trying their hardest to get Neil a prom date by sending him on a series of blind dates. What could go wrong?

a drunk neil josten is an honest neil josten by sam_sational [Rated T, 2574 Words, Complete, 2023]

"You should probably change your pants first, Aaron will stab you if you ruin his reputation at Eden's." After Dan, Renee, and Allison graduate, Matt gets roped into going to Eden's on a Friday night. Neil is more open than usual.

don't be afraid of the beautiful and high mountain by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot) [Rated G, 3194 Words, Complete, 2020, Locked]

Previously recced here

It only took a second for it all to go to shit. One moment, Matt was taking in the spectacular view through the lens of his camera, capturing the way Neil’s hair glowed in the sunlight, and the next, he heard the sound of sliding rock and Neil is gone. Matt and Neil take a day to go hiking and very little of it goes to plan.

tw: serious injury, tw: blood/gore, tw: vomit

2:26 by rather__odd [Not Rated, 1537 Words, Complete, 2023]

Previously recced here

No one expected Neil to be good with kids, least of all Neil. That was before Penelope.

A Real Knock-Out by SensationalSunburst [Rated G, 1377 Words, Complete, 2018]

Matt liked being the guy that people could depend on. So, when Andrew left him on Neil Duty on Eden’s overcrowded dance floor, he took it seriously. Matt had been surprised that’d he’d been invited at all, even more so when he actually accepted, but as a man put a heavy hand on Neil’s shoulder, spinning him around, Matt was glad he came.

tw: implied/referenced racism, tw: attempted noncon

I'll Follow You (into the light) by DeyaAmaya [Rated T, 5576 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange 2018]

Previously recced here

Neil is a paramedic in a rainy city. Andrew will be gone in a few months. And Stuart Hatford just wants Neil to find a date.

tw: homophobia

Neil Josten Builds Himself a Life by tomat0head [Rated T, 9424 Words, Complete, 2021]

Previously recced here

After spending years of his life on the run, then more time under the careful watch of the FBI, Neil is finally free to live on his own and start a new, real life with his best friend and FBI supervisor, Matt, at his side. Along the way, Neil meets a five foot nothing goth wannabe Ikea builder, adopts a cat that is half demon, and makes a group of weird, somewhat annoying friends. This is the story of how one Neil Josten, after years of struggle, finally builds himself a life.

If You Ask Nicely by harvroth [Rated G, 967 Words, Complete, 2016]

"Hey, Matt, why don't you just ask Andrew if you can have a go with his boyfriend?" Dan, seemingly noticing, and not caring where her boyfriend's attention is, startles both Matt who gulps, and turns to look at Dan, blushing, and Neil who also looks up at Dan who is grinning.

Ain't Nobody's Business by jostenminyard (onceuponahundred) [Rated G, 873 Words, Complete, 2016]

Everyone mistakes our close friendship for fliting and an adult went to the director with their concern of our big age difference. For the ultimate BROTP Matt and Neil.

You learn or you die by SagaEllen [Rated T, 1387 Words, Complete, 2021]

Previously recced here

"Listen," He hoped his eyes were determined, maybe a little intimidating, but not threatening - panic won't help them now. "You trust me with that, and I will let you buy me another entire closet with my uncle's blood money." Nicky gaped. "Your uncle's-" He cut himself off with a firm shake of his head. When he met Neil's gaze again his eyes were practically shining and the redhead felt like he was going to regret that promise so very much. In other words: The Monsters plus Dan and Matt go on a trip that ends before it even started. Neil has a skillset.

tw: blood

The Boy Who Hates Movies by 0bsessednerd [Rated M, 11636 Words, Complete, 2024]

Neil didn’t enjoy movies for whatever reason. Maybe he didn’t like how fake they were? Maybe he wasn’t allowed to enjoy something so frivolous? Or maybe he was just insane? Nicky always said it was the last one. Because who didn’t like movies? He hoped this next movie night would be different! He had personally selected the movie and got everyone’s favorite snacks to make this night the best one yet. What could go wrong? ~~~ Five times Neil disliked the movies they watched and one time he loved it.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction

Current Obsession: Matt hightailing it out of the dorm before The Shower Scene fandom fun post by @corvidhours [Tumblr, 2021]

boys will be boys hcs by @triquetrine [Tumblr, 2020]

aka neil josten and matt boyd doing nothing other than being besties.

neil, andrew, matt, and kevin + pro league shenanigans hc by @triquetrine [Tumblr, 2021]

matt’s the first one to go pro (because he graduates first) and he is both extremely excited and extremely nervous

Brosten hcs by @demo-whale [Tumblr, 2024]

Part 1 - Matt carries Neil everywhere they go together Part 2 - Matt and Neil can both speak Spanish 

Matt: Repeat exactly what Andrew said fandom fun post by @chai-and-cherries [Tumblr, 2022]

Neil roasts Matt in the pros hc by @eggscelsior [Tumblr, 2019]

have my jacket fandom fun post by @kevinandthepalmetthoes [Tumblr, 2021]

Art

My fav idiots art by @em-xzm

matt boyd is Not Upset meme by @sizzicus

best mate and help pick out baby supplies art by @gremlinddrawss

Neil & Matt making gains at the gym + beefy Andrew reaction art by @intradaya

0 🦊 given art by @riovgle

“Neil hit Riko” edit by @matthcwboyd

Matt and Neil’s friendship is severely underrated art by @markiehh

Matt resting elbow on Neil’s head and bro hugs art by @cute-electrocute

[fourteentrout]

"The Beholder" Azris Oneshot

Pairing: Azriel/Eris Vanserra

Word Count: 36,304

AO3 link

Description: Azriel and Eris both think the other is beyond gorgeous. The pinnacle of walking, talking perfection, the most attractive faerie to grace Prythian with their presence. After all, they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The only problem is, they spend too much time hating each other to actually do anything about it.

Hello hello Azris nation, guess who just posted his ridiculously long Azris slowburn oneshot that's literally just about how hot Azriel and Eris think the other is?

It's me, and I have the AO3 link and a preview here for your perusal! The fic does venture into some mature territory and does contain eventual smut, but I wasn't really sure what to rate it, so just consider this your warning. You can check it out using the link above or read the preview below!

It was almost ironic, Azriel thought, how easily he fell. Not in love, really. But something close to it. A winged beast somehow prone to tripping into endless depths of desires that could never be fulfilled. He was a spymaster and a torturer, and yet the minute he became fixated on someone, it became this prolonged, festering thing. Like a wound that refused to heal. He was forged to withstand the brutality of war, condemned to thrive in darkness, a being of sharp blades and black shadows. Yet the moment he grew attracted to someone, he felt like it was a physical, ever-burning brand that could be seen by all. A bright beacon of obvious weakness.

He loved his family, of course. He loved Mor in a different way for a very long time. He still wasn't entirely sure where she stood in his heart. But love was something that formed in him over the course of years, centuries. He was not worried about love. It was a diamond at his center, unbreakable, coated in layers upon layers of impenetrable steel. He no longer heard echoes of that incessant mantra pounded into his head for the first eleven years of his life. You are not worthy of having anything to love. 

Now, his love was a well-guarded choice. A distinct investment he made into those he cared about the most. It was simple, and strong, and he had forty nine years of throwing himself against Rhysand's protective wall of magic to prove it. He had hundreds of years of stepping back into the shadows while Mor invited strangers to her bed to prove it. She was…confusing, in that way. But his love for her was not. 

So no, he did not worry about love. This wasn't about love. It was about attraction. Infatuation, being enamored, having desire. A certain kind that went beyond his basic instincts to get carnal relief. 

That was the true weakness, what he felt was on display for everyone to see. That's what he always fell so easily into, wings ablaze the whole way down. The feeling of finding a missing piece of his soul, and the need to make it his own again. Yes, love could come of it. In theory. He supposed that's what happened with Mor. He first desired her like she was a part of himself that he'd lost, or that had been ripped away from him. Then she became one of the few people he allowed himself to love, and he fell into it as gracelessly as he fell into his initial infatuation with her. But his love and desire for her were often inseparable, a blurred mess of too-bright colors that didn't quite fit in with his shadowed life. His love kept him tethered to her, even when she pulled further and further away, even when his desire was almost completely obscured by mere obsession. 

He didn't know how to love anyone else for a very long time after that. 

And then along came Elain Archeron, emerging from her cocoon of bleak listlessness bit by bit every day. Every once in a while, in her fleeting moments of presence, he felt that spark of aching want, of all consuming need. It was small, but it was there. The glimmer of hope that perhaps Mor was not the end for him. That maybe one day he could love someone else the same way. But Elain was still so new to being Fae, still so lost to a world that she had never meant to be thrust into, like a flower waiting for the right time to bloom. So as soon as his hope flickered to life when he felt that desire, it was smothered until there was nothing left but bitter, sinking shame.  

It wasn't as if he'd ever deserve her love in return, anyway. Not from someone so pure as Elain, her skin kissed by dew drops, her fawn-soft eyes seeming to beg for safety. He would never give her what she needed, and she would never give him what he deserved. Not when she couldn't know him, what he was, what he did. She was too pliant, too bendable, and he suspected that she had too much love in her soul for him to take on. But it was never about what he could get in return. It was just always nice, in those fleeting moments of hope, to think that one day he could give that love to someone other than the female who'd been denying it for five hundred years. 

But love was easy to put aside when he was hit with these waves of incessant need. White-hot desire that left him feeling unstable and empty. Something much more urgent than just an itch in need of scratching, but something much less committed and unbreakable than love. With love, he just wanted someone to be there to accept it. With desire, he wanted to take. There was a certain lack of control over it that he particularly despised. Not just the fact that he always felt completely and utterly seen when it happened, but that he couldn't do anything about it...or who it happened with. 

It felt like a cruel trick when he felt that simmering fire of attraction burn along his veins at the meeting of the High Lords, of all places. 

Because who would ever want to desire the person they hated most?

[crypticpuffin]

behold..... the first section of the first chapter of my fic. I got discouraged with it lately but I'm gonna try and keep going with it if I can anyways. read the excerpt below the cut!

Chapter 1

Lambert touched the console nearest to her, allowing the ever-present hum of the ship to vibrate through her space-weary bones. Just the knowledge that they were on their way back home made the feeling somewhat soothing; a promise of safe passage, maybe, or just a reminder that there was nothing to worry about.

She knew she was being ridiculous when she worried about what ifs– she’d always been a worrier, and everyone had always told her to relax, to just let it go. But Joan Lambert had never been very good at letting things go.

Are you scared, little lamb?

“Lambert?”

Upon hearing her crewmate’s voice, she retracted her hand from the console– it was stupid, but something about being alone with someone else (another woman, her brain specified unhelpfully) often made her feel a bit insecure and even nervous. Ellen Ripley was unfortunately no exception. She turned around to face the ship’s third officer, feeling suddenly self-conscious of her appearance. Cryosleep had left her feeling used up and vaguely sick– she was sure that much was evident on her face.

“Yes?” Lambert asked, forcing out the word through the thick buzzing of her thoughts.

If Ripley noticed anything was amiss, thankfully, she didn’t show it.

“Family dinner in five– Dallas’ orders,” she stated simply, but with a little quirk of her lip at the word family. Always that effortless way about her– like other people didn’t scare her. Like nothing scared her.

If Lambert let herself feel it, she might’ve envied her crewmate’s seeming fearlessness; but jealousy was an ugly thing, and besides, Ripley had done nothing to earn any ill will on her part. She was just trying to get by and get home, like all of them. Instead, Lambert let herself feel only a discomfort settle over her skin at the other woman’s words, like an invisible itch she didn’t dare touch.

“Okay, thanks,” she replied, smiling as effortlessly as she could pretend to. She wanted to turn around and drown in her thoughts again, let them pull her under and fill her marrow with that familiar white noise, but Ripley wasn’t leaving. In fact, she was knitting her eyebrows together just slightly; a small tug of concern, maybe, like she’d seen Lambert’s facade for what it was. Shit.

She hated that other women made her feel like this sometimes, especially beautiful women like Ripley– around them, she felt exposed, different. She had transitioned very early in life, but that didn’t mean there weren’t days that that acid doubt didn’t eat away at her, that burning fear that spoke in her mother’s voice and asked her:

Why do you think you could ever fool them?

Most of the time, it was just more static in the incessant din of her head; but sometimes she might have sworn that she could hear that voice as if her mother was standing right behind her, as if her ghost had persisted through the cold vastness of space just to haunt her.

“Are you all right, Lambert?”

She blinked her heavy thoughts away, letting them sink into the pit of her stomach like stones to the sea floor.

“Yeah,” she answered, managing a breathless chuckle as she said it. “I’m fine.” Sensing this might not be enough to dispel her crewmate’s concerns, she went on, “Just still waking up from the cryosleep. Always leaves me kinda disoriented, I guess.”

Ripley nodded with a little smile.

“Yeah, I can’t say I don’t feel the same,” she agrees, and Lambert thinks she can see a small light in her dark eyes, as if she was enjoying the conversation. She doesn’t know what to make of that. “If it helps, Brett managed to throw up afterwards.”

That got an almost involuntary laugh out of her. “Why do you think that would make me feel better?”

She shrugged, but her smile hadn’t faded in the slightest. “I mean, it’s just kind of impressive. After all that time, what did he even have to throw up?”

Lambert’s mouth fell open before a few incredulous, but genuine notes of laughter tumbled out of it. “You’re disgusting, oh my god. Why would you even talk about that?”

Ripley’s smile turned into something more sly, but no less warm.

“I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to make you laugh.”

Lambert almost choked on thin air. What?

Before she could even attempt to formulate a response to that, Ripley was already flashing her an almost professional smile– almost, because it didn’t reach the amused warmth in her eyes at all– and turning to make her way over to the mess hall, where the others were probably waiting. 

As Lambert watched her go, she began to notice that the buzzing in her head had subsided; in its place, she could feel a soft humming, vibrating through her whole body, seeping through her skin and swirling in her ears like music sometimes did.

She didn’t know how to put a name to the sensation… but maybe, if she was brave enough, she could find out.

[alistair-blackwood]

Bloodweave Fic Recs (01/05/24)

Check out my other fic recs here and here!

Congrats to Bloodweave nation for 1k fics on AO3, ya'll are truly hopped up on whatever's going on with those hungry weirdos and that's just beautiful

||

When You Wish Upon a Star by Greenegem (G, 800+ w || Tooth-Rotting Fluff) Just a man in love wishing upon the brightest star of his universe.

Five Stars by Viela (T, 700+ w || Modern AU) “A more suspicious man might think you’re dating me for my Uber rating.”

cursed by aevallare (T, 1k+ w || Soulmates, Scars) When Gale Dekarios was born, there were whispers that he was cursed.

To Behold, To Be Held by illithiddies (T, 3k+ w || Established Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence) Astarion shuts his eyes as his vision suddenly becomes doubled by Gale’s, the image overlaid and blurred into his own until the two are almost indecipherable. But shutting his eyes only clarifies the vision he receives from Gale: Himself, shirtless and bloodied, standing before a kneeling and defeated Cazador.

Self-Preservation and Other Cheap Façades by bloodweaving (shipwreckblue) (T, 3k+ w || Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting) During a bout of illness, Gale discovers that while Astarion may not have strong caretaking instincts, he does have experience.

To Hide it All Away by Greenegem (T, 5k+ w || Pre-Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm) Gale had been a series of puzzles Astarion couldn’t seem to solve from the start and he hated him for it. The first was a blight hidden behind a mouthwatering scent. The second, a hunger that sought to rival even his own. But it was the last one that most intrigued him. The perplexing choice of ornamentation on an otherwise clean slate.

In Due Time by illithiddies (M, 7k+ w WIP || Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Campaign Setting: Waterdeep: Dungeon of the Mad Mage, Angst With a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn) Within the heart of Waterdeep, the legend of the Undermountain and its many dangers looms larger than life. Adventurers come for miles to partake in the garish ritual of lowering themselves into the dungeon below to see what riches they can find. What monsters they can best. It’s hardly an unfamiliar setting for Astarion. The overabundance of cocksure heroes makes it a prime location to find marks to lure back to Cazador. He watches the newest adventuring party disappear into the well. Out of the inn. Out of Waterdeep. A vampire spawn would hardly be missed among that crowd, no?

taste, and be consumed by TheEarlGreyAlpha (E, 2k+ w || Blood Drinking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Somnophilia) It was true that Gale had warned him, said his blood tasted awful. But caution had no meaning to Astarion, the immortal cat killed by its own curiosity again and again and again. What was one more life, in the name of discovery?

Home for the Holidays by troutsoup (E, 3k+ w || Established Relationship, Inappropriate Use of Mage Hand Spell and Hold Person Spell, Soft Dom Gale) After his first time accompanying Gale to a reunion of the enormous and overwhelming Dekarios family, Astarion is rewarded. Sort of.

Perfect Bound by positivejam (E, 4k+ w || Blood Drinking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Frottage, Wizard Hubris But Sexy) “Trapped? Oh, but that can’t be it," Astarion says, mouth dropping open as if he’s just noticed the binds. “I seem to recall you saying you had everything quite in hand.”

divine favor by Sinister_Queer (E, 5k+ w || Vampire Ascendant Astarion, God of Ambition Gale, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships) A century and a half after his Ascension, only one person left remembers Astarion as he was before. A century and a half after his Ascension, only one person left remembers Gale Dekarios. (or: The Vampire Ascendant summons the God of Ambition for a favor.)

You Into Me by ZiGraves (E, 7k+ w || Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Use of Tadpole Powers, Masturbation) Gale can shape pockets of safety amongst his spells of destruction, yes. But he needs to know where his allies are to be able to protect them, and Astarion makes it his business not to be seen. A solution must be found.

En Prise by positivejam (E, 32k+ w WIP || Blood Drinking, Oral Fixation, D/s) It’s not often Astarion sees his own hunger reflected in another’s eyes. And so yearning for a look in the mirror, he can't help but stare. With two discerning appetites, a deal to keep each other fed is the one thing that ties him to the vexing little mage. But then the proverbial collar slips all too easily around Gale's throat, the lead feels right in Astarion's unchained hands, and both men think they've bested the other in a game neither should be playing. In any case. As the greats say in lanceboard: there is no shame in losing to a stronger foe.

[vitentia]

SAY YES TO HEAVEN .lıllıl.

pairings ━━ rockstar!ellie williams x artist!girlfriend!reader (no physical descriptions used but female pronouns are used)

warnings ━━ little bit of teasing but sfw, teeth rotting fluff

synopsis ━━ you and Ellie came from entirely different worlds. she was all about the limelight, you preferred pen names, she lived for the burns and cramps on her fingers after a long show, while you preferred the satisfaction of finishing a strenuous piece of work. but when Ellie wakes up to find you taking a page from her book, everything makes sense again.

authors note ━━ i needed more fun ellie fics without the smut so I decided to write it myself in case anyone feels the same lol.

Wow.

Ellie’s friends often joke about her beings whipped but, fuck, she’d never felt it until now. Watching your eyes dart back and forth between her position and your canvas was truly a sight to behold. To be honest, she didn’t quite know what was going on when her eyes fluttered open with a blue tinted light casted over the room.

She’d assumed herself dead and was quite comfortable with the heaven she was casted upon, not that she though she’d be in heaven in the first but, hey.

At first, she took a sharp inhale and sat up abruptly, looking around like a madman before your frantic hands waved her down.

“No, no, no, no! Don’t move!” You stood up from your seat across from the couch she was napping on and pushed her on her back.

“Damn, woman! Let me wake up first.” She joked, squinting her eyes as you pushed and prodded at her face to position it just right.

Once you were happy with the pose, you skipped back over to your spot and began dipping your brush into the watercolor paint.

She smiled to herself, “Are you drawing me while I sleep, Mr. Goldberg?”

You gave her a pointed look and continued your simple strokes. “It was golden hour and you looked so calm, sue me.”

“Does this mean I can go back to sleep?”

“No.”

Ellie clicked her teeth but remained still, her eyes tracing over your…everything for the entirety of the time she was laying there. Silence remained a safety blanket over the both of you and, for once, her ears stopped ringing.

“I thought you were in a art slump, what happened?”

You sighed with a shy smile. “You happened.”

“Aww babe-“ she cooed, sitting up on her elbows until you fully moved out from behind the canvas.

“Don’t!-“

“Sorry!” Ellie apologized, immediately going back to her position. Once she was comfortable she gave you a smile. “Better?”

Giving her the “I see you” gesture, you slid back on your chair and switched brushes. “I thought about what you said.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Wh…what did I say?”

“The…the fight we had last week, it had me thinking.” Ellie sucked in a breath, ready to interrupt. “Don’t speak until I’m done, Ellie Williams.” She shut her mouth. “You’re right, I am too…obsessive with my art. Honestly, I think I was so defensive because it’s true. I don’t take risks with my art, I don’t branch out, and when I don’t feel like it’s good I just self implode and hate it and myself. But you’re…not.”

“Well-“

“You’re so confident about everything you do. When you fail or mess up you just…laugh? It blows me away every time. You blow me away, Ellie.” You sighed and put down your brush. “When I came out of the shower and saw you asleep on the couch with the light hitting your face just right, you looked so serene I decided to take a page out of your book. Hence the watercolor.”

When you didn’t speak again, Ellie assumed she could speak now. “Does that mean I can move now?”

You chuckled lightly and stood up, holding your hand out for hers. She took it happily and immediately walked over to the canvas.

“Hang on, I’m not-“ Cut off by Ellie’s gasp, you assumed the worst and cringed, fiddling with your hands.

“Is that what I look like?!” Ellie exclaimed. From her hunched over position, she looked up at you with a childlike wonder in her eyes. “Hell, no wonder your so in love with me. Look at me!”

You gave her a playful glare as she stood to her full height and put her hands on her hips, proudly looking at her work. Ellie smiled widely at you and yanked you into her arms, fully encapsulating you in her entire being as she squeezed away all doubts and fears you still held.

“God, I’m so proud of you. I know it’s not easy for you to let loose but the fact that you did this just for me is unbelievable.” You cuddled into her hug, trying hiding your embarrassment from her eyes until she abruptly pulled away and gripped your cheeks with one hand and staring deeply into your eyes. “I will marry you, you know that?”

You tried to smile but were prevented from that when she pulled you into a kiss, and then another one, and another one, and another one, and-

“Okay, okay, okay! I get it.” You laughed, pulling away from a breath.

Still holding your cheeks, Ellie pulled away with a geeky smile. “We should have kids.”

You gave her a confused look.

“Forget the logistics of it. I just want another you. Forever and ever.” She waved away your confused and turned into laughter, pulling you into another hug.

“Now who’s obsessed, Mrs. Goldberg?”

[dootznbootz]

Hey you might’ve said something on this before, what are your thoughts on Odysseus staying on circes Island for a whole year?

Behold! What I consider to be my greatest achievement!

(It's in my bio but I'll make it bigger. I need this to be seen lol)

If you mean for fic stuff, that's something different lol

The Odyssey only explicitly says that Circe and Odysseus have sex only ONCE. That's what I'm going with. There's a reason why she only wants him once and it's not because of him. To not spoil, she basically sees mortals as really gross but extremely fascinated and endeared to them.

She's huge into studying the behaviors of animals and humans. Honestly that whole "gain trust" was just a ploy as she heard from Hermes about his weird great grandson "who only craves one drink" (AKA Water Wife) and she wants to "Study" him. He's also a fucking pretty boy lol

There's more to it but I gotta keep some secrets.

She takes on the form of Penelope when she realizes her "subject of study" isn't applying himself to her "experiment". (not gonna write out how she takes on the form because it's long but know she does)

Once Odysseus wakes up, he realizes that wasn't "his Penelope" at all and is basically shellshocked until his men get turned back and he just breaks down.

After that he absolutely avoids her. at least avoids being one on one with her. He's terrified of her. He doesn't want that to happen again.

She's intrigued by his behavior not only because of how he treated "Penelope" but also "why are you scared of me? What did I do?"

Idk Snippet:

"My lady, are you not going to help him?" "He didn't ask me so I shall not do anything. If he wants something he needs to ask." Circe looked down on the water, into the light rippling upon it. Helios' child privilege She watched as he ran off into a nook of the room where the men all slept, frantically pulling off his tunic. He felt around his shoulder where she had just touched him, patting at it as though he was looking for a wound. (she did not grab too hard, did she?) He breathed hard, both hands reaching up to clutch the opposite shoulder as he bent forward and shook some more. Circe tilted her head. "I've never seen a man act like this before… I mean he knows I will not harm him. Why does he avoid me?"

Yes, he still dances and feasts with his men but he has nightmares about "wrong Penelope" and also is just walking on eggshells all the time.

When his men finally ask him to leave, he also definitely does but...He wants to go on his own to see her. He doesn't want to have another "exchange" in order to leave. He'll walk to Circe's door, freeze, only to turn around and be like "I'll wait until she's in a good mood."

Eventually Polites and Eurylochus find out he hasn't even TRIED to ask her and get frustrated and while they're understanding, they're also fed up.

For Circe, it's like a comparison of idk, watching a little hamster in a hamster cage and the hamster is terrified of you. Anytime you open the door and reach your hand in (aka try to talk to him), he freezes and lets you pet him a little but scared out of his little mind. You wanna see if he wants to come to the door but nope, he just runs away from you. As soon as she closes the cage after petting him, little dude goes to hide and cry in his little plastic dome lol. Circe's also observing him the entire time and studying him in a way.

She's also very much doing a "fine. I won't do anything unless you ASK. Where's the bravery you are so well-known for, Sacker of Troy?"

I wanna play with the idea of his guilt and shame in how it wasn't like Calypso where he literally couldn't move and became her doll essentially. He still consented to Circe but wasn't enthusiastic until she was "Penelope". And he should've known it was all wrong. but magic and herbs muddles the mind.

He has more trauma from Calypso clearly but so much shame from Circe. He also constantly wants to make sure Penelope is the REAL Penelope when he comes home. asking her specific questions and stuff.

Another half-assed Snippet of wip:

“And because of how you treated he-me,” Penelope corrected, stroking his cheek. “Because of how you treated me, she turned our men back to humans?” He nodded blankly, his beard rubbing against her legs with the motion.  His face twisted up as a sob wrenched out. “It was never for her!” Penelope kept her hand still against his cheek. She blinked back her own tears. “Odysseus, you didn’t know. She took-” “I still gave!” “To me!” Penelope cried.  Odysseus blinked and lifted his head to look at her. “You thought you were with me. You gave to me.” Penelope took a deep and shaky breath, and held his gaze. “Odysseus, the Sorceress had to appear as me to even get you to do as she wished. Not only that but addled your mind with whatever that... dust was, yes?”  She traced along the beautiful silver hairs that rested on his temples, watching as his thoughts raced just underneath. She guided his gaze back to herself. “She used your adoration for me against you. Are you ashamed of how you feel for me?”

I want to make it clear that while what Circe did is bad, it's not what happened to Calypso. It's very fucking clear that he does not love Circe or "just wanted to get laid until his men spoke up." but she's morally gray in her own way.

[newtabfics]

To Tame A King. Rauru x Fem!Reader NSFT Fic

Summary: In which Y/N, queen of Hyrule, goes to retrieve her beloved king from his hunt in The Grove of Spirits as a storm looms over the plateau. Here guards have reported strange noises during the king's private hunts. What really happens when the queen goes in?

Triggers: It's snoo-snoo. Snoo-snoo happens when she goes in, guys. Badoinking. the horizontal tango. The frick-frack. Taking a trip to pound town. Fucking a baby into her--Okay I'm done😂

Word count: <1500

Thank you to every one of you that has joined me on this little journey. It really has kept me going and to know that people actually like my writing is bonkers to me. So, thank you, for everything.

Enjoy, you filthy animals <3

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Her eyes glanced to the outside world, catching the oncoming storm. With a sigh, she stood and began to make her way through the palace. She didn't bother to check the throne room for him, only peeking her head in the study to see little Zelda and Mineru.

"There's a storm coming in. I'm going to go get him," She said simply, making Mineru frown as the young Hylian blinked. "Please make sure she stays safe?"

"I will. Are you sure though?" Mineru asked worriedly.

"I'm sure. Oh, don't worry, Zelda. Rauru…well…" She looked to Mineru. "How would you put it?"

Mineru smiled, looking at Zelda. "He's much more Zonai than I am. As a result, he does have more animal instincts than I do. He needs to go out and let them wild for a while so he can recenter his mind. The Grove of Spirits is perfect for that. Most people won't think to be near it, especially with how intense the storms can get out there."

"Fascinating. Could I–"

"No," Mineru said as Y/N said, "Absolutely not."

Y/N smiled sweetly. "It's not that he would harm you on purpose, but it's risky if he's too deep in his state."

"Which is why it's best for Y/N to go. She's skilled in managing it, but also, their bond allows for him to find her scent and follow it back to sanity," Mineru clarified.

"I see. In that case, please be careful. The storms are still rather intense, even in my era."

She smiled at that. "I will be. You know I've got the power," she joked before nodding. "I'll be back by morning."

No one ever knew how the Queen of Hyrule did it. How she managed to tame such a wild king. It was luck, she said. He would say it was fate.

She made her way to the grove, nodding to the guards and constructs along the way. The guards at the gateway straightened upon seeing her. "Your Highness," They greeted.

"At ease. Has he been in here then?" she asked, staring into the trees.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the one on her left said. "We've been hearing strange howls from within. Should we–"

She smiled and shook her head. "No, it's alright. It's all part of the process," she assured them. Hylians barely understood the Zonai people, regarding them all as gods. She was once among them, she admitted to herself. Though she had learned they were beasts in mortal form quickly.

"The storm is coming in soon. You two should go ahead and take shelter in the guardhouse."

"Your Highness?" the one on her right asked, earning a sweet smile from the queen before she went into the woods. "Should we really leave her alone?" He asked his comrade worriedly.

"Have faith in our queen," He chuckled, leading him to the guard house. "She wouldn't have said it if she didn't have full confidence in her own safety."

Y/N smiled at their fading voices as she made her way into the woods. Once she was deep enough, she sat on a fallen tree and simply waited. She let the breeze of the humid air grace over her as she breathed in deeply the trees and rain that began to pitter down.

She was a sight to behold, as Rauru often told her. Queen Y/N looked at ease among the trees, finding herself breathing in the cooling air and letting the breeze brush aside her hair as the rain dampened her white dress.

Once, Y/N had joked to him that she looked like a virgin sacrifice sent to appease the gods. Rauru had looked to her that time with a feral grin and said, "You certainly weren't by the time I was done with you."

She scolded him for the crude jokes, but it felt correct all the same.

Here she was like a maiden being sent to the beast. Only she was always a willing sacrifice to tame him.

"I know you're there," she sang almost tauntingly into the trees.

She could sense the eyes on her. She could practically feel the heat of his gaze as he watched from the trees, taking in her scent behind her. She knew she was downwind.

"You know, I am nearing my own cycle. It'd be a shame if someone were to plunge his heir into my womb." This earned a snarling growl as she stood, adjusting her dress. "Though, only those worthy enough could do that."

With that taunt, she bolted through the trees. Her heart hammered excitedly as she heard him moving quickly behind her, catching up fast. She knew escape was never an option, especially when he was like this.

It was why she giggled when he suddenly pinned her to the ground. She didn't mind the dirt scratching against the side of her face as her husband rutted against her rear before shoving up her dress. He kept her in place, holding her down with his foot as he readjusted his face behind her.

A long lick up her folds made her moan lowly, biting her lip as the tongue worked her up even more than she already was. The rain began to come down hard as if attempting to cool their heated skin as he began to eat her out.

Y/N let out soft moans and mewls, only adjusting so her chest wasn't uncomfortably twisted under him as he kept her in place. A snarl ripped from him upon her movement but she paid it no mind. He could snarl threats all he wanted, she was his and she was uncomfortable.

She almost taunted him for his snarl when he moved away from her, making her whine before she felt the tip slide against her. There was only a brief pause before it slammed into her desperately.

"Yes!" She moaned loudly, arching up as he adjusted, his hands on her hips as he began to thrust rapidly.

Y/N couldn't help the yelp of a moan when he pumped into her. She adjusted her legs, spreading herself over his thighs and biting her lip as his cock buried into her. His knot was so swollen from his neediness as it pressed against her puffy lips.

She moved so her back was against his chest, looking down to watch his balls stretch up to slap her clit as the Zonai continued to pump into her. Her hand reached back and tangled into his hair and she tugged as she moaned her pleasure, letting him ravish her body as he quickly yanked down the front of her dress.

The whole thing was bunched around her waistline as he cupped her breasts now, gripping and tugging at them like an animal trying to pluck fruit from a tree. She remarked once on how aggressive he was with them, to which he promised to massage them to make her milk pour out for him to taste.

She remembered how he latched on when their child wasn't already attached to her breast. How he drank deeply and made her moan loudly, as though she were feeding him instead! Though it didn't change how good his mouth made her feel.

"Rauru," She moaned, letting her head fall against his shoulder. She whimpered and reached down with her freehand, rubbing at her clit as the dirt beneath her knees soaked with both rain and her juices as he pumped rapidly into her.

It was as she clenched down on him, teetering near the edge, that Rauru's head began to clear. He smirked and reached up, gripping her throat now as he kissed at the shell of her ear. "My queen," He moaned before slamming hard into her.

Y/N let out a cry of pleasure as he pushed her over the edge, her juices slicking him almost entirely as he gripped her shoulder and shoved her down.

With a snarl, Rauru began to rut into her, looking down to watch her soaking his cock still and taking almost every inch.

Finally, he slammed into her, shoving his swollen knot in. He moaned as she took him easily, rolling his hips as his seed began to spill into her.

Y/N whined and moaned lewdly before she rocked back, impaling herself against him and milking him for every drop. A smile graced her lips as she looked over her shoulder at him.

"C'mon, my king. I know you can do more than just that."

Rauru grunted and hummed before gripping at her hair, tugging it roughly. "You sure you want that? Might have to make a second child in you then."

"You might," She hummed happily, rocking her hips before jolting when a rather loud crack of thunder echoed around them. "We should dip into that nearby cave once your knot reduces."