#Blades and Beasts ; IC

[nekoashiii]

How’d Dragon sylus react to us being sick?

Pairings: Dragon!Sylus x Reader

Notes: I actually did not expect yall to eat dragon sylus up but here you go.

Click here for my Masterlist

The night the storm came showed that it was no weak, brief storm. It tore through the thick trees scattered across Sylus’s forest with violent howls, shaking the mountains, caves and flooding the valley paths. Sylus had gone out that night, scouring the woods for dry firewood and hunting to feed you. He had told you to stay in the den, the one lined with soft pelts and dragon-warmed stones—but the winds rattled the entrance, and rainwater slipped in through cracks in the cave mouth. You’d tried to keep the fire going, shivering despite your efforts. When Sylus returned, drenched and wild-eyed, you were already curled up in a thick blanket, coughing faintly and sniffling.

Sylus was not a beast who feared much. Not man nor beast nor blade. But the sound of your cough? The paleness of your face? Those sniffles? That made his blood turn to ice. His claws, still wet from the storm, shook as he reached for you. His nostrils flared as he inhaled—too warm. Your body radiated heat, not the kind he loved and purred for in his sleep, but the kind that screamed of fever. His pupils dilated into slits as he stared down at you, a soft rumble building in his throat, protective, panicked.

Sylus wasted no time. The moment he realized you were ill, he sealed the cave with massive boulders from the outside. leaving only a small space for airflow and for him to squeeze through, No more wind. No more water. The den became a fortress. He reinforced it with clawed Fingers and scorching dragonfire. He even wove layers of thick leaves, moss, and hides over the opening to keep the storm’s icy breath away from your fragile human body.

He refused to leave your side. Not even for a minute. Whenever you coughed, his tail curled around you, trying to wrap you in his warmth. When you whimpered in your sleep, he huffed at the shadows. He didn’t sleep, His glowing red eyes stayed locked on you all night, unmoving, his breath shallow as he counted every rise and fall of your chest. Every time your fever spiked, he let out an anguished, low snarl, pressing his forehead to yours as if he could draw the sickness out of you and into himself.

The moment your fever drops, even a little, Sylus melts. You wake up to his heavy head resting against your stomach, wings tucked in and relaxed for once, breath even and calm. He still watches you, but the panic is gone—replaced by exhausted relief. He touches your face gently, claws careful not to scratch. “Better,” he rumbles. “You smell like you again.”

Once you’re well enough to sit up, Sylus becomes twice as clingy. He insists on carrying you to the nearby hot spring he guards in his free-of-humans territory, letting the mineral-rich water soak your muscles. He refuses to let you lift a single rock, fetch a single log, or even touch the cold floor barefoot. He builds a second fire beside the first. Reinforces the den with even more heat-holding stone. Stockpiles on plants that smell like herbs. every time the sky darkens or the wind howls, his body stiffens and he pulls you closer, whispering, “Not again.”

[pseudowho]

Nanami Kento was not a father; not strictly speaking. Not technically speaking. Not metaphorically speaking. The absence of paternity, however, did nothing to eschew him of the shackles he wore with pride, wearing them as a mantle; a medal of honour.

For one with such a black hole in his life, Itadori Yuuji would not notice Kento's absence unless something took Kento away from him, so natural was it that the void was filled.

Nanami Kento's priorities altered so dramatically, with such quiet consideration, that he had no real words to explain his situation to you when he first took you out for dinner. Or, when he took you out to the beach. Or, when you took him to that art gallery. Or, when you came over to his, tumbling through the door into stumbling kisses, all hands and groans and desperation.

For Nanami Kento was not a father. He ensured that his relationship with Yuuji did not overlap with his relationship with you, fearful that you would reject the burden of not-parenthood.

Kento was so introspective in his attempts to hide his not-parenthood, that he failed to see how blatantly-fucking-obvious he was. As if you wouldn't notice that dinner was always made for three, with a portion put aside or frozen for a hungry visitor. As if you wouldn't notice that Kento browsed the teenage boy sections in clothes stores, making note of what he would come back for later. As if you had not seen Kento listed as "I.C.E." on Yuuji's phone screen at school one day.

As if you were not a mother. As if you were not fully prepared to be.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento was stalking through the belly of the beast when he spotted two missed calls; one from Yuuji, and one from Shoko. His heart leapt into his mouth, his blade hanging dumbly by his side as he cursed internally at his lack of signal. Torn by conflicting responsibilities, he focused on the task at hand, but as a noticeably sloppier Sorcerer when worry gnawed at the bones of him.

An hour later, finally free, he jogged to his car, panting. He slipped into his seat, and called Yuuji-- no answer. He called Shoko-- no answer. He swore again, hurrying to start the car...and his phone buzzed.

He looked at the screen, and opened a message from you. He sat, staring at it, a cold trickle of worry down his spine. A photo; of Yuuji's characteristic shoes, beside your own, with the caption:

Picked up a wounded stray. He looks hungry. We'll be at yours soon!

Kento churned through emotions, trying to read your tone on the screen. Angry? Cheerful? Exasperated? Would you want to talk about his deceit later? Technically he hadn't lied. Or, he had. A lie by omission perhaps? She's angry. She's disappointed at least. Is that worse? That's worse.

Kento stewed, the whole drive home.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento continued to stew, when he arrived home to an empty house. He paced, and sat, and paced, and sat. He cursed himself for not maintaining tighter boundaries between Nanami-Kento-the-Boyfriend and Nanami-Kento-the-Not-Father. So deep was he in his self-flagellation, he jolted to hear the door open, and two familiar peals of laughter rolling through.

"--Ieiri-san told me I should have waited for Ino to arrive, but I just had to do something, y'know--"

"--not jump through a damn window, Yuuji, that's excessive--"

"--not stupid if it worked though--"

"--as your Not-Mother, I cannot condone this."

Kento stood, watching the scene unfold in wonder. You and Yuuji, bantering. You reaching for the grocery bags, and Yuuji insisting he carry them instead. You directing Yuuji to the bag with the snacks. Yuuji totally bypassing Kento, jogging past him to the kitchen.

As if this was his home. As if Kento was his home. As if you were his home.

Kento was still stunned into silence when you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

"Hey! Sorry we're late. Yuuji was hurt on a mission, so I picked him up, but I wanted to get ice cream, and I noticed we didn't have enough in for dinner for three, and--"

Your words cut off with a muffled "mmf!" as Kento leaned down, pulling you in by the back of the neck, and small of your back, silencing you with a kiss which tasted of all the gratitude for which he had no words. By the time he'd released your lips, his forehead pressed to yours, you felt the air rush back to the vacuum he'd left behind.

"...Kento, are you oka--"

"I love you."

The air rushed straight back out of you, leaving you light and giddy. Your lips puckered, threatening tears, so long had you been wondering if he'd ever confess the depths of his feelings.

"...you love me?"

"I love you. I love you. I absolutely love you. And I'm sorry I didn't--..."

"...didn't think I'd be happy with you looking after a boy with no parents, who needs some?"

You let your question hang, so Kento could soak in how much of a fool he'd been. He sighed, tense and looking over at Yuuji rustling through grocery bags in the kitchen.

"...I didn't want to assume that you'd accept it."

"Would you choose someone like that, though?" Kento looked unsure, and you clarified. "I mean, would you choose someone who felt jealous of you looking after an orphaned child?"

Kento's gears turned. "...no."

You smiled up at him, cupping his cheek in your palm. "Exactly. So, like I was saying...I put fresh sheets in his room. I'll go and make dinner. Yuuji will pick a movie. And you should have a word with him about jumping through plate glass windows to get to a Curse faster."

At that, Kento's head snapped up, fixing Yuuji with a frown that had Yuuji dropping bags of snacks on the floor.

"Yuuji."

"Shit, I'm sorry Nanamin, I--"

"Language."

"Shit, I'm sorry Nanami-san, I--"

You headed to the kitchen, pulling on an apron and stifling laughter at the Not-Father and Not-Son bickering in your wake.

[demon-blood-youths]

"Ladies and genltemen! Yuji has Hayato went into his beast mode, his Kamaitachi mode! How would Yuji survive this?!"

---

Oda members are going wild now seeing Hayato transform. Yuji is so dead now. "That guy is screwed once Hayato gets into Kamaitachi mode!" Laughed an Oda member.

"Yeah, Hayato-sama! Show that asshole what you made of!!" Said a second.

"That's Hayato's beast form. He calls it the Kamaitachi." She told Miko. Yuria sees that form before when she was held hostage by Iku and was used to force Taz into surrender. Yuria couldn't forgive herself.

When Taz hears how Megumi and Kisho beat him, Maki nods. "Damn... Kisho got any ideas on how Yuji defeats him?"

"I do. But it's going to be tough." Said Kisho watching the screen.

----

"Ha?! What? You're not scared of me?" Hayato grins, showing his fangs. He points at Yuji with a curved claw. "You know? This form scares a lot of humans. They shit themselves." He laughs. "You should be grateful that I have to use this form against you!"

There it is! Kisho knew that Hayato was going to transform sooner or later. On the screen, Hayato's hair grew out along with hair on his skin where he grew fangs and claws became long. He becomes bigger than Yuji as he grows a long tail. Eyes shut now open, revealing red.

Kisho begins to realize that this is the first time that Yuji sees Hayato in his other form since Sukuna switched with Yuji when fighting Iku. This includes Gojo since Hayato transformed back when he was unconscious. He told them what Hayato looks like in beast form with words so this is the first time.

"This is the second time I ever transformed into this against a human!" He hissed, swishing his tail back and forth.

Maki grips her arms as Yuria shakes a bit. This is the third time she has seen it. She almost forgot that Taz faced Hayato in this form and those long claws of his.

"Those claws..." Maki begins, "Those are the ones that tear into her uniform." Maki thinks about Taz's uniform which it has tears and some bloodstains. "How did you two defeat that guy again?" Maki asked Megumi and Kisho.

[ddarker-dreams]

A Fool's Errand.

Yan Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, imbalanced power dynamics, alcohol mention/consumption, not SFW implications. Word count: 2.1k.

“Now that’s a scary look.” 

Ice cubes clink together as you stir your drink, feigning an air of indifference. The warm pinks swirl in a hypnotizing display. Golden flecks catch the room’s sparse lighting, shimmering within the miniature whirlpool. 

You return your focus to the reflection in your pocket mirror. 

The countenance that greets you is both familiar and foreign. Color is infused into your lips, brushed along your cheeks, and blended atop your eyelids. It’d been a while since you had applied makeup, but the muscle memory kicked in eventually. After some touch-ups, you found the results satisfactory. From this vantage point, you can admire your décolleté, complemented by a dainty choker with a butterfly charm. 

You can also see a pair of eyes staring back at you. 

You clasp the mirror shut, wishing the shadowy apparition would disappear.

Instead, it creeps closer, footsteps echoing throughout the empty room. 

You sip your concoction. It’s tart, with a splash of sweetness that soon fades into a bitter aftertaste. A hazy warmth swaddles your mind in a tight embrace. 

Blade materializes beside you like a phantom coming to life. His presence is heavy and impossible to ignore, but you try your best. He’s frowning, almost glaring at you, the skin beneath his eyes wrinkled in displeasure. Your continued apathy does little to soothe the brewing tension. 

This time, it’s him who breaks the silence. 

“How much have you had to drink?”

“This is my third glass,” you admit. His eyebrows scrunch together. “I thought you’d come faster.” 

“If you anticipated your failure, why bother?” 

“I dunno. Curiosity? Boredom?” Your finger traces the drink’s rim. Suppressing a wicked smile, you add, “Maybe I wanted to find a date.” 

For a fleeting instant, it’s like the room’s oxygen rushed out at once, leaving you to asphyxiate. Your eyes tell a different story — nothing’s changed, at least, not physically — aside from his pupils shrinking to a pinprick’s size. Faintly, what remains of your cognition advises against poking the beast. You’ve already done enough. In the coming days, you’re likely to regret this entire escapade. 

However, your present self finds immense satisfaction in spewing petty jabs. 

“Be mindful of your tongue, girl.” 

Blade’s timbre is dark and gravelly. Shivers envelop your body, which you chase off with another hearty drink. His eyes follow your throat as you gulp the liquid down. They remain fixated there for an unnerving few seconds. Shifting around in your seat, it’s growing harder to deny the magnitude of who you’re dealing with. His suffocating favor doesn’t grant you absolute immunity. 

You try reaching for another sip, only for him to stop you. 

“That’s enough,” he says. His grip around your wrist tightens when you try wrenching it free. “We’re heading back.” 

Heading back. To the life of a fugitive, forever on the run, wreaking chaos wherever he and his band of clairvoyant criminals set foot. It isn’t an alluring prospect. This brief stint has been the longest you’ve gone without constant surveillance. Even if it’s a fleeting illusion, destined to slip through your fingers, you want to hold on just a bit longer. 

The alcohol flowing through your system further emboldens you. “You wanna end our date so fast?” 

This little provocation seemingly accomplishes the impossible — it throws Blade off guard. 

“‘Our?’” He repeats, the upward inflection uncharacteristic of his monotonous voice. 

“I was lookin’ for a date and you happened to come along, so yeah, why not?” You say it as if it’s the most obvious thing. He blinks. “What? Am I not pretty enough?” 

Blade’s lips part and close in rapid succession. He knows what you’re doing, you know that he knows what you’re doing, yet your flirtations still have a visible effect. His body’s gone stiff and his jaw’s set, like he’s concentrating greatly. You hear his leather glove creak as he clenches and unclenches his fists. 

Leaning onto the counter, you look up at him through your eyelashes. “You must not like me after all.” 

“That—” he exhales sharply, his subsequent words coming out in a low, measured drawl, “... You have until you finish your drink.” 

While your mind slowly processes this information, he pulls out a barstool and sits beside you. You can tell he’s still disgruntled, yet you’ve established a temporary truce. For all the brutality he’s capable of, he's willingly domesticated the instant you offer a piece of yourself. A guard dog who requires no leash, for leaving your side is unthinkable. 

This is what’s doomed you and posed as your salvation. 

You break eye contact. 

Outside, you hear the whirr of traffic through the bar’s thin walls. You’d already forgotten the name of the planet you’re visiting. It’s indistinguishable from most IPC-infected civilizations — intrusive advertisements carved in the night sky and menial work for the masses, who will never climb as high as they wish. The Stellaron Hunter’s prolonged presence is an ill omen for the oblivious populace. 

If you asked, Blade would tell you what they’re doing here and what will become of the inhabitants.

These days, you find it’s best not to know. 

“Why didn’t you try dating me, anyway?” You ask. An ice cube begins melting into the drink, losing itself. “I’ve always wondered about that. Who knows? I may have fallen head over heels for you.” 

His answer comes surprisingly fast, slicing through the air like his weapon of choice. “I am not the sort of man you should be with.” 

You whip your head in his direction, utterly dumbfounded. “Huh?” 

“What you deserve… I can never give,” Blade’s eyes betray nothing of his inner thoughts. “It’s best that you never believed otherwise.” 

The universe’s momentum slows to a crawl. You sit up straight, ignoring the wave of dizziness the abrupt motion inflicts, scrutinizing his visage. Dull emotions attempt to burst the pleasant buzz you've cocooned in. Their sharp edges push and push, testing the material’s durability. The lights flicker, unwilling to cast him in permanent light. 

“If you care enough to consider all that, then why—” 

Why rob me of normalcy? 

Why take what made me into the person I am? 

Why deprive me of my life to make what’s left of yours better?

He lets you down what remains of your drink. It burns as it travels down your tightening throat, washing away any playfulness that lingered on your tongue. Your stomach turns in on itself. Still, you lap up every drop, chasing after a numbness that can’t outweigh the grief. The act of pulling the glass away proves overwhelming for your frazzled brain. You sway, temporarily stupefied. 

The cold leather of one hand and textured gauze from another steady your shoulders, keeping your body in place. 

“Careful. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

You glare at him halfheartedly. “What’s it matter? Seeing me in pain obviously means nothin’ to you.” 

He pauses, considering a response you’ll never be privy to, as he keeps his lips shut. Instead, he asks, “Can you walk?” 

This questioning of your motor functions has you scoffing. Wordlessly, you hop to the ground, where you stay still, intent on keeping yourself steady. Despite your best efforts, your surroundings spin ever so slightly. The minimalist furniture of this automaton-run establishment blurs together. Heat flushes throughout your body, warming your cheeks like an internal furnace. 

You overestimated your tolerance. It’s been a while since you’ve indulged — you should’ve considered that. 

Your weak performance confirms Blade’s suspicions. He approaches you, raising his hands, likely to keep you secure like he had before. You dodge his unwanted advances out of reflex. This proves to be a mistake, as you lack the coordination to make any sharp movements. Your ankle gives out and your eyes fly wide open, arms flailing about for purchase. 

Blade moves faster than you can process. You’re made to feel weightless as he lifts you up, holding you firm against his chest. 

“Hey, put me down! I don’t— I can walk just fine!” You exclaim, writhing around like a fish out of water. Exerting a mere fraction of his strength is enough to render your struggle useless. Realizing that all you’re doing is tiring yourself out, you go limp, your breathing coming out erratic from the exertion. Humiliation prickles throughout like hot needles waiting to erupt from your flesh.

“Are you finished?” 

You’re close enough to feel the low vibration of his voice. It rattles your bones, burrowing deep within the marrow. You express your resignation by averting your gaze. With that, he walks out, holding you in a bridal carry. Cool air nips at your exposed skin as he kicks the door open. It lets out into a back alley, where he must’ve skulked in from. 

He stops here and gingerly places you down, muttering, “Lean against the wall.” 

You do as instructed, though given your impaired state, you would’ve fumbled around for support without his prompting. He sheds his outer black jacket and drapes it along your bare shoulders. The fabric engulfs you, smelling faintly metallic. After ensuring you’re properly covered, he scoops you back up, maneuvering your body around like it’s weightless. 

He follows the labyrinth-like expanse of alleyways, leaving the sounds and sights of the densely populated area behind. Not a word is uttered or a glance shared. You wet your lips, your mind racing for ways to break the tense silence. Blade’s always been a man of a few words, but this bout is different than what you’re used to. Heavier, somehow. Your actions have gone beyond petty defiance. Typically, you can gauge what nonsense you can and can’t get away with. 

With this latest excursion, however—

—You’ve stumbled into uncharted territory. 

“What now?” You ask, your voice unusually meek. 

“You’ll be leaving this star system before long. We’re headed towards the pickup site.” 

Your ears perk up at his word choice. “You aren’t coming?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’ve yet to fulfill my portion of the script on this planet.” 

“... Oh.” 

You can feel the look he sends your way. 

“Does this displease you?” 

“Ah, well,” you take a deep breath, finding the act of verbalizing your thoughts in this state difficult, “I didn’t think you… liked being apart.” 

“My preferences are irrelevant. Kafka will ensure you’re cared for until I’m suited to be around you again.” 

You furrow your eyebrows together, parsing through this information bit by bit. It’s like your mental faculties have been slathered with tar, slowing the gears in the mire. You’re only ever stuck with Kafka when Blade’s regenerating from significant injuries or dangerously mara-struck. You reflect on the evening’s events. The ease at which you snuck out, how it felt like the universe itself aligned along the way… 

Ah. 

You’re the ideal variable to tamper with when increasing (or decreasing) his mara. 

It’s a gross feeling — this sensation of being used like a pawn to affect the performance of the board’s stronger pieces. Perhaps the inevitably of it all is why he isn’t upset with you, or he might be trying to delay the onslaught of mara. Whatever the case, you’ve inadvertently done your part for this script. Stirring the sediments of his shortcomings and shoving your dislike of him to the forefront. 

Is this all you are? A side character in the epic Destiny’s Slave has penned? 

You grit your teeth. 

Using what little strength’s left in your muscles, you sit up, slinking your arms around his neck for support. Blade pauses, clearly more interested in your machinations than dropping you off like a package. He turns to face you. Though you’re nearly nose to nose, the night obscures his features, save for his eyes. The two blood-red moons have an otherworldly glow to them. Their gravitational pull is dangerous, yet you approach them as a willing sacrifice regardless. 

A gentle graze of your lips against his is enough for him to stop breathing. You can do what his mountains of deceased enemies gave their lives trying to accomplish. He must know you’re up to something; his grip is nearly bruising from the restraint he’s exercising. You test his fraying resolve by allowing your lips to connect. It’s purposefully brief, ending before it truly began. Upon pulling away, he chases after you, but you deny him.

Blade sounds pained when murmuring your name. 

Whether it’s a plea or a warning, you can’t tell. 

“What?” You ask. “You’re the one trying to get rid of me.” 

“...” 

Blade leers down at you. You meet his stare, unyielding, drunk on the idea of inconveniencing the Stellaron Hunters to any extent.

"... Stay still," he eventually orders, backing you against the alley's wall. "Time is short."

You wait until he's nipping at your neck to smile.

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Summary: When the god of the Winter needed a messenger, he had chosen you. Yet your elders wanted you dead. But John Price, the god of the Winter, had other plans for his devotee. Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Leaving this here, then backing away slowly. If you like, please comment and reblog. Special thanks to @itsagrimm for editing, even though you aren't into the type of writing. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you three and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for your beautiful dividers that I use in literally everything.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, brief mention of suicide, brief mention of hypothetical pregnancy because what is John Price without a breeding kink? Voyeurism, exhibitionism, praise kink, elements of paranoia, and mindreader elements.

NO AI

Leave a comment and reblog!

You had been abandoned. Sent aimlessly into the east by your deceiving elders to find the oh-so-benevolent god of Winter. Your people had discarded you, and perhaps, you had now been forsaken by the Holy One. Under the new winter moon, you had no bearing in these strange woods. You were lost and without hope. Stumbling into a thicket, you paused, catching your breath. Once your village elders cut your binds and removed the blade from your still bleeding throat, you ran. You had three options now: find the Winter God John Price and beg for mercy, return home to your village to die by your elder’s blade, or finally, die by a frozen death.

 

Yanking down the sleeves of your dress, you shivered. Only a fool would think the thin lace would be enough to fight the cold. You hadn’t bothered to ask for a cape when you would be dead come dawn by the blade of your elders or the mercy of winter’s chill. Besides, if the elders thought it could help entice the winter god closer to you, you welcomed the possibility. The god liked fine things- the fragility of ice coating sleeping trees, the nuanced tendrils that composed a snowflake, the finespun embroidery on an altar cloth. Perhaps the gossamer lace of your gown would make you look as alluring as snow?

 

Your village worshiped the god of the East along with his three other seasonal counterparts. In the winter, the altar faced east for John. In the spring, it faced north for Kyle. In the summer, the altar faced west for Johnny, followed by facing south in the Autumn for the one they called Ghost. You traversed the mezzanine of the aged temple as if it was your birthing ground, dedicating yourself to the unknown and to what divine vexed within. 

 

A creature howled in the far distance, three more joining in the call. You wished you had a blade for protection, but the foolish  elders would not allow it after the last messenger sent to find the God of Winter killed himself. He died from fear of the gods with his body left for the animals starved for winter scraps according to the elders. The collapsed skull and bloodied rock meant otherwise. You would become like the warrior- murdered- if you didn’t keep moving.

 

At least you’d be dead if you stopped moving, and wasn’t that something to rejoice over for the elders? They wanted you gone the moment you opened your mouth, defending the holy temples in a burning righteousness against their infidelity. The elders mocked your faith, staging a spectacle to rejoice in their perceived standings with the holy gods, to enshroud their continued greed of village resources, and holy temple offerings while preventing you from stepping foot inside the sacred temple. 

 

All you wanted was to worship your gods in peace and for your village to know that peace. 

 

A branch snapped in the distance. Setting your foot down ever so quietly, you glared into the darkness of the night. In your chest, your lungs froze as if a tiny breath could lead starving beasts toward you, but your heart tapped a wild rhythm against your bones like a war drum urging warriors forward in battle. Between the bones of the trees, a figure raised from the ground. Dirt quaked in its path, fearing the disturbance as flashes of odd whites and black wove into a tall, hulking beast emerging like smoke. The vaporous monster inhaled. It was as if he sucked the forest in with his expanding breath, the conductor of the skeletal structure of the land. The one who assembled appendages of bone like armor and crown, marking his distinct otherness to any creature known before. Opening his eyes, bright gold light flared from its eye sockets, a perpetual fire, locked on burning you alive.

 

You ran. Barreling through the underbrush, thorns cut and tore at your dress, slowing you down. Pushing deeper into the woods, you dared not glimpse back at the monstrous shape. The gods, you prayed, would give one last indulgence by sparing your life. Dodging fallen trees and saplings, you heaved for a breath. Your toe caught on something sending you tumbling forward, down the hill, to be stopped by a mangled stump. There was little to be felt from the roar in your mind and blood careening to endure, to run, to survive.

 

Looking up, the terrifying haint peered down at you with its head tilted to the side, lazily biding his time hunting you. Fleeing, you made way towards the river that supplied the village with water. The monsters couldn’t cross the running water at the bottom of the ravine. Everybody knew that. Your breath created puffs of smoke with each gasp of air, streaming from your lips like a dragon’s purr.

 

Down at the river, you paused, cursing at your luck. The river was frozen over, but how deep the ice went was beyond you. You had to cross, fighting for a chance at life and to find John Price to appeal for assistance proving your claims. Taking a deep breath, you ventured on the ice, straining your ears for cracking and shifting sounds. Freedom sang like a siren from the other side of the waters with the promise of faith delivering you into her hands. On the other side was an assurance of one more day in your beloved temples with the beloved gods, of life, and of being free from the elders.

 

Without the freedom to roam the holy grounds of faith, what would be left for you?

 

You slipped with a screech, flailing until you caught your balance. Your hands trembled as breath fogged the air. Crossing was the only option, regardless of death prowling down to find you. The thought of the being sent shivers down your spine, and you squeezed your eyes shut as if it would banish the evil and push you across the waters.

 

“Stop!” A man bellowed like thunder echoing in the ravine. You jumped, slipping on the ice. With an assured crack, the ice broke, plunging you into the icy waters.

 

You gasped, choking on river water. Kicking to the surface, you were met with a ceiling of ice. You hit the ice with your hand to no prevail until the bubbles from your nose dissipated and a film of darkness descended upon your peripherals. In the gloom, eyes of golden fire shimmered at you, refracted by the ice, illuminated by the flash of lightning. 

It smelled like oak and spices as you inhaled. The bed you laid in was spacious, a soft luxury you sunk greedily into. Moments of time slowly returned to you as you stirred, until a tapestry unfolded, painting what had occurred in the woods to you. How you had survived drowning or hypothermia was beyond you, feeling none of it, now. Cocooned tightly in thick blankets, albeit naked as the day you were born, sleep still called in the comfort of the home. A warm crackle of a fireplace and the deep mutterings of men speaking filled your ears as you blinked. In your nest, you buried further in, savoring the needed heat with a sigh with your eyes peeking over the cover.

 

The two men, seated in the corner, had stopped conversing to stare at you. One was slim but muscular, with dark skin and shining brown eyes. He wore a grin both authentic and sly as if mischief personified, waiting for his time to strike and laugh at your mild misfortune. 

 

The other man was a bear. Thick, burly, legs with sizable thighs spread to consume room; it seemed all he did was call attention to himself. The cocky spread of his legs to the icy blues of his eyes; your neck burned as he smirked, having caught you staring.

 

“Hello, Fawn,” The bear rumbled, intentionally softening his voice and leaning down as if afraid to spook you like the little deer.

 

“Ghost found you,” injected the younger one. “It took him and Soap to pull you from the ice and bring you home. That was pretty stupid; getting on the ice like that. Haven’t people told you not to do that?”

 

Getting on the ice was stupid, but letting yourself get consumed and murdered by a beast was even worse. You had half a mind to tell the younger man your thoughts on the matter, but here you were, naked in a stranger's bed… alive. While grateful, you needed to leave. The task to find John and plead for his assistance in clearing the village of your awful elders still loomed, as did the precarious nature of being nude in a room of two strong men. 

 

“I’m looking for someone,” You mumbled. “I had no choice.”

 

“I know,” The older man hummed before speaking your name like a whisper of wind on your ear. 

 

The God of Winter . Your spine went straight before you bolted upright, clinging the blankets to your chest. These men were not men at all but your four holy gods. There was half a mind to shuck off the blankets and fall to your knees in reverence. You had offered prayers while bathing before; was this any different? As you shifted, apologized, and begged for pardons on the tip of your lips, John shook his head and stood.

 

“Gaz, go let Soap and Ghost know our fawn is all right,” John said, clasping Gaz on the shoulder. Gaz promptly left the room, closing the wooden door behind him, not before offering you one final comforting grin.

 

“I am sorry. I had to find you. The elders sent me to the woods to murder me. And… I didn’t know what else to do but to seek your help. I’m so sorry, please forgive me. The elders are murdering anyone who dares question them. Nobody believes me even though I have proof! The village will not survive the winter because of our elder’s theft from them and of the temple and I need your help. I have done nothing wrong except be loyal to you, John,” You rushed out in a single breath. “Please, help me. Help us .”

 

John set his hand on your cheek, running his thumb over your warming cheeks. A violent shiver sprung through your body, encouraging you closer to the god. You closed your eyes and nuzzled into his palm, lulled by the smell of spices and the alluringness of being physically held by him. Finally, you had removed the burden of secrecy and responsibility and John took it lightly with his hands soothing the ache from your skin with the glide of his fingers. 

 

“Love, you’re being too harsh. There is no reason to apologize,” He reassured you with a kiss on your forehead. “The fault lies with your elders. You have done all I have asked of you and more. Do not agonize yourself over the stubbornness of others. It will get you nowhere.”

 

You closed your mouth and held his wrist, keeping him to you. You thought of all your nights spent praying to the god of Winter when sleep evaded you. When you screamed or cried your prayers in agony, begging the divine god of winter to make himself known to you so that your faith was not in vain and your people could be free from the elders. 

 

But what of your people? What choice would they make? The old gods were worshiped only in tradition and the elders had slowly pushed your people further from the gods as the temple began to deteriorate. 

 

You were always dedicated to the divine in odd ways. Observant gifts of John’s favorite flowers and drinks were left on your homemade altar—prayers written on little papers in a box. Spare time spent tending to the aged temple and cleaning it, preparing it for worship. Devotion in wearing John’s favorite color as a ribbon around your wrist, bearing his color like a mark of ownership over you. 

 

It was… your stomach clenched as you remembered bathing in his favorite fragrances, the soap trailing between your breasts, water falling as gracefully as the curves of your skin, for his solstice day. Later that night, deciding to offer John an orgasm on a lust-induced whim. When you came down from your high, you swore you could feel the divine by your knees, looking down at the mess you had made, dribbling into the sheets. The idea of him voyeuring into your bedroom made you leak, reaching a bold hand down to part your lips for him to see your swollen clit.

 

“What you want from us, little Fawn,” John tilted his chin to look you in the eyes as his warm toned voice dipped between your thighs to make them clench. “Comes at a high cost for you.”

 

“And let my people suffer from the elder’s greed? Surely, you understand how harsh winter can be! And to let the gods lay waste when this is proof you still are near has to be blasphemy. I don’t want to die, but I’d rather try dying than be left bystanding in silence, rotting away-”

 

John took your neck in hand and hulled you to your feet. Your words died on your tongue as his nose pressed into your cheek. Chests pressed together, his human form radiated heat and softness protecting layers of muscle and power. You wondered briefly if his divine form would look more bear or beast, unleashing the thrum of calculated energy pulsing inside the god.

 

“Fawn, martyrdom is for suicidal fools. Not even the martyrs ask for their portion, they stumble upon it trying to uphold the will of the gods which threatens the portions and powers that be in your mortal world,” John shook your head ever so slightly, pressing closer until you gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. Dark as ice, they pierced into you flickering from your eyes to your mouth, the urgency he held you with inching into territories you were unsure of but eager to explore. His eyes flickered down for a moment, and you shivered at your exposure, pressing your face into his neck as if to hide. “You will stay the night but come dawn, you must return home to live for us.” John instructed, pushing your hair from your neck. Leaning down, he nipped the bottom of your ear playfully, kissing along your neck.

 

You hummed, offering your neck to his lips. It didn’t matter if you had laid with a million other people before or none at all. You yearned for the assured solidity of the gods, and now you had it. They could have your body, the works of your hands, the words of your mouth, the paths of your feet. You only wanted to be near John, safe, nestled into his side, even if for a little while. To be welcomed into the god of winter’s bed for even a night? The idea made your thighs slickened with want, heat pooling in your stomach.

 

Everything in your bones wanted to please him, to let him have his fill of you, to honor him with the best of your skin and body. You’d get on your knees for him. Suck his cock until you are panting, with his cum on your tongue. You wanted to be good . You let out a little whine, a soft vibration in your throat. John chuckled, coming up from your throat to kiss you properly, all while moving you on the bed.

 

He kissed down your throat, gently touching your chest with the hints of friction making you squirm, tangling your fingers in his hair.

 

“I want you to soak my fingers and cock with this pretty cunt tonight, Fawn” John decidedly spoke. You eagerly nodded, humming as his hand squeezed the fat of your stomach. 

 

You opened your thighs as he descended between them, grinning as he knelt before you. You could have laughed at his eagerness if it wasn’t for the gentle, inquiring sweep of his finger through your folds, collecting your wetness. A sigh fell from your lips as he played with your cunt, a pleasant warmth filling your mind as your legs found a home on his shoulders, your hand on the back of his neck, scratching the short hairs there.

    

“Been thinkin’ about this pretty pussy since you showed her to me,” John growled, thumb swirling on your clit just as you had when you played yourself for him. Your knees bent, pushing your pelvis to catch the angle just right . “Offered me use of your body, a delicacy, to use as I please. Perfect little human for me to fuck whenever,” He growled before putting his mouth to work, sucking on your clit.

 

You keened, bucking your cunt into his face. John devoured you whole, feasted on you, your head in the clouds, floating with nothing to tether you but his mouth. The god of winter’s fingers prodded your entrance, slipping in with a slight stretch. His fucking hands, reaching depths you could never achieve on your own, made you moan, opening your eyes to watch him. From below your stomach, John was fully committed, eyes closed, grunting against your cunt.

 

John fought against your legs, drawing out the pulsing waves of pleasure until your ears were ringing, vision white, cresting into a beautiful brainless hum as your body went limp. 

 

“Fuck, John, I can’t,” You whimpered, pushing his forehead back. Your chest heaved, hands grasping for anything you could reach until he slid his hand in yours, anchoring you to him. He moved, and you closed your sticky thighs, clenching at the slick dribbling down. John reverently kissed your collarbone, hands brushing over your scalp, lulling you from the cloudy space.

 

His lips kissed along your neck and chest as his hands wandered along your hips and thighs, rough fingers tickling the sensitive skin of your ass. Your eyes opened, greeted by his gentle gaze as he hovered over you. His mouth had been pinkened by your cunt, hair mused by your thighs and hands. 

 

Grabbing his hand, you kissed his palm before licking the fingers that had been inside of you moments before. Something was intoxicating about the way you tasted, strong and delicious. Taking his fingers in your mouth, you hummed, thinking about how much thicker his cock would feel. John swore, pushing his fingers against your tongue, stilling your control. You moaned, letting your eyes close and legs fall open. Holding his arm, you could feel how your tits were pressed together by your biceps, making you not only a sight but a spectacle .

 

“Want my cock that bad, little fawn?” John teased. Opening your eyes, you nodded, nudging him closer with your foot. Removing his fingers, he drug his hand down your centerline, leaving a cold trail of your spit down your body. He slowly entered you, grunting with his eyes glued to the way you sucked him in.

 

“Fuck, John,” You whimpered, panting at the fullness pressing you open. His thumb rubbed your clit, lulling you back to another orgasm. Spreading your legs, he placed a knee on the bed as he began to thrust, covering his cock in your frothy slick.

 

It was hot and so, so full as he reached parts of you that had you gasping for air and tearing up. There was no pinch, only a subtle burn from the stretch, soothed by his cooing in your ear and thumb working wonders on your clit. Shifting his hips, he fed you more of his cock, making your vision go frayed around the edges. If your brain could leak away, it would slowly leak out with the wetness of your cunt.

 

“Just like that, fawn,” John encouraged, making you clench around him. “My little offering to take as I want, letting me use you like a good girl,” John grunted as you clenched around him, his hands falling to your stomach and hip, selfishly grasping at the plush skin to pull and drag you off his cock with.

 

“I’m,” You whined, clawing at the god’s massive arms, rippling with movement. “Please, John! Feels so good, filled up,” You babbled, trying to run closer and further with each thrust.

 

His other hand laid over the base of your throat, curling possessively around, forcing your eyes to his, forehead to forehead, as he pressed and pressed into your cunt, stretching you wide and filling you perfectly.

 

“Pretty wet cunt, dripping for me,” John’s lips brushed your ear, moaning into it. He reached a hand to gently pinch your nipple, making you gasp. “Rub yourself for me. Let me see you soak my cock.”

 

You slid a hand between your thighs and rubbed your clit, spreading your lips wider, feeling fully exposed, unable to help the moan and the chasing buck of your hips, humping the tight heat pooling in your stomach.

 

“Cum, love. Cum for me.”

 

You listened, you always did, a perfect little offering for him to use. You fought to keep your eyes open as you came, body convulsing, to show him what he had made you into. But when your fingers became too sharp, the pleasant hum of blood in your head turning into a sharp ringing, you went limp, thighs covered in slick cum as John took his final thrusts. Ropes filled you as his hand lovingly smoothed over your lower stomach. He rested his forehead on yours, panting as he lazily kissed you, his cock twitching as you warmed him. 

 

“You okay?” John whispered from his place between your breasts as you scratched the back of his head.

 

“Sore,” You hissed as he slipped from you but was quickly scooped into his arms and laid across his chest. “M’tired,” You confessed, closing your eyes with a soft sigh.

 

You would be content to lie on his chest for the rest of time, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, wrapped in the warmth of his broad arms. Everything about you felt small compared to him; the way his hands engulfed yours, the way your calves had laid over his shoulder, the ripple of muscles and fat as he had fucked you. 

 

“I need to clean up,” You mumbled, fingers following the lines of his pectorals. 

 

“In a moment, darling. We’ll both clean up.” John kissed the top of your head, reaching for a glass of water for you to drink from before he took a few sips.

 

The god of Winter leaned down and kissed you so gently, soothing the aches with gentle hands against your thighs. Though, you felt it was more an excuse to touch your thighs more, but you didn’t mind. After cleaning up, you fell asleep swiftly, draped over his chest as his fingers traced dainty traces of snowflakes along your spine, tended to and protected. 

In the morning, you woke in your own bed, dressed in the robes of a high priestess, as someone pounded on your door. As you rose, you felt the phantom aches of the previous night between your thighs. Quickly hiding the robes, you caught the white scars of John’s handprint over your womb, etched like silver ice into your skin.

 

“One second!” You yelled, dressing. Once you were decent, you threw open your door and gawked.

 

“There’s been a war party! They burnt the elder’s homes and the wheat stores! We need help!” The man took you by the arm and pulled you into the fray of dark smoke against the blooming pink winter sky. It was snowing, melting into water that slid down your arm and into the frosted grounds.

[khywren]

Vis Medicatrix

pairing: Astarion/f!reader rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 5.5k tags/warnings: blood/gore, canon-typical violence, smut, piv sex, fingering, soft spawn Astarion

summary: “Y-you’re hurt, Astarion,” you insist with far less emphasis than you had intended, tearing your eyes away from his face with difficulty and looking towards the vials that still sit untouched nearby. “The potions – you should –” Astarion silences your protests with a kiss as his lips crash into yours, his fangs grazing your lower lip as he gives you a playful nibble. “Was,” he corrects with a growl. His lips move softly against your mouth, reluctant to part from you for even a moment. “I assure you that I'm feeling quite… invigorated now, darling. All thanks to you, of course. And what a delectable little treat you are.” ────────── Astarion goes down in a fight. Back at camp, he has some... ideas about how you might help him recover.

AO3 ┊ masterlist

The sounds of battle echo all around you, a flurry of steel, magic, and claws. The air sizzles with the distinct tang of the Weave as you cast spell after spell, hurtling bolts of fire and ice at the pack of gnolls that has descended upon your small party.

The four of you had quickly been overtaken and separated from one another; Gale and Shadowheart are somewhere out of sight, but you've managed to fight your way back towards Astarion, felling no less than ten gnolls in the process. The ground is littered with corpses; it's no small miracle that none of them belong to you or your friends.

The final gnoll wails as your flames sear its fur and singe its flesh, nearly burning to ash as its body finally gives out and succumbs to its injuries. Astarion's profile finally comes into focus, as does the massive gnoll he's currently face to face with.

The leader of the pack, from the looks of it.

You can't quite hear what Astarion says to it from this distance, but his expression twists into a grimace as he bares his fangs, daggers eager to slake their thirst with its blood.

A peal of laughter tears itself from the gnoll’s throat, a high-pitched, chittering sound that rings harshly in your ears. It bares its yellowed teeth back at Astarion, lips stretched thin over its stinking maw. 

With its paw raised, you watch as the gnoll takes a single swipe at him; Astarion's reaction is immediate, one of his daggers arching upwards in a flourish as he deflects it with expert precision. The beast rains blows down upon him in quick succession, and Astarion staggers back towards the edge of the cliff face behind him each time his blades glance off its claws.

The gnoll rears up once more, but Astarion has already anticipated the trajectory of its next attack. Its paw sails over Astarion's head as he sinks into a crouch with all the grace of the nimble predator he is, and he slices into its matted fur just as it stumbles backwards and narrowly avoids a more fatal wound. It snarls, undaunted, as it waits for another opening. One wrong move could send them both tumbling into the abyss below.

Panic grips your heart like a vise. The bolt of fire you summon in your palm sputters weakly, the last dregs of your magic all but exhausted. You will it to burn as hot as you can, and the flames lick your skin as you cradle it protectively in your palm.

You must aim carefully, you know, or you risk hitting Astarion.

Your footfalls are light as you approach the gnoll from its blind spot, downwind and creeping low to the ground as Astarion had taught you. Locked in its battle with Astarion, it doesn't seem to notice your approach – until the telltale cracking of a branch beneath your boot alerts its sensitive hearing. Its ears swivel in your direction, head whirling around to spot you no more than twenty paces away.

The lapse in judgment is all Astarion needs, and he slips a blade cleanly between the gnoll’s ribs with a single thrust, puncturing its heart. It howls in agony, the sound of it slicing through the air as easily as Astarion's dagger. As it stumbles back to claw at the dagger in its chest, Astarion's eyes meet yours for the briefest of moments, and you see your own relief mirrored in his expression.

Relief that fades the moment the gnoll surges forward and rakes its claws across Astarion's armor, shredding through the leather as if it were nothing more than paper.

You watch in horror as Astarion teeters forward and drops to his knees, bloodstained and broken. The effort of holding his body up is a task he no longer has the strength for, and he collapses into the dirt, motionless.

Rage explodes within you, white-hot and all-consuming. The fire in your palm is extinguished when you clench your fists and break into a sprint, manifesting what's left of your magic to get you to Astarion as quickly as possible.

With the aid of Misty Step, you blink into being behind the gnoll with a burst of crackling Weave, snatching Astarion's second dagger from the ground. It twists around on unsteady feet to face you, but its strength is already waning. The force of your initial blow buries Astarion's dagger into its flank, but it's not enough to quench your anger. Blood sprays into your eyes as you wrench the dagger free, blinding you momentarily before you wipe your hand over your face. Another blow to its chest earns you another wretched howl of pain; a third, which you aim at its throat, is what permanently silences it.

The blade slices cleanly across its neck, and a twisted sense of satisfaction takes hold of you as you watch it topple backwards, its heart finally giving out as it collapses into a crumpled heap at your feet.

Your lungs burn as you catch your breath, the adrenaline coursing through your body finally subsiding. It's then that you realize that Astarion isn't moving. You fall to your knees beside him, tears pricking your eyes.

Beneath what remains of his tattered armor, you can see how deeply he's been wounded, blood pouring from the gouges on his chest. The rich red of it looks ghastly in contrast to his marble skin.

“Astarion,” you plead, shaking him. “Astarion, stay with me!”

Your first instinct is to look for Shadowheart, and your stomach turns when you spot her far across the battlefield, back-to-back with Gale as they fend off a trio of smaller gnolls. There isn't enough time to get to her, and the thought of leaving Astarion, even for a moment, is unthinkable.

Reaching into your pack, you retrieve your last remaining healing potion, uncorking the bottle with your teeth as you tip Astarion's head back. His mouth falls open, and you bring the potion to his lips, trying not to dwell on the exceptionally pallid color of his complexion.

The crimson liquid sloshes over the lip of the bottle and into Astarion's mouth, and although he appears to swallow some of it, most of what you pour out spills uselessly down the side of his face.

Because he doesn't need to breathe, you can't tell if you've already lost him. You don't know if he's colder than usual or if it's simply a cruel trick your mind is playing on you. A sob bubbles in your throat, but when your eyes sweep over your trembling, bloodstained hands, an idea sparks to life within your frantic mind.

Blood.

Your blood has saved Astarion before – in far less perilous circumstances, of course, but that doesn't stop you from reaching for one of Astarion's daggers and wiping it clean on the front of your robes. The blade gleams like a silver tooth in the sunlight, poised to bite into your skin as you hold it over your open palm. You inhale a breath as you drag the blade across your skin, hissing through clenched teeth as a line of bright red blood blooms in its wake.

“Please,” you whisper, appealing to any god who might be listening. A few drops of crimson splash over Astarion's lips as you bring your hand to them, letting your blood flow into his mouth. You watch him, stilled by an overwhelming sense of dread. An ember of hope kindles in your heart as you feel his tongue sweep across the wound on your palm, his throat bobbing as he swallows your offering to him.

“Astarion?”

You call his name softly, watching for the moment his eyes finally flutter open. You've never been so happy to see those deep, swirling pools of ruby red as he looks up at you, exhausted but alive. You can't stop the tears that finally spill over your cheeks, embarrassed to be in such a state after everything that's happened. But none of it matters because he is still with you.

With shaky fingers, reach for his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. Astarion's expression flickers across his face, settling somewhere between relief and amusement.

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs, voice cracking with the effort it takes him to speak. He licks the rest of your blood from his lips. “What did I miss?”

────────────────────

By the time you return to camp, freshly washed and dressed in a clean set of robes, the sun has already begun its descent over the horizon.

Most of your companions are busy milling about, attending to their nightly rituals, but Shadowheart’s absence must mean that she is still with Astarion. As you approach his tent on the far edge of the clearing, you hear a pair of familiar voices within, bickering loudly with one another.

“Will you – ow! Must you be so rough?” Astarion gripes, and you spot the distinct glow of Shadowheart’s magic through the dark red canvas. It dances like a moth around a flame, presumably guided between Shadowheart's hands as she attempts to heal Astarion's wounds.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were actually trying to finish me off.”

Shadowheart sighs audibly at him.

“Don't tempt me, Astarion,” she grumbles back. “Gods know it would spare us from your bleating.”

You can practically hear Astarion seething at Shadowheart from inside his tent. Overhearing the commotion, Karlach claps a hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to muffle her snickering laughter, and even Gale seems to be having himself a chuckle as he watches the cookpot by the fire.

If Astarion still has the energy to complain, his wounds must be far less serious than you initially expected. Your shoulders relax, the tension ebbing away when you sigh with relief. You hadn't even noticed how worried you were until your jaw unclenches, leaving you with nothing but a lingering ache.

Shadowheart greets you as she slips outside Astarion's tent, her exhaustion evident in the dark circles around her eyes and her wan expression. What little energy she had left had likely been expended tending to Astarion, and you smile warmly in thanks.

“I've done all I can for tonight,” she tells you. “He's stable, but make sure he drinks the potions I've left him. I’ll see to the rest of his injuries in the morning, once I've recovered my strength.”

Fortunately, the rest of your companions have been spared a similar fate, bone-weary and bruised, but intact. You flex your fingers, the last vestiges of pain from the wound on your palm hardly more than a memory now. Shadowheart's braid whips around her shoulders as she turns towards the fire, enticed by the smell of whatever Gale's prepared for supper.

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you say. “I know Astarion appreciates your help, even if he's not the best at showing it.”

She nods curtly but says nothing more, leaving you alone outside Astarion's tent. Here on the outskirts of camp, the atmosphere is notably dreary.

You feel unexpectedly on edge as you lift back the tent flap and slip inside, uncertain what you will find. Seated on his bedroll clothed only from the waist down, his eyes soften somewhat as he glances up at you. Most of his chest is wrapped in fresh bandages, but their pristine condition tells you that his wounds must have closed by now. His movements are a little stiff, but beyond that he seems no worse for wear. There are a few remaining nicks and scrapes scattered across his shoulders and the bridge of his nose, but those, at least, are largely superficial.

You kneel quietly beside him, smoothing your skirts. 

“How are you feeling?”

Astarion studies you for a moment before he leans back on his hands, head tipped playfully to the side.

“Were you worried, darling? How cute.”

You narrow your eyes at him and scowl, huffing a sigh through your nose. Astarion finds your indignation highly amusing, a single fang flashing from behind his lips as a wide grin spreads across his face.

“I saw what you did to that gnoll, you know,” he says casually after a moment, a blatant attempt to redirect your attention. “Before I lost consciousness.” There's a strange sincerity to his voice, but the moment is gone when he sits upright and leans towards you, resting his face in his hand and balancing an elbow on his knee.

He looks exceptionally mischievous when he says, “I admire your enthusiasm, but I must say, your form was terrible. Might I suggest mastering a butter knife before you try wielding a real weapon?”

“I'll remember that the next time I'm saving your life,” you quip back, waving your hand at him dismissively. But his easy smile disarms you and diffuses your anger as it always does, and you find it hard to stay mad at him for long. If anything were to happen to him, you'd miss his teasing – a fact that you don't plan on sharing, lest it turn him into more of a menace than he already is.

A quiet calm descends over you both, and you feel Astarion watching you as you glance around his tent, purposely avoiding eye contact.

“Come here for a moment, won't you?” Astarion asks suddenly, patting his thigh. You shoot him a questioning glance but climb into his lap nevertheless, mindful not to touch him any more than you need to. He inhales sharply when you put just a little too much pressure on his chest, and you quickly apologize before resting your hands politely in your lap. His intentions become clear the moment he sweeps your damp hair behind your ear and exposes the smooth column of your throat. His fingers ghost over your skin as if he's appraising you, delicate and cool the touch.

 “May I, darling?”

Your heart flutters like a caged bird beneath your ribs when he slides his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, nails dragging slowly over your scalp. His fingers weave through the soft strands, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

You angle your neck for him, baring the faded twin scars that mark you as his.

“Yes, of course,” you tell him. “Take as much as you need.”

“Wonderful.”

Although Astarion typically enjoys the prelude to the bite as much as the act itself, tonight he's in no mood to be patient. His mouth slots over your pulse point, the rush of warm blood just beneath your skin coaxing a low groan from his cool lips. When his fangs pierce your throat, your breath catches, but he's ever-so-gentle with you as his tongue darts out to collect the first drops of blood that well to the surface.

You feel a change in Astarion's demeanor the moment he tastes you, the hand cradling your head tightening its grip and tugging you closer to him. He inhales sharply, face buried in your neck as he takes several greedy pulls of your blood, feasting like a man starved. Your whole body resonates with the groan that erupts from his throat, the wet glide of his tongue over the puncture marks in your skin coaxing a wanton noise of pleasure from your own.

Your bodies are pressed so closely together now that when his hips roll forward, you feel the unmistakable glide of his clothed cock as he ruts against you, seeking pleasure in more than just your blood. The full length of him swells against you with every swallow as your blood courses through his body, a fact that he is clearly eager to draw to your attention.

Your mind reels, overcome with sensation.

“Really, Astarion?” you admonish him, hands trailing gingerly over the bandages that wrap tightly around the sculpted muscles of his chest. “Right now?” But your voice is strained, despite your best efforts, a thinly-veiled protest at best.

“Why not?” Astarion murmurs salaciously against your neck, lapping at the last trickles of blood that spill down towards your collarbones. “I know you want this too, darling. I can taste it in your blood.”

Another quick thrust of his hips between your parted thighs almost makes you reconsider, but your errant thoughts snag on whatever modicum of sense you have left.

“That's not the point,” you remind him tersely, trying your best to look stern. Your face feels hot with the flush that slowly creeps up your neck and stains your cheeks a bright pink.

Astarion pulls away from you with one last press of his tongue against your flushed skin, purposely dragging a slow, wet stripe along the column of your throat. It's clear from the look on his face, all confident smirk and arched brows, that Astarion doesn't believe a word you've said.

“Isn't it?” he hums with a click of his tongue. An idle hand works its way beneath your skirts, and you lose all composure as his fingers dip between your thighs to find you wet and wanting. He can feel how soaked you are through the thin cotton fabric of your underwear, teasing you with purposely slow strokes of his thumb. You press your lips together into a thin line, but you can't hope to suppress the helpless little whine you make for him.

His eyes pin you in place, wine-dark and hungry. You're left with no option but to look at him as he watches you carefully, considering. “Or are we going to pretend that you're not aching for my cock already?” His voice is honey-sweet, rich and thick and sinfully decadent.

“It would be such a shame to waste all this blood, you know.”

His cock twitches eagerly against your stomach. You picture the way it would feel, buried inside your cunt as he thrusts up and into you, over and over again, the way he always –

“Y-you’re hurt, Astarion,” you insist with far less emphasis than you had intended, tearing your eyes away from his face with difficulty and looking towards the vials that still sit untouched nearby. “The potions – you should –”

Astarion silences your protests with a kiss as his lips crash into yours, his fangs grazing your lower lip as he gives you a playful nibble.

“Was,” he corrects with a growl. His lips move softly against your mouth, reluctant to part from you for even a moment. “I assure you that I'm feeling quite… invigorated now, darling. All thanks to you, of course. And what a delectable little treat you are.”

It's hard to argue when his tongue is doing such wonderful things to you, slipping into your mouth as he takes his time savoring your taste. He uses the hand anchored in your hair to tilt your head to the side once more, giving him better access. Satisfied with your compliance, he lets that same hand glide over your body, trailing first down the back of your neck before finding its way over the curve of your ribs and into the dip of your waist beneath the bulk of your flowing robes.

Warmed by your blood, his hand leaves you searing wherever it touches, little embers of desire flaring beneath his deft fingers as they dance across your skin. You are nothing more than kindling, ready to erupt.

The timber of his voice changes with the noise that rumbles in his throat, low and practically primal. Your body responds on instinct, hips rocking forward against the hand he still has pressed against your swollen clit.

The friction renders you delirious as your entire body sings in pleasure. The needy little whimper that tumbles past your lips only serves to strengthen Astarion's resolve, tugging the corners of his mouth into a wicked grin.

“Now,” he purrs, “be a dear and indulge me. Or don't, and leave both of us unsatisfied.”

You answer him not with words but with actions, capturing his wrist at the same time you claim his mouth in a clumsy, passionate kiss. He returns the gesture as you guide his hand up and over your chest, sighing with relief as he deftly unbuttons the front of your robes and palms your bare breast beneath. The fabric pools around your waist as Astarion slips the garment off of your shoulders, and you feel your nipples stiffen into peaks in the cool evening air.

Astarion takes his mouth off of you only for a fleeting moment, bending down to encircle a single nipple with his lips and flicking the taut bud with the tip of his tongue. His hands too, are busy bringing you pleasure, one tugging your underwear aside to allow him to slip a finger inside your waiting cunt while the other massages your unattended breast.

“More?” he asks with a voice like velvet, delighted by the whimpering moans that tumble unabated from your open mouth.

“More,” you repeat, arching your back in such a way that pushes you further still into both his hand and his mouth. A second finger joins his first, slipping past your entrance as he buries himself deep. You cry out, throwing your head back as pleasure wracks your writhing body.

Your hands fly to the laces of his trousers, fumbling to untie them. You lack the grace of his experienced fingers, but you manage well enough, hand wrapped around the base of his cock as it springs free from its confines. Astarion shows his appreciation by biting down on the tender part of your breast, hissing through his teeth as you begin to stroke him.

“Eager little pup,” he laughs. “Shall I tell you what I plan to do to you?” 

“Gods, yes,” you groan, admiring the way he feels in your hand, heavy, warm, and so deliciously hard.

“I’m going to fill you with my cock,” he murmurs, sliding his fingers out of your soaking cunt before pushing them back inside, purposely slow as he stretches you wide. “Just. Like. This.”

You see stars when he crooks his fingers inside you, teasing your most sensitive spot. His cock jumps in your hand when you moan his name, precome spilling over your fingers as you increase the pace of your eager strokes.

“And then,” he whispers against your ear, “I'm going to fuck you. Would you like that, my love?”

Your entire body is on fire, drunk on the scent of his perfume, the sensuality of his voice, the feel of him in you and on you. You reach for his face to kiss him again, equally desperate to lose yourself in his taste. 

“Yes,” you assert, running your tongue over a pointed fang. “Yes.”

Astarion’s fingers are moving inside you again, plunging deep within your heated core. Your cunt flutters around him, the inevitable precipice of your unraveling imminent. You mirror each of his thrusts with a stroke of your hand over the full length of him, mounting your pleasure together.

Through the haze of your delirium, a thought occurs to you.

“Wait,” you plead, “not yet.” Astarion's eyes find yours, narrowed beneath his lashes as he struggles not to bring you to the release both of you know you need.

“Bite me again.” Your voice is husky and dripping with desire, a flicker of mischief in your expression. “You said before that you can taste it, right? How badly I want you?”

You watch as his eyes flick to the puncture marks on your neck, ringed with the faintest trace of crimson from before.

“Don't you want to know what I'll taste like when you make me come?”

The hand Astarion slips behind your back crushes you against his chest, face buried against your neck to muffle his languid groan. Whatever pain he feels from his injuries is drowned out by the wave of desire that washes over him.

“Gods, above,” he hisses. His fangs graze your skin, a heady concoction of pleasure and pain. “Wicked woman.”

“Drink, Astarion.”

He sinks his fangs into you once more and you feel his tongue as it eagerly moves to gather the first trickle of your blood. His fingers resume their relentless pace, teasing that sensitive spot inside you with every upstroke. You release his cock, requiring both hands to steady yourself as you throw them around his shoulders and grind your hips desperately against him.

“Astarion.” Your voice is thin, strained from the effort of speaking as you find yourself once more on the precipice, an inferno erupting within you. He groans your name between pulls of your blood, the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

When at last you let go, you release a strangled cry, dragging your nails down the expanse of his back as your cunt clenches tightly around his fingers. You can tell the moment he tastes the change in your blood, his body stiffening as he drinks more greedily than he ever has before. His Adam's apple bobs with every swallow, the blood loss heightening your euphoria even as you slowly come down from your high.

When your movements finally slow, Astarion retreats from your neck, chest heaving with shuddering little breaths. Your eyes catch his, soft and round and reverent, as he takes your face gently in the palm of his hand.

“That was…”

“Incredible?” you prompt. “I know. It always is, with you.”

It's rare to see Astarion at a loss for words, and you huff a satisfied little laugh, leaning forward to taste the remnants of your blood on his tongue as he slowly kisses you back. He tastes of salt and iron; in a word, intoxicating.

“Your cock,” you say drowsily, hand slipping between your sweat-slicked bodies. “You promised–”

Astarion whisks your robes away, lifting you by the hips and positioning you directly above his eager cock. His fingers glide over your skin, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear as he pulls them over the swell of your backside. You lift your legs to assist him, and he laughs affectionately at the dizzy little way you sway back and forth in his lap.

“My love,” he begins, hands holding you firm. “Are you certain this is what you want? We can always –”

Stubborn indignation surges within you, and you lean precariously to the side and swipe one of the potions Shadowheart had left for Astarion, uncorking it dramatically before downing the entire vial in seconds. The bitter taste makes you grimace, but you immediately feel your strength returning, a newfound vigor returning to your weary muscles.

“I don't want to wait if you don't,” you murmur softly against his lips. “And I want to make you feel good too.”

“You are insatiable,” he says affectionately, pressing tender kisses against your lips and the curve of your jaw, coaxing a long, satisfied sigh from you as you relax against his chest. “Very well, then.”

With your senses sharpened by the healing potion, the glide of his cock through your slick folds is the sweetest pleasure. Your wetness spills down your thighs, and you tremble in anticipation as Astarion's eyes rake up the length of your naked body and settle on your face. They flare like the fires of the hells themselves as he enters you, every delicious inch of his cock stretching you open.

Astarion goans as your pulsing heat envelopes him, mouth falling slack. With his hands on your hips, he seats himself fully inside you, reveling in the way your body molds to his shape.

“Hells,” he huffs, raising your hips up before slamming you back down onto the full length of his cock as he surges up to meet you. “I had… almost forgotten…” he mutters, near incoherent between thrusts, “how tight you are.”

“It hasn't been that long,” you laugh, your composure held together by little more than a single thread as he thrusts himself hard and deep. “Are you sure you didn't hit your head back there?”

Astarion rolls his eyes dramatically, but the wide, lopsided grin that splits his face betrays his true thoughts on the matter.

“I think I liked you better when you were helplessly moaning my name, darling,” he chides, sing-song as he rolls his hips deliciously against you. The blunt head of his cock repeatedly brushes over the spot that makes you whimper, and your eyes go wide before you throw back your head with a guttural moan of pleasure.

“That's more like it,” Astarion gloats. “Much better.”

Your hands meet the solid wall of muscle beneath his bandages when you push him away, and Astarion lets out a disgruntled yelp as his back hits the bedroll. You lean over him, smirking triumphantly.

“And I think I like you better on your back.”

Astarion opens his mouth to retaliate, but he gets no farther than that before you give your hips a languid little roll, his eyes immediately transfixed by the way your breasts bounce when your back arches forward.

“Keep doing that,” he hisses, hands digging into the softest part of your thighs, “and you can have me whichever way you'd like.”

You want to rest your palms on his abdomen to give yourself more leverage, and Astarion spots the way you hover your hands hesitantly over his stomach. Now that the light in his tent catches his body just right, it's easy enough to see he's still bruised beneath the bandages, and the last thing you want to do is cause him any further injury.

Astarion makes the decision for you, reaching for your hands and interlocking your fingers with his. With Astarion as your anchor, you set an easy pace, guiding yourself up and back down the length of his cock, with only the sounds of your soft moans and the wet slap of skin-on-skin between you. His eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, and you're not even certain he realizes how serene he looks beneath you, the softness of his smile and the affectionate little way he keeps squeezing your hands.

“You're beautiful, Astarion.” It's an effortless admission, as true as it is simple. He's the most beautiful man you've ever seen, made even more astonishing by the way he gives himself to you so completely.

“Tell me something I don't know, darling.”

He's deflecting, of course, still uncertain what to do with such an honest declaration. He's heard it a thousand times before, but never as sweetly as the way you tell him.

“I mean it.”

Astarion's lips are still warm when you kiss him, and his hands slip from yours to cup your face. His forehead is sticky with sweat, pressed so gently against your brow as he sighs contentedly into your mouth. The journey to the swell of your hips is something he knows by heart, and he holds you firmly in place as he thrusts up into you, unwilling to deny himself the pleasures of your body for any longer.

Braced with your forearms on either side of his head, you let him piston into you, your entire body trembling as his cock slides home again, and again, and again. Astarion can feel the tightness in your core, the same way he can feel his own approaching release. When his fingers mercifully find your clit, you come for him again with a shuddering moan, face buried in his neck to muffle the sound of it.

Astarion tumbles headfirst after you, unable to hold himself back when the slick walls of your cunt contract around him. He spills himself inside you, pulling your body down on top of his chest to feel the rapid beating of your heart.

When both of you have stilled, you push yourself upright, sitting back on your heels with his cock still fully seated inside you. Astarion's expression widens at the sudden concern on your face, his eyes following the path of your gaze to the blood that's begun seeping through his bandages. 

“Well, that certainly can't be good,” Astarion sighs, wincing slightly as you prod lightly at the open wound. “You're not helping, darling.”

“I did warn you, you know,” you remark. “It's a shame you never listen to me.”

“If I had listened to you, where would you be?” Astarion counters with a fanged smirk. “Sprawled in your bedroll with a hand between your legs, lamenting that it wasn't my co–”

“All right, all right!” you shush him with a hand over his mouth, heaving a sigh. “I'm sure Shadowheart will be thrilled when she finds out.”

“You wouldn't dare,” he blurts. There is genuine panic in his expression now. He sits halfway up as if to stop you from marching out of his tent and announcing your sins to the entire camp, but you don't bother stopping him when he rests his hands on the small of your back.

“If you're trying to buy my silence, you'll have to try harder than that,” you tease, poking him directly in the chest. “And my services don't come cheap.”

“Oh, darling,” Astarion purrs, rising to the challenge. He twists the pair of you around so he has the advantage, pressing you down beneath him as he climbs over your body and leans down to kiss you again.

“I'm just getting started.”

[0bticeo]

aemond targaryen | you owe a debt

summary:

you grit your teeth.

you’re a long way from dragonstone. with you plummeting towards the ground, leaving aemond above, you’ve bought yourself a few precious seconds ー not enough. far from enough. your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you, a storm is raging and aemond is catching up.

you still.

he’s there.

wc. 1.6k

tw. unreseolved sexual tension, niece!reader (targcest), mild description of blood and gore, hubris, fix-it fic set in season one epsiode ten.

the rain is cold on your face, like tiny pinpricks of ice piercing your skin. raging wind blowing through your ears, you hear your dragon roar above the thunder. the force of it spreads through your bones. eyes half closed against the storm, fists clenched on the handles of your saddle, you curse. 

sending your younger brother alone, what was your mother thinking? 

he wants revenge. an eye for an eyeーa fair price. he could’ve asked for lucerys’ life. ( he must’ve been itching to do it, to draw his sword, sharp blade slicing your brother’s throat. to watch the blood pour out, spilling on the round hall’s floors.)

you see it, then. the dark mass before you, coming in closer and closer with each beat of your dragon’s wings. vaghar, largest, oldest dragon in the world. a massive, battle-hardened beast, with wrath etched in every inch of her being, begging to be unleashed, held tight behind her master’s iron will. (you think you hear him begging her to stop. )

high valyrian rolls off your tongue, scraping against your throat in a bark. 

faster.

visegar obliges, wings spread out against the storm. your breath hitches with how fast you’re going, strands of hair clinging to your face like you do to your reigns. 

you’re close enough to see arrax now, as small and young and terrified as his rider. 

close enough to hear aemond’s laughter. close enough to hear his tauntsー you owe a debt, boy . vaghar opens her gaping mouth, fangs gleaming under the pouring rainー

this will start a war. this will have your brother dying, torn up to pieces.

you will not let him die.

when you strike, it’s from below. lightning-fast, a blur of black scales, snatching your brother inches away from vaghar’s gaping maw. you feel her heated breath on your skin, the putrid scent of it – how many were left to rot there? 

you meet your uncle’s eye and he recognises you. 

you see it in how that mouth of his twists in a grin, tongue licking his lips in a slow drag. in how his eye traces your frame, sharpening upon noticing your stance.

“and what do you hope to do with that blade of yours?” there’s a flash of amusement in that coy grin of his. “surely, you can do better, niece .”

and he knows you can. he’s seen you in the training yard, wielding your mighty bow. he’s seen you grasping arrow after arrow, pulling them out of your quiver in an inhumanely fast gesture. he’s seen you hit target after target. he’s seen you run out of arrows and switch to the sword at your side, calling out for a sparring partner. 

(he’d been the one stepping forward, lip curling in that coy grin of his.)

now, your mouth is drying.

you’ve left your bow and arrows behind in your haste to get there. at this range, the sword is useless. 

you snarl, poison-laced words ready to strike because you yourself can’tー

your brother is screaming.

you look down and see arrax falling. with him, your brother. both of them, tumbling to the ground, spiralling down. arrax, almost torn in half, holding it together in a gory mess of viscera and torn up bones, wings beating erratically in a desperate attempt at stopping his fall. there’s so much red.

plunge.

plunge towards the ground at break-neck speed, visegar’s wings folding by his sides, almost brushing your arms. your shoulders are set ablaze. from the sheer strength it takes you to remain on your dragon’s back, or from your uncle’s heated gaze, you do not know.

soon you’re within arm’s reach. one look at arrax tells you trying to save them both is hopeless. 

“lucerys!”

he doesn’t look at you. he can’t, not with the wind roaring at his ears, not with arrax’s pain merging with his pure terror, not with the sea and its devouring waves below, they’re pulling him in, he’s going to dieー

you grab your brother’s arm and pull , high valyrian leaving your tongue in a bark. 

“visegar, up! ”

and so he obliges, your faithful dragon, leaving his brethren to crash in the hungry waves beneath. for a split second, you remain like that. floating in a never-ending storm, with your brother clinging to you, legs hanging in the void, hands in a vice grip around his flesh because you must not let him fall . 

so you pull and pull , muscles begging for you to stop, praying to gods old and new that your strength doesn’t fail you, that your uncle doesn’t catch up, not now .

then he’s on your saddle, and you press him against you, arms surrounding him, firmly pressing his hands on the saddle’s pommel for purchase. you do not let him see arrax’s fall. he’s safe. for now.

you grit your teeth. 

you’re a long way from dragonstone. with you plummeting towards the ground, leaving aemond above, you’ve bought yourself a few precious seconds ー not enough. far from enough. your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you, a storm is raging and aemond is catching up.

you still. 

he’s there.

right behind you, hot on your tail. you do not need to turn to see the wide grin etched on his pale features. you hear it in the low baritone of his voice, in the venom of his words. 

give up, niece.

and you can only weigh the odds. you cannot fight him. not with your brother there, clinging to your forearm tighter than one would to a lifeline. not with this storm. not without your prized weapons. you’re bound to lose, and he knows it.

you feel lucerys shift, looking up at you. oh, brave, brave boy with terror in his eyes. 

“it’s me he wants.” he gulps. “if you hand me over to him, you might get awayー”

you bite your lip.

each beat of dragon wing drives you closer to dragonstone. you can get there. you have to. it’s not just a matter of ensuring your brother’s safety ー or yours for that matters. it’s that should the both of you die here by aemond’s hand, war would break out.

greens and blacks have daggers held at each other’s throats. the slightest mishap will draw blood. you will not let your death be the reason a fragile, relative peace is broken.

but you can’t kill aemond either, can you? 

“niece.”

your attention snaps back to him. you find him already watching, hungry gaze never leaving you. he’s waiting, this wretched, cunning beast of a man. waiting for your move.

your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you on his back and a raging storm against his wings. 

but if there was only one rider…

you don’t have a choice. 

beneath you, visegar rises to attention. does he feel it, your fear? does he feel it, your unyielding resolve?

your hand closes around your brother’s shoulder, gently squeezing it. 

“whatever happens, fly home and do not stop .”

visegar moves. faster than all-mighty vaghar can see, faster than aemond can see, spiking above them both.

your brother is screaming.

you’re falling.

you’re falling, and there’s nothing to stop you. the gaping mouth of the sea will swallow you and leave nothing behind. you wonder if you’ll die upon hitting the water, bones shattering with the impact. you wonder if you’ll drown, if the fall doesn’t kill you. you wonder if you’ll taste arrax’s blood. 

you’re falling, and everything blurs before your eyes, storm grey and rain and a blue so dark it’s almost black. there’s lightning streaking the sky above, waves crashing down below ー and you do not know what’s up and what’s down anymore. the wind is merciless, splitting your ears with its force.

you’re falling, limbs spread out, gasping for air, and it feels like thousands and thousands of hands are pressing down on your heart and you can’t breathe ー

you think the wind roars your name. you think you see a great, black void coming from above, like the meteors the maesters weaved tales about for your entertainment. 

you feel as though you’re floating. you’re flying without a dragon. does that make you a god? you think you’re laughing.

you’re falling and it’s a gamble .

you’ve seen aemond’s stare. felt it burn like dragon fire on your skin, felt its pull down to your core as you fired arrow after arrow in the training yard. you’ve seen his signature half-smile widen just a tad bit as your swords clashed, felt the heat radiating off him as you pulled him closer, close enough for your dagger to brush against his jaw. 

(close enough to see his eye dart to your lips, pupil dilating for a brief second. close enough to feel his warm breath on your cheek. close enough to feel the lean muscles of his chest beneath the black leather of his clothes. close enough for him to bend down, lips brushing your ear in a low voice that left you with a hollow ache and clenching thighs.

“surely, you can do better, niece.”) 

you intrigue him, at the very least.

so when he comes, when he catches you mid-fall and cradles you against the warmth of him, with your name on his lips and what surely cannot be fear but is, you cannot help but smile. 

your grin flashes, as sharp as your blade.

“is that better, uncle?”

[utterlyotterlyx]

Shine

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Petty games don't work well with Azriel, but you never learn, do you?

Warnings - angstttt, pettiness, feral Azriel, possessiveness, lil bit of fluff, smut, oral m!receiving, p in v, dirty talk, praise kink, shadow play, unhinged Az, basically just smut tbh

Tension and anger echoed about the study, it was so stifling that even Rhys had no option but to dart his gaze between Azriel and yourself as you both stood opposite one another, chest to chest, shouting at one another due to your sheer luck and dangerous stupidity.

It wasn't like you couldn't handle yourself, but you knew you had only returned from your latest mission in tact by the skin of your teeth and sweat on your brow. Azriel had known the severity of the situation when you had muted the bond, and that made him morph into a feral beast.

Cassian had received the initial onslaught of his anger, his cheek throbbing and bruising as he sat lax in one of the armchairs with a rag full of ice pressed to his skin.

Muting the bond was something he had forbidden you to do, no matter what, and you had gone and done it.

"I couldn't risk your tugging distracting me whilst we tried to get out of there," you shot, shouting up at his towering frame that cast a shadow over you.

Even his shadows had retreated behind him, occasionally begging their master to stop shouting at you, that their pretty love was alive and well, they begged him to hold her and love her, but he was too angry to even think of it.

How could you be so foolish? Azriel had told you not to make all of the mistakes that you had, and you hadn't listened to him, not for a mere moment. It was in that moment that he loathed your cockiness and wit.

Clenching his fists, Azriel's nostrils flared, you stood toe to toe with him, an act that not many lived to talk of afterward, new-born fire burned in your eyes, "You're so reckless, y/n. As long as I have a say in it, you won't see another mission until you learn your lesson."

Stoic. Final.

Rhys sucked in a breath at your face, a usually soft thing that had contorted into blind, psychotic serenity, even the High Lord shrank into his seat whilst Azriel slowly realised the gravity of his words, "Am I bad dog, Az? Are you going to rub my nose in my piss and tell me how awful I am?"

Darkness tugged at him, forcing him back a step, but your eyes didn't falter, didn't move from his face for a singular moment. It was too late to take it back, the underlying tone that told he that he was attempting to tell you what to do, so he stood firm. "You both could have died today because of your stupidity. Rhys would be mindless if he allowed you to step foot on another mission."

There was a cut in your brow that was leaking blood, arrows tipped with faebane were shot at you during your escape, one of which had grazed your brow. Dirt brushed against your cheeks, twigs were entwined in your hair, possibly from the fall that caused your scuffed knees; you had walked into the house limping, smirking to Cassian at the near death experience, and that made his anger roar even more.

The gaze of a thousand blades cut into Rhys and he winced, lifting his eyes from the desk to you. He couldn't deny how reckless your actions had been, you could have died, you could have left Azriel without a mate, both of them without you and Cassian.

Rhys' lips curled into a tight snarl, partly due to the anger of being pulled into one of your fights which left the city trembling, "This conversation can wait," he rose from the desk, hands flat and steady on the tabletop, "We leave for Autumn in two hours," he looked to you, "You should go and make yourself look more presentable. But as for you going on another mission, I do believe that you should take a step back for awhile, until you can understand how your actions impact the lives of your comrades."

You went to bark a reply, your shoulders rising and falling in rapid succession. Rhys simply held his hand up and you growled at the action, the predator inside of you not liking being silenced one bit before you turned on your heels and flung the door open so hard that one of the hinges ripped from the wall, not before glaring at Azriel like death was imminent on him however.

"Thank you for that, Az," Rhys sighed and fell back into his seat, making a mental note to get the door fixed and reinforced.

You were by far the most fierce member of the Inner Circle, war was your middle name, you relished in your brutality, and it had astounded them all time and time again just how vicious you could be. One winter solstice, many many years ago, Amren went as far as to gift you with a pair of ornate talons like they were pieces of jewellery, the bloodthirsty animal inside of you grinned at them, and you hadn't gone into any battle without them since.

Azriel was the only person who wasn't scared of you, so it made sense that you had discovered that you were mate. It had taken you a long while to accept the bond, you knew that you were a difficult thing to handle, but he seemed up to the challenge, and he slowly broke down every defence you had thrown up around your heart.

Throwing his head back and running his hand over his face, Azriel cocked his head toward Cassian who sat there wearing a shit-eating grin that he wished to wipe from the face of the earth, "You'll be paying for that later."

It wasn't exactly a lie. Each time Azriel stepped one toe over the line you had drawn, that being attempting to control you or hinder your movements, you would react in the pettiest of ways. Sometimes you would wear the skimpiest thing in your closet and walk about the River House in it to tease him, swimming in the dark eyes of Cassian or sultry words of Mor, and you'd continue to wear it until he would forcefully drag you into your shared rooms and fall to his knees before you, begging for a taste. Other times, you'd go as far as to paint the town red with Nesta and Mor, and he would find you grinding against another male in Rita's, drunk off your ass, and the male would freeze and simper away once he realised whose eyes had stalked him from across the room.

Every attempt to rile up your mate had worked, you had always pulled an apology from his lips the moment he was done fucking you senseless. Azriel hated your little games, he made it clear often, but he always played them.

From the fury in your eyes, Azriel knew that you'd be taking your pettiness to a whole new level that evening.

Using the excuse of your cut up brow, you had managed to buy yourself an extra hour of alone time whilst the rest of your family departed for the Autumn Court.

It was Eris' birthday, and the new High Lord had invited you all as a notion to strengthen the newfound alliance between the courts, and of course, Rhys had agreed. Pity for Azriel that Eris had always had a wandering eye for you, and you were certainly going to use that fact to your advantage.

Gold clung to you like a second skin, a tight and sheer strapless corset pulled against your chest, adorned in a design of vines and dainty flowers, the skirt was long and trailed behind your steps and it was just sultry enough that it exposed both of your legs, right up to the thigh, and one wrong move would expose your cunt for all to see, the only saving grace being the golden fabric that just brushed below it.

Nesta had chuckled low at the look in your eye as she had styled your hair into loose curls. No accessories were needed, the dress was a statement on its own. You had been saving it for yours and Azriel's anniversary which was three days away, but such vicious actions had led you to remove the custom made garment from its casing and wear it for the High Lord of Autumn instead.

Adjusting the straps of you golden heels, you floated through the house like a summer wind and winnowed right onto the front lawn of the Forest House, a feline smirk on your lips as you felt the bond sing at your presence. Music and laughter poured from the open windows and doors, fire lanterns illuminated the path, and the guards at the doors didn't even ask for your name as they opened them with their mouths slightly agape.

Eris was sat upon the dais, looking rather bored, and then his eyes found you and he sat upright in his seat. The act made the room turn to you, to the dress glowing in the candlelight, to your exposed skin poking from the sheer material that stuck to you.

Murmurs from the crowd were dim against the music playing from the band in the corner, and you felt all eyes on you, even the ones that were seething. Once you had sauntered to the foot of the dais, you flickered your gaze up through your long lashes and curtseyed, low, low enough for Eris to catch a glimpse at the delicious cleavage at the heart of the bodice.

From the corner of your eye you saw Cassian's mouth move, to which Azriel's head snapped in his direction in warning before it moved back to you. A smirk befell your lips and you rose, "I apologise for the lateness, My Lord," your words were seductive and you skin glittered in the light due to the shimmering oil you had placed on your hands and arms, on the calves that Azriel loved to trail kisses upward.

"Perfection takes time," Eris drawled, his whisky amber eyes fixated on you, you were by far the most radiant thing he had ever seen, and the most vicious, it made his senses sing, "I appreciate the time you spent readying yourself for me."

With a smirk, you walked from the foot of the dais, in the opposite direction of your family, and toward a table adorned with various flutes of sparkling wine, plucking one from the surface and drinking the sweet liquid as the room resumed its previous activities.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Feigning innocence, you peered up at him, doing your best not to grin at the redness of his face. Azriel looked oh so handsome, dressed in all black, the top two buttons of his silk shirt undone to give you a glimpse of his tattoos, "I'm drinking my sparkling wine."

"Y/N." Azriel's voice was low and demanding, it made your hairs stand on end and a sinful shudder crawl down your spine.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Sorry, Azzie," you suck out your bottom lip and turned around, facing the crowd who were stealing the odd glance in your direction.

Azriel moved behind you, his breath hot on the curve where your neck and shoulder connected, "I've never seen this dress," his fingers brushed against the chain-like material.

The look on his face was not one you wanted to miss when the words fell from your mouth, so you craned your head, turning your beautiful face over your shoulder, "I had it made for our anniversary," his eyes darkened, "Thought why it should be wasted in Velaris when it would be so appreciated here."

Light glittered over your face, making the shimmering powder on your cheekbones glow.

Azriel's nostrils flared and his fingers gripped your hip, no doubt leaving bruises swelling on your skin, "Our anniversary."

An innocent hum vibrated against your lips, "Yes. Seventy-four years this week. We were going to make it special. Shame."

Then you turned away from him as a familiar presence entered your consciousness. Eris stood before you, eyes low and darkened with desire, a sight that Azriel lowly growled at, "May I?" Eris offered his hand as the floor reset, and you didn't hesitate to take it, ripping yourself from Azriel's grasp and allowing Eris to lead you onto the dancefloor.

No one else dared to join you.

Surely, where fire met fury, people would burn.

Eris' hand stayed locked in yours whilst his other rested low on your hip, barely grazing the bare skin at your thigh, his lips brushed the shell of your ear as the music started, "Don't let anyone take away your shine."

The High Lord whisked you into a waltz, his steps perfectly matching and harmonising with your own, looking deep into your eyes the whole time. You had to admit it, Eris was beautiful, not as beautiful as Azriel, but still. For a moment, your forgot about the world as you waltzed in his arms, his fire colliding with the flame burning within you, and the entire room held a breath and could only watch the magnificence of it whilst wishing it was them.

The music slowed as did your steps, and one more twirl later, Eris bowed to you, your hand still in his, and kissed the marriage band on your ring finger, smirking against it slowly before rising and taking another step toward you, "I like your games, y/n," your heart began to race, "Do let me know if you'd like your fantasies fulfilled," his finger twirled your hair around it and he hummed in approval.

Then, Eris moved, taking your arm and leading you back to where he had taken you from, which was away from Azriel as he stood between Feyre and Rhys on the other side of the room, eyes wide and shadows dancing.

It should have been menacing, the look on his face, the crooked, unhinged grin and dark eyes that peered at you. All it did was make your cunt burn with need.

Perhaps you had pushed him too far.

For another hour, Azriel stalked you from the opposite side of the room, he was the predator toying with its prey, and he fucking knew it. The constant intensity of his gaze filled you with excitement and dread, until it had gotten too much altogether.

The halls of the Forest House held a chill, and your heels against the floor echoed about the vast halls and tunnels. You weren't sure how far you had walked, up a few staircases and down so many hallways that you were sure you had gotten lost.

That intensity still lingered.

Exhaling shakily, you stopped your walking and you spoke, "I know you're here," you turned on your heels as another pair of steps prowled down the candlelit hallway.

There he was, hair messy from raking his hands through it too much, eyes zoning in on you, his shadows poking up from his shoulders at the feeling of having you so close.

"As observant as ever," he purred, taking another step, and then another, "Did you really think you could wear that, a beautiful gift for our anniversary, to remember all the time that we have spent loving and fucking one another, for another male. Our enemy. And think you'd get away with it?" Another step, and your breath became caught in your throat, another step, and he was on you, his breath fanning over your face.

Backing into the wall, your heart lurched at the lethal speckles in his eyes, "Perhaps you should stop trying to take away my shine," you tried to speak as calmly as possible, but he saw right through it, and Azriel grinned.

Raising his hands, he caged you between them, then one of them moved to graze against your cheek, then the line of your collarbone, then down your arm and hip, until they lingered where your dress and thigh met, "Shine all you want, my mate, I won't stop you," his fingers dipped under the hem of the skirt, caressing your thigh, "But what I will not tolerate, is you wearing a thing meant for solely my eyes alone before others, and bathe in the sinful thoughts of them."

He was beyond pissed. It was hard to see anything but the Spymaster of the Night Court in those eyes.

Gulping hard, you had no choice but to shrink a little, like a bunny caught in the jaws of a wolf, from the lethal promise in his eyes, "I wanted, for once, to do what I wanted to do."

Azriel tilted his head and leaned down, a feathers touch away from your lips, "And what do you want now?" His voice was rough and low, a hush above a whisper, his fingers continued to rub soft circles into the skin beneath that golden hem.

"I want..." you looked into his eyes, into the eyes that engulfed every piece of you, "I want..." your back slid down the wall an inch or so just to put some space between you.

"I need your words, Angel," he cooed as his other hand moved from the wall to run down the side of your face and neck.

"I want you," the submissive tone in your voice made him melt, he grasped your wrist and pulled you down the hall, wind sifting through your hair at the speed of his steps, until he opened a door and pushed you inside.

The room was humming with the last of a simmering fire, the last licks of flame flickering across the room. Hands roamed your waist before he murmured, "I think I'd like you to keep it on."

Spice and cinnamon faintly clung to the air, mulled wide and ash. Then it dawned you, you were in Eris' room, you were about to be used in Eris' own bed. A sickly tempting realisation.

Azriel rounded your figure and smirked, he was enjoying toying with you, if you wanted to play, then he'd play.

The Shadowsinger moved across the room, sitting on a chair you knew Eris would have spent his nights reading in, and sat down, legs spread and slouched into the cushion. Tapping his foot against the wood in waiting, you stood there, you weren't sure for what, but your chest panted.

"Well? Come to me, Angel," he purred, smirking at you, you moved to take a single step but he tutted, "On your knees."

Fire spread through your entire body and you sank to the ground, dancing your palms along the wood as he watched on with that predatory glare, "You look so good crawling for me," his praise made your core pulse, and you knew that you were already glistening for him.

Kneeling before him, in the middle of his open legs, you felt the world shift, and you knew he was about to devour you. Azriel motioned to the best of his trousers and commanded, "Take them off," your fingers reached for the belt, unbuckling the clasp before untethering the buttons to his satin briefs and pulling them down to see his cock already hard and throbbing for you, your fingers delicately curled around him and he groaned at your touch, "With your mouth, Angel."

Azriel shifted his position, unbuttoning his shirt to expose his chest, to make himself more accessible for you.

Taking him between your lips, you swirled your tongue around the head, flickering the tip of you tongue over him. Deeper he went, and you hallowed your cheeks as you bobbed your head, Azriel's head was thrown back, his hand curled in your hair as he guided your movements, "You're so perfect, aren't you? Look at how pretty you look," a soft whine moved through you and you rubbed your thighs together, begging to relieve some of that pressure building between your legs.

Azriel continued to guide your head, meeting every movement to the lazy thrusts of his lips, both of his hands were in your hair now, he moaned, a breathless sonnet that made you moan, making your lips vibrate around his cock.

Within a moment, Azriel had removed himself from your mouth and scooped you up from the floor, not breaking his stare as your thighs pressed around his waist and he moved to the bed, "Do you know whose room this is?" Azriel grinned against you neck, he moved back, his face hovering before your own as his fingers moved between your folds, you jolted at the contact, "It's Eris'."

So he did know.

Azriel pressed his lips to yours and you gasped, his finger entering you, and he took the opportunity to nip your bottom lip between his teeth, "He thinks he can touch you like that, think of you like this?"

He was going to fuck your scents into the foundations of the castle, so that Eris would never to able to escape it, escape the untouchable state of your mating bond.

His lips were on you again, and he shifted his position, resting between your legs as his fingers continued to draw soft moans from your lips. Azriel pulled away, taking his time in removing the satin shirt from his body, unlacing the cuffs and drawing the garment over his shoulders, his wings flexed behind him the entire time to make you remember who exactly your mate was.

Azriel positioned himself and pushed into you, capturing your lips on his to silence your soft groan whilst he stretched you, until he was fully hilted inside of you. Then he began moving, rolling his hips back and forth, mumbling against your lips, "You're mine. All mine."

The skin on your neck was clouded in marks from his mouth, sucking and biting every part of you he could see as he rocked into you, slow and deep, trying to stay in control.

Whimpering beneath him, you took his face in your hands and looked into his eyes; his hair fell over your face and you brushed it away, caressing his cheekbone with your thumb, "Let go."

It was all he needed.

Azriel pulled out of you, flipping you onto your front, and positioning you so that your back was arching in a perfect crescent moon, he wasted no time in pushing into you again, smirking against the walls that were already quivering around him.

This time, he wasn't gentle.

Your mate fucked you relentlessly, you were blubbering beneath him, feeling your walls spasm as he hit that perfect spot inside of you, moaning so loud that you were surprised no one had come in to investigate who exactly was getting fucked in the High Lords bedroom.

"Az, please, I'm going to-"

A familiar flutter passed over your clit, coiling around it and you clawed yourself right through Eris' feather pillows at the touch. The others flowed through your hair and down your sides, licking and caressing your skin.

Crying out, that white light blinded your senses as you came all over Azriel's cock that was slamming into you whilst his shadows took you to a whole other world entirely.

"That's my girl," his fingers trailed down the curve of you spine, furling in your hair and pulling you up so that your spine met his chest, burying his head into the nape of your neck, "Such a pretty dress, hm?"

Azriel didn't slow down, thrusting up into you, his fist curled in your hair and tugging on it to give him access to your neck and earlobes, "Mother above," you muttered through breaths, clutching onto the arm he had wrapped around your waist.

Smirking against your skin, Azriel coaxed another orgasm from your body, commanding his best shadows to stay focused on that bundle of nerves that craved attention, "Eris won't ever be able to escape this, us."

"Azriel," the possessive primal instinct had consumed him, the need to mark what was his, right in the heart of his enemies den, "Please."

"Tell me what you want, Angel."

"I want you. Please."

"How could I deny you when you're being so good?"

This time, Azriel fingers moved over your clit, sending electric white heat through your body, raw and euphoric, and he slammed into you, moving with unwavering pace until you quivered around him tighter than you ever had before and he felt himself slip.

His movements had you begging as he fucked himself deeper inside of you, through his high that had him moaning your name. Then his movements slowed to a stop, and you stayed sat on his still throbbing cock, "I hope that Eris enjoys your message."

Chuckling, he pressed his lips to your neck, allowing his hands to float down the bodice of the dress that had got you to where you were, nestled on your mates cock in the room of his enemy, "I'm sure he will," his fingers drifted to your stomach, halting there with a smile, "We may have done it."

Looking down, your hands moved to the same position, slithering beneath his, "Do you think so?"

Azriel hummed against your skin, "I do," It was no secret that you and Azriel had been trying for a child for years, you knew it wasn't ever going to be instant, but you had hoped for at least two perfect glimmers of your love for one another in the entire seventy-four years you had spent together.

"I hope so."

"Me too, Angel. Me too."

Smirking, you pulled away and turned to face your beautiful mate who was still kneeling atop the bedspread, "Are we going to talk about that little scene in the hallway, and on that chair?"

Azriel mirrored your smirk, "What can I say?" he moved to you, connecting his lips to yours, his other half, his everything, Azriel looked to your swollen full lips, to your hair, to your eyes that were glowing in the dying light, he shrugged, "It's the dress."

Author's Note

👀

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 263

Once More, we return to Tiamat prompts. 

It was a wonderful idea, really! If one of them couldn’t break the barrier, then surely their combined might would do it! And it had! It had worked, even if their remaining humanity was sacrificed. They’d done it, they’d made it where everyone could escape, could leave!

… Except for them. Someone had to close the portal. And it all would have been fine, if not for the remnants of the GIW. One last hail mary from the imbeciles, they all supposed. Trapping them here within the Zone. 

Separated from their families, from the pair of children they had agreed to raise. At least their siblings would watch over Ellie and Jordan. Kyle could hide them, make sure they were safe. Jazz… Jazz was gone, the final straw in this plan. 

They screamed, they raged, they destroyed in grief for those that didn’t make it, and for those who had but had nowhere to go. No portals opened, even as they tore at the green around them. They fought, any that thought they were weak, that they were merely a beast, an abomination trapped in chains of science and gold. 

There was nothing that could be done, Frostbite had said, sympathy in his voice. No way to turn back the clock with how entwined they had become, Clockwork had explained. The only thing they could do was wait, Pandora had tried to sooth, despite it doing nothing. 

They wrenched open the coffin in a hazy fury, tearing apart armies like it was blades of grass. Their maws devoured dead who had lost themselves and become mere husks and thralls, lashing tails ripping through armour like it was nothing. 

And then as titans, they clashed with the one who had once stolen the city here. There was no desperation from them this time, no armor besides scales unbreakable as flames and storms and ice and thorns ripped islands apart. There was no desperation besides that of their opponent’s. 

There was a pleasure in their victory, before it was wrenched away. What use was a crown when their family wasn’t there? When their daughter, their son, their children were not there by their side? 

Paulina laughed, hysterical as ectoplasm dripped from her maw as Kwan howled. Their body was covered in it, their rampage that had no use, no reason leaving a trail of destruction behind them. Is this what they wanted? 

No. 

Danny raised his head from the dissolving corpses to look towards the obliterated roof of the Keep, once so terrifying now turning to dust like the crown. The crown reforming above their heads, heavy and almost choking. 

They would carry this weight together. Would restructure things, would do what they had wanted to do for Amity before the Barriers. They’d work together to rebuild the Realms, make it safer, make it safe for those newly dead. 

No matter how long it took, no matter how hard it would be to fix the destruction they had wrought in this meaningless battle. (“Danny, you’re the spokesperson,” Sam spoke up, thorn-like scales ruffling. “You’re most familiar with the realms thanks to the Infinimap.” Fair. “We’ll need allies, we’re only nine people.”)

(“Let me talk to the egyptian afterlife,” Tucker sounded exhausted, hood folding back. “I’m most familiar with them… Star, Paulina, you’re both Princess Dora’s favorites-”)

(“We can do it. Just give us time.” “Maybe a to-do list.” “Clockwork. We need to talk to Clockwork, he’d be most familiar with this.” “Rest first, nerds. We’re all… exhausted.”)

(Valerie laughed tiredly, blades melting to heal a broken horn. “Time isn’t linear here Dash. You know that. I know that. For once we’re the ones with time to spare.” It would take years to get things up to snuff. Make things Safe for when they could bring their families here.)

Their eyes opened as the now flimsy chains shattered, a smile stretching across the shared face of their humanoid form. Soon. They could return to the mortal realm soon. Just a little more, and they could see their little ones.  They'd waited a thousand years, they could wait a few days more.

(also have sketch)

@fairy-lights-and-blobs @radiance1 You both seem to enjoy my Tiamat prompts/Aus lol

[fabric-shower-curtain]

By complete accident I somehow have the autopsy scar mod on top of the bhaalist tattoo mod, don’t ask me how they’re both on my durge I have no idea how it happened. But it got me thinking how would the origin characters (+halsin) react/barely react to a lover that is heavily scarred and tattooed? (Set in Act 1)

Read more for the full brainrot

Astarion: The first time Astarion saw your body for himself was when he walked past your tent late at night, through the flaps in the entrance he saw all those scars, he couldn’t tell what had you awake this late in the night, especially mostly naked with your back turned. The vampire simply continued on his way to hunt for the night. He dropped it there, until that is, the second night in the clearing you two spent together. He was lying down leaning his head against his arms as his red eyes stared at your naked body. His eyes flowed down every scar that littered your body, he barely seemed to look at the tattoos but that’s what he asked about first “So, can you translate that one?” - he points to the tattoo across your left arm, lifting up the limb you pull your skin to take a proper look at it. It’s been a while since you properly saw it, because just out of sight enough to make it annoying to stare at. When you tell him Astarion seems content with the information. His fingers drift across the tattoo. It’s a tender moment until the elf’s hand floats toward your neck. His ice cold fingers dancing across the lingering puncture wounds on your neck - “But these are by far my favorite mark on you,” You lean into Astarion’s touch releasing a chuckling sigh before calling him the weirdest flirt you have ever seen.

Gale: He really didn’t mean to go to the river at the same time he truly meant to go two hours early when he said he would, but that tome was particularly interesting - the effects of adrenaline on libido, certainly important for a man so restricted by his netherese orb. But now it was two hours past and he definitely had a musk going on. Taking an extra robe and rag Gale went to the nearby river, only you were there too. Illuminated in moonlight you were bare in front of him. Gale cleared his throat loudly, trying to let you know he was there. What he did not expect was for you to whip around and get out of the water to say hello. He tried his best to only look at your face, he did not succeed. Your skin was glowing with a vei of water cascading down in droplets. Gale’s eyes followed one droplet from your hair, down your neck, across your chest until a certain tattoo caught his eye, infernal script. Trying to keep his focus on the tattoo rather than the flesh its on he asked you if it meant what he thought it did. He was right in fact, and you told him the story behind why you got it, quite the nice tale. The wizard relaxed enough to notice another scar across your soldier “Is that from a magic missile?” He asked without thinking. Nodding in confirmation you turned to show your shoulder blade where the other two missiles struck. As you turned around the coldness of the night hit you like a thunder wave, a massive shiver shook your entire body spraying tiny water droplets around. “Gosh you must be freezing,” - Gale wrapped you in his towel-rag before stressfully ushering you back towards the camp. Once you got back to your tent you realized you left your towel and clothes on a nearby rock, you could return the peeping Tom favor.

Halsin: Halsin adores you long before he ever saw your birthday suit, sure he thought about it, quite a lot, but with his focus deep on the shadow-curse he doesn’t have time to do much other than think about out. But the first time he does see you was far from romantic or sensual. A hook horror had slashed your entire back open when you got to close, and Halsin watched it all happen. Before the beast even hit the ground he was rushing over to you, he didn’t think, he just ripped your armor right off of you to get to the wound. You might have been screaming but his ears were ringing too loud to tell one noise from another. Halsin couldn’t even see where scar ended and fresh cut began, your tattoos were doused in enough blood to make them impossible to see against your skin. The bear of an elf’s hand floated above the wound with the same glowing blue light the hook horror’s body was basking in, thank silvanus he was far enough from the sussur tree for his magic to work. Even with his healing a scar in the same place as the monster's claw marks stayed. Halsin’s druidic skills must be faltering, that’s what he determines at least. Until the next day, you’re healed fully up and about getting ready to leave camp for the day. Halsin calls out your name - “I’m sorry I could not heal you fully, I tried best I could but the scar persists” to his confusion you begin laughing. The scar he’s so upset about has been on you for so long now, and you tell him such. His healing left no scar, in fact he healed you so well an old scar was able to show.

Karlach: The first time she saw you naked you were bathing next to each other after a battle. Even with Dammon’s initial upgrade you can’t touch each other, but you swore to find ways to be intimate without touching, just like this. However you neglected to inform her about what lay under your clothes until now, scars covering you head to toe interlaced with tattoos of varying quality. “Hey Soldier! How come you didn’t tell me before stealing my aesthetic!” You didn’t even register this was the first time exposing yourself in such a way, a brief moment of panic before you burst into a smile. “Come here, let me see them” Karlach makes you twirl around, using the faintest touch of her fingers to pull your arms out and see the tattoos wrapping around them. Her eyes continued to trail down your body, after a gasp she jumped back up to your face - “That burn scar looks like mine!” She said before pulling down her trousers to show you the near identically placed scar on her thigh. But Karlach didn’t ask about the obviously fresher stab scars, she continued to smile at her new discovery but lets the two of you properly bathe for once.

Lae’zel: Even when pinning you against a wall the githyanki warrior wasn’t particularly gentle. It’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into tonight, she had said pretty explicitly she seemed carnal pleasure. Somehow Lae’zel was even more assertive in such a scenario than during your adventures. You couldn’t even take your own armor off, she practically ripped it off of you. Your body is exposed to her in an instant, she doesn’t react, her hands go immediately to unlace your trousers and undergarments. The night is enjoyable even as exhausting as it was. Only much later does Lae’zel ever comment on them, and its in a conversation praising you two’s battle prowess “Each scar is a battle fought, a battle won.” You try not to tell her you have at least two scars from dropping the knife while cooking with Gale. She’s sweet in her own way.

Shadowheart: Shadowheart first saw you naked while healing a particularly cruel wound, goblin had snuck up on you and slashed your torso deep. You stabilized yourself quick enough with a healing potion but the wound persisted. After the battle you wandered your way over to Shadowhearts tent, asking for help. She laid you down atop her bedroll, sliding your shirt off as you let yourself relax into the makeshift bed. And then you caught it, Shadowheart’s eyes widened, shit. But she didn’t say anything; she pressed her warm hands towards your open wound as they lit alight with magic. Radiating from your gash the warm feeling washed over you, your eyes closed softly breathing out in relief. Shadowheart quelled her magic, looking over you for a fat moment. You can feel her eyes wandering over you, up and down your chest, down your stomach and across both your arms. The relief of healing has left you now but you’re still too scared to open your eyes. And then a soft hand traced along your largest scar, her fingers were so light it tickled. “I like your tattoos.” The half-elf’s voice was soft, her eyes focused back on your large scar, “How’d you get that one.” Whether or not you tell the story she’s content, happy to have this extra piece of you in her memory.

Wyll: Poor Wyll just wanted to ask about the plans for tomorrow, but not only did he smack his horns on the skeleton of your tent while entering but you’re also as naked as the day you were born. The man nearly shrieked like he saw a ghost, his entire chest swelled up with his shoulders shooting up and he looked like he just swallowed a frog. Without a word Wyll turned on his heel and left your tent, only after trying to cool his blushing face off did he even process all your markings. Upon the log he sat on he dragged his hand up and down his face trying to process what the hells just happened. And then you exited your tent, completely decent this time. You greeted Wyll and sat beside him wondering what he had barged in about in the first place. But the poor man can’t even look at you. He as calmly as he could gave you the sincerest apology you’ve ever heard. After your acceptance he finally turns to you “So what does that tattoo across your back mean?” You pause for a moment, then explain as best you can. And that conversation continues just like that, he’d ask how you got a certain scar or tattoo and you’d answer him. In return he showed you one particularly nasty scar on his arm from a monster he fought while traversing the sword coast. What may have started as the most embarrassing moment of your partnership ended with you closer than before.

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part one

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part One - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.3k

The mansion is a war zone. Screams and gunfire echo through the halls, mingling with the sickening stench of burning flesh and molten metal. Blood splatters the walls, once lined with family photos and cherished memories, now smeared with the desperate last stands of my friends. My heart hammers in my chest, a relentless drumbeat urging me forward as I sprint down the corridors I once knew like the back of my hand. Now, they feel like the intestines of some dying beast, twisting and turning as it thrashes in its final moments.

I skid to a stop outside Logan’s quarters, nearly slipping on a pool of blood. The heavy oak door is reduced to splinters, gunshots carved deep into the wood. Logan isn’t there. Damn it. Where the hell could he be?

Of course, he’s been in one of his foul moods all week, growling at anyone who dared get too close. Typical Logan, retreating to the nearest bar when things get too heavy. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I rake my brain, trying to picture him—his location. There has to be something, some clue that could lead me to him before it’s too late. The X-Men are losing. They’re being slaughtered, and the only chance we have lies in Logan’s bloodied hands.

I force myself to see it, a twisted sort of daydream: Logan tearing through our enemies, me getting to him just in time. My thoughts race faster, my vision blurring with desperation. It’s not enough. He could be anywhere in this town, and my friends—my family—are dying.

“Kurt!” I scream, the name ripping from my throat, a raw, desperate plea. “Kurt, where the hell are you?!”

I stumble into Kurt’s room, eyes wide, hoping for a flash of blue, the familiar scent of brimstone. Nothing. The room is a wreck—furniture overturned, shards of glass glittering like ice in the moonlight, blood smeared across the floor in haphazard patterns. How much of it is Kurt’s? How much of it is anyone’s?

A cold dread grips my insides, gnawing at my heart. I can’t lose them. Not like this. Not now.

“Kurt!” I call out again, the name choking in my throat as I stumble forward, deeper into the room. My eyes scan the wreckage frantically, desperate to catch even a fleeting glimpse of him.

Suddenly, the world around me shifts. Time fractures, and I’m flooded with chaotic visions, flickering images of what could be, what might have been, and what is. It’s my curse—my gift. Chrono-Perception. I see Kurt laughing, his smile wide and genuine. Then, in another vision, he’s gasping for breath, his eyes wide with fear as a blade plunges into his side. The echoes of possible futures assault my senses, each one more horrific than the last.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the noise in my mind to settle, to focus. But when I open them, the reality of the present hits me harder than any of the potential futures. Just beyond the overturned bed, a familiar blue hand sticks out from beneath a collapsed bookshelf.

My breath catches in my throat, and I rush over, time seeming to slow around me, each step dragging as if the universe itself is dreading what I’m about to find. When I reach him, my heart sinks.

Kurt’s body is twisted at an unnatural angle, his once vibrant blue fur now matted with blood. His gentle, kind eyes are wide open, staring into the void. I reach out with trembling hands to close them, my fingers brushing against his cold skin. The sensation of his lifeless body under my touch sends a shiver down my spine. He wasn’t supposed to die like this. Not here. Not now.

A flash of another potential future assaults my mind—Kurt, alive and well, teleporting behind me with that infectious grin, teasing me like he always did. But it’s just an echo, a cruel reminder of what could never be.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking as I gently close his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

I know I don’t have much time. The echoes of the future still buzz in my head, warning me of the impending danger. But it isn’t just my perception of time that sets me apart. My Time-Linked Vitality means my body ages slowly, each year passing like a drop in a vast ocean. It makes me resilient, gives me strength, but it also means I’m cursed to watch as the people I love die around me, one by one.

The pain of losing Kurt, of seeing him like this, is almost too much to bear. But I can’t let it consume me. Not now. Not when there are others still fighting, still clinging to life.

With one last look at Kurt’s lifeless form, I force myself to my feet. I wipe the blood from my hands on my tattered pants, my resolve hardening with every breath. The mansion is still under attack, and my friends—my family—need me.

I turn to bolt to the next room when a strange shift in the air makes me freeze—a ripple, like reality itself hiccupped. This isn’t my doing.

I spin around, but before I can even process what’s happening, a door materializes out of thin air. It hovers there, glowing with a light that feels wrong, like it belongs to a place that doesn’t give a damn about things like hope or mercy. My heart lurches, adrenaline spiking as I instinctively reach for my powers. But they fizzle out, sputtering like a dying flame.

The door swings open, and a figure steps out. Cloaked in shadow, they bear the insignia of the Time Variance Authority on their chest, a symbol of cold, unyielding authority.

“Y/N,” the figure speaks, voice smooth as polished steel. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“What?” The word comes out more as a snarl, anger sparking to life within me. I have no time for this. “What the hell are you talking about? I need to stop them—my friends—”

“—Are meant to die,” the figure interrupts, their tone as final as a tombstone. “This timeline is not yours to change.”

The words hit me like a blow to the gut, driving the breath from my lungs. “What?”

Another figure appears beside the first, blocking my path. “It’s not your decision,” the second figure says, calm and detached. “You’re disrupting the timeline, and for that, you must be removed.”

“Removed?” I echo, my voice quivering with fury now. Cold dread coils around my chest, squeezing tight. “You can’t just—”

The first figure raises a hand, and my world goes dark. My muscles lock, frozen in place as a swirling portal opens beneath my feet. Panic surges, but it’s too late. The world dissolves into a whirlpool of shadows and chaos, the cold hands of the TVA agents the last thing I see before I’m dragged into the abyss.

The Void is worse than death. As I fall, time twists and warps around me, past, present, and future bleeding together in a nauseating blur. Memories crash over me in waves—Logan’s gruff voice, the X-Men’s laughter, the mansion bathed in warm sunlight. It all slips through my fingers, distant echoes swallowed by the darkness.

I hit the ground hard, the impact like a sledgehammer to my spine. Pain explodes in my ribs, but I grit my teeth and force myself up. The world around me is a desolate wasteland, an endless expanse of lost possibilities and forgotten timelines. Cold, lifeless, devoid of anything remotely human.

I stagger to my feet, my body aching, the emptiness of the Void pressing in on me from all sides. It’s suffocating, the silence so loud it’s maddening. I am alone—truly, terrifyingly alone.

My chest aches as I push through the underbrush, my hand pressed firmly against my side where the pain throbs persistently. I can’t see my future here—my control over time-slipping is erratic, even on a good day. The uncertainty only makes the situation worse. Each step through the dense forest feels like I’m wading through thick, invisible mud, the oppressive silence wrapping around me like a heavy shroud. My breath comes in ragged gasps, the crushing weight of despair threatening to overwhelm me.

A flicker of movement catches my eye, a brief flash of light piercing the gloom. My heart skips a beat as a figure materializes from the swirling smoke, gradually solidifying. I squint at the fiery glow surrounding him, a stark contrast to the dark, oppressive forest. Fear grips me, and I instinctively reach for my powers, but nothing happens. I’m powerless, feeling utterly useless.

“Hey there!” The figure calls out, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and curiosity. “You look like you’ve seen better days. Want a hand, or are you planning on moping around all by yourself?”

I blink, trying to process his presence amidst the chaos. “Who are you?”

He grins, flames dancing around his fingers. “Johnny Storm. You know, the Human Torch.” His casual tone does little to soothe my fear, and I take a step back, distrust etched on my face. “You look like you could use some company. So, what’s your story? Lost and hopeless, or just taking a scenic tour of the void?”

I scowl, irritation mingling with confusion. “I’m not in the mood for jokes. I’m having a really bad day—dragged into a cosmic wasteland and all.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement still lingering in his expression. “Ah, a bad day. I’ve had a few of those myself. So, what’s got you all twisted up?”

I swallow hard, my mind replaying the horrifying scenes from moments before—Kurt’s lifeless body, the screams of my friends and family. “I was trying to save my friends when these… guys in suits showed up and sent me here. Why are you here, anyway? Cosmic firefighter?”

“More like a cosmic firestarter,” Johnny retorts with a wink, his flames flaring playfully. “Anyone the TVA deems as trash ends up here—the lost and abandoned. Now, how about we get you out of this mess? The Borderlands is a decent place to catch a break.”

I narrow my eyes, skepticism etched on my face. “Borderlands? Sounds like a place where people go to get even more lost.”

Johnny smirks, his flames casting flickering shadows on his face. “Well, it’s got its charm. Plus, we’ve got a few folks there who might be able to help you out. But if you’re expecting a five-star resort, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“I’m not picky,” I reply with a hint of weariness.

Johnny’s grin widens, but there’s a hard edge to it now. “Oh, and just so you know, there’s a delightful lady named Cassandra who’s been making a little shit storm. To put it mildly, she’s a real cunt.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve encountered a few of those in my time.”

Johnny’s expression darkens further. “She’s a real menace. And then there’s Alioth, a cosmic entity that thrives on chaos. Think of it as a hungry monster that devours everything in its path.”

“That sounds… cheerful,” I deadpan. “What do you do here, anyway? Fight monsters and avoid psychopaths?”

Johnny chuckles, the sound a welcome break from the heavy silence. “Pretty much. But don’t worry. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, and from what I can see, you can handle yourself just fine.”

I look him over, nodding grimly, quick to expect my fate.

Next Part

A/N: Will maybe consider making a taglist! But lmk what you think!

[quiteliterallyilliterate]

MDNI

Ok, for real this time.

CW: Sex/Sexual content, not feral twilight, but he’s almost there, light marking, breeding

Reader has feminine anatomy and no pronouns.

Not proofread!!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Spring was a very prominent season among Ordon. Sure, every season had its place in their ritualistic life. But given Ordon was a small farming village, the icey cold of winter and droughts of summer didn’t provide them with much. Hell— even the goats were cranky without fresh grass to gnaw on.

But the sun would, with time, melt the snow and nourish the land. Small flowers would poke up on the edges of pathways and riverbeds. The bank would crack as the sheets of ice splintered and gave way. The grounds would soften and absorb the first rain of many months.

Link had always loved spring. As a boy, he loved the warm sun on his skin as he picked away at fresh grass, splitting the blades and getting soft dirt under his fingernails. As he grew, the season proved to be enjoyable far beyond just its temperance. Laying largely in, of course, that his job of caring for a herd of goats relied primarily on their happiness. Spring was kind to him. The sun didn’t beat at his skin, the goats didn’t groan their discontent, the work was plentiful, but pleasant.

Only one true downside sprung to mind with the season of spring. He remembers being particularly younger -perhaps his first season working as a hand with the goats- and getting rammed by a particularly competitive ram. His chest and back had minor bruises, and his palms were scraped.

It was that year he learned there was a lot more to caring for a herd of animals than simply providing them what they needed.

‘One must adjust themselves’ Fado explained as he wrapped the scrapes, ‘To the animals, you are new. Not one of them. Competition to that ram, in his eyes.’ He chuckled heartily as Link explained that he was only trying to help feed them. ‘They ain’t smart enough to know that, kiddo. Don’t you worry yerself. Now run along, I have things handled.’

The years passed. He grew familiar with the herd and they grew familiar with him. He could pick out which were particularly moody, the others more friendly. He knew their waking and feeding times to the minute. He knew which were the most prone to being lame.

But most importantly related to avoiding injury, like that of his prior example, when they’d mate.

And though he never would admit it aloud to a single soul so long as he had dignity, the idea was captivating. The thought that someone could feel the primal need to fuck so badly that the world becomes irrelevant was one he’d often entertain on quieter nights, his lungs struggling to draw steady breath as his hands wrapped around his cock. There was something about that need to rut into somewhere soft and warm and fertile never failed to draw strangled whines from his throat.

But of course, that was before he had to actually tend to said urges.

That was before his soul was shattered and welded back together with something more beast than man.

He’d found, more often than not, that a rut was more annoying than anything else. He was constantly covered in a thin sheen of sweat from his body temperature being so elevated. Worked wonders for attracting attention as a bead of sweat would travel down the contours of his muscles. However, having consistently damp sheets because of it was so annoying he’d sleep on the couch most nights. The aggression was mostly annoying because it resulted in him cursing out the goats so often he was sure he looked utterly insane.

That was, of course, not even mentioning the sexual aggression.

The weeks dragged out and the temperatures raised up. And every single night Link would come home, take a shower, eat some dinner, and proceed to spend the rest of the evening with his hands between his legs. Occasionally a pillow would find its way between strong, plush thighs, his hips bucking and grinding pathetically at the sensation. But even after his hands, thighs, stomach and bed were stained with sticky cum, another wave of mind-numbing heat would roll over him.

Notably most annoying was there was no solution. Horny as he was, the beast would shove away any lover he tried to take in distaste. It craved something special. Something specific to sate his urges and carry his kin.

At first, he thought this to be a cruel and unusual curse from Hylia. Her way of forsaking her hero who was permanently ‘tainted’. It only seemed fitting when one considers the purity culture the church possesses. That it was something beyond simply shameful to tend to temptation.

But then he met you. You who was always different. Who both him and wolf pined for. Who had him tripping over himself for your affection. You who he didn’t care about the consequences. So long has he had you.

You who did not spit at him for who he was— what he was. You who loved him regardless. You who kissed his tattoos and markings. You who reassured him during his anxiety attack, that you weren’t ’too good for him’ that he truly was deserving of love either way.

So much had shifted since then, though nothing really had at all. The both of you both still split chores and cuddled at night. But now both hemispheres of his sentience could be satisfied knowing you were his. First as a lover who he could cuddle and kiss, someone to cherish until the end of his being. And second as a mate who he could protect and claim, someone to breed and carry his pups.

Not much changed as of genuine dynamics, but his outlook most certainly had.

Spring, familiar in the back of his mind, began to bloom. The snow melted off the fields, the life returning to the woods, his mind running wild at seeing any newly exposed skin.

To some extent he felt indecent. The man in him wanted to help you prepare for the festival, to caress your warm skin and pepper your cheeks with kisses. He wanted to enjoy life at your side. The wolfish, however, wanted nothing more than to pin you to the bed and fuck you senseless. To make new life as if his own was dependent on it. The civility instilled in him was mortified with the thoughts of the primal.

But that of course, made them no less present. Nor did it made his skin no less warm, or his jealousy less looming.

Ordon never really held large events, but the equinox of each season was mutually assured to be the time to go all in. Each family would show up with multiple dishes and drinks and the festivities would last long into the early hours of the day. It was your first time at the spring festival, the children presenting you with a flower crown and giddy grins. You both ate and drank your shares, laughing among the village. Just like any other family at the table… that was, excluding the lack of little ones.

Eventually, some of the more drunken began to sing and chant, the makeshift beat and music causing some to dance and sway. Link hung back as you were tugged into the crowd by Ilia. The fading sun caught your skin, dousing it in a radiance beyond mortality. He could hear your laughter amidst the voices, clear and crisp. You were divine, he decided. Not just perfect or stunning, but someone he’d devote himself to until he had nothing left to give.

He’s actually quite unsure on how long it was he sat there in admirance. He got more than a few comments on how utterly lovesick he was for you, but it didn’t matter. Not to him. Not now you were finally his. You came back, a smile lingering on your lips as you kissed him, your hand squeezing his shoulder with some sense of urgency.

“Are you alright?” His hand, rough from a life of nothing but work, cupped your jaw with such delicacy. His voice was hushed, not wishing to draw attention to you in the case something truly was wrong. You grabbed him by the collar, demanding him closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you spoke.

“I think it’s time we headed home.” And who was he to deny you? Especially not with the lilt in your voice, one that had him weak willed to your order.

He didn’t bother putting you down as he walked through the front door. He had you on the bed in seconds. He straddled your hips, a single strong hand pressing you to the mattress by the neck. His hands tugged sharply at your shirt, ripping away the fabric with a muttered promise for a new shirt. He immediately defended upon the skin, latching and sucking marks and bruises.

“Yer so fuckin’ stunning sugar” He whispered against your skin, kissing the hickey he just planted.

“All laid out f’me, huh?” His accent thickened, his teeth grazed against the fragile skin of your throat, pulling it taught in places.

“All yours, just for you” You managed to weakly affirm. He grinned, sharp and suggestive.

“All mine.” He nipped at your neck, his subconscious running crazy with the scent of your skin. Begging him once more to claim— to mark what’s his. Reverently, he kisses the lovebites he leaves. Some bleed, but his tongue travels along each ridge in the bite mark. He savours your blood on his tongue. It’s the finest drug, setting each half of his mind reeling and his own blood rushing. He travels to your perked nipples, suckling on them both in turns as his hand massages the other one.

“So good for me.” He lets his hand trail down to your thighs, pressing them open. He chuckles at how easily they spread apart. A fang drags lightly against your skin as he kissed right above your hips, directly on top of where your uterus would be.

“G’na look so pretty, all stuffed with my pups.” He looked up at you through his lashes, his hands tightening around your thighs with the look of need on your face.

“I’ll help ya’ darlin’ don’t you worry” He slid back, hooking a finger over your waistband and asking a slightly shaky “may I?”

“Please, Link I-“ His hands ripped through any clothes that separated his mouth from your cunt. His hands slid to your hips to pull them even closer to his face as he lapped away. A starving man would’ve been more civilised with their meal.

But as far as he was concerned, he was drinking the most intoxicating wine straight from the tap.

He payed no mind to your whines, nor did he slow as your thighs squeezed his head. He would occasionally dive up, his tongue toying with your clit. He lets your fingers thread hrough his hair, pulling him as close as possible before gushing into his maw. He revels in the pain of your knuckles tugging at your hair. He leans in closer, trying to drink you in even more. You tried to pull back to give him breathing room, only to be pulled back in by the hips. He licked your pussy clean, some cum still dripping down his chin. Your hips buck at the sight, a man so pussydrunk he could die of suffocation between your thighs and be happy. He gently traveled back up to kiss either of your cheeks and comb through your hair, massaging out the insides of your thighs as you resurfaced from your mind.

“Love?” He praised you in his tone alone, his forehead pressed against yours as he untangles himself from between your legs.

“Yes?” You open one half-lidded eye to see a beggar man, eyes full of such hope.

“C-Can I,-“ He didn’t need to say ask before you knew the question.

“Yes.” He’s careful, as of trying to convey to you in the motion of pressing your legs upward just how much he loves you.

Something in his eyes darkens the second he’d sunken inside your heat. He paused, letting you adjust to him and your muscles to relax.

“Fuck that greedy hole a’ yours fits me- so so well” He grumbles out, his chest rising and falling, as if staying still were truly a great effort to him. He bares his teeth, unnaturally sharp for one of his kind. His hips suddenly draw back and snap against your own, his length pushing against your cervix. He mumbles fragmented praises incoherently, slamming into you with an abusive pace, contrasted to the slow circling of your clit. His hand is so warm against your sensitive nerves, you want help but buck and wail in a desperate attempt to keep the stimulation as you get closer and closer to cumming. And you know you’re not alone— his grunts turning raspy the closer he himself gets to cumming, almost like a growl.

“Gna’ knock you up.” His hips buck out of time, but certainly no less fast. Your cunt flutters with the dizzying combination of sensations.

“You want that? My litter? Pups of our own?” Perhaps it was the near ferality in his tone that caused you to topple over. Or maybe it was his two fingers that curled around your clit. Even his cock nudging against your most sensitive bundle of nerves. He followed not too soon after, your silken walls squeezing around him must’ve been exactly the fix he’d been lusting after.

You both spent a few minutes curled up, catching your breath and letting your minds settle. You begin to shift, only to be met with a needy whine and arms around your abdomen.

“Nonono! Not yet- Please stay still” Link’s arms were loose, willing to let you go if that were your decree. You made no motion to move, much to his delight. He kneaded out any of your sore muscles and whispered praises into your hair as he played with it. Your eyelids began to flutter, sleep only staged off by his quiet whisper.

“Hey Darlin’?”

“Hm?”

“I love you. I love you so much.”

[hrizantemy]

Nesta didn’t remember leaving Amren’s apartment. One moment, Feyre’s face—ashen, broken—was twisted in something close to betrayal, and the next she was on the street, running. Her boots hit the cobblestone like war drums, her lungs burning as if the Mother herself had cursed her, and perhaps she had. Nesta didn’t care where she was going. She didn’t see the street signs or the fae who jumped out of her way; didn’t hear the distant cries of market vendors or the clang of bells from the Sidra’s docks. All she heard was Feyre’s voice—quiet, crumbling: “If I die…” And then her eyes. Bright with tears. Too bright. Feyre never cried like that.

The wind slapped Nesta’s face, clawed at her skin, as if trying to peel away the truth embedded in her bones. The boy’s Illyrian wings will get stuck in your Fae body during the labor, and it will kill you both.She had said it. She had spoken it out loud. She had hurled it into existence. Nesta had wanted to hurt Rhysand, yes—crack that perfect Night Court mask, pierce the smugness—but not like that. Never like that. Feyre’s baby. Her nephew. Her sister. Her stupid, hopeful, glowing sister, who had looked so proud when she said she was going to be a mother. Nesta had watched that joy crumble to dust under the weight of her words. Words she couldn’t take back. Words that had torn through that apartment like a blade.

And now they tore through her.

She stumbled down an alleyway, the scent of garbage and old rain thick in the air. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest tight, and still she couldn’t stop running. As if she could outrun the truth, as if she could tear herself away from the moment when Feyre turned to Amren—not her, never her—and whispered, “You… all of you knew this?” Nesta had seen it then. The crack in Feyre’s heart. The way it shattered beneath her feet. And she had caused it.

Because she was a monster.

She collapsed behind a stone wall, her knees scraping the gravel. Her body shook. She curled in on herself like a child, forehead pressed to her hands, her breath hitching in wild sobs she couldn’t swallow down. She wanted to claw the words from her throat, rip them from her memory. But they were lodged there. Fixed. Permanent. Etched into her soul like the iron-tinged smell of death.

She should go back.

The thought pierced through the screaming chaos in her head like a shard of ice, sudden and sharp. She should go back, should face what she’d done, should fall to her knees in front of Feyre and beg. Beg for forgiveness, not just from her sister, but from the child who hadn’t even been born yet. From the boy whose wings she had named as his death sentence. Nesta didn’t know if groveling would fix anything—gods, it wouldn’t, it couldn’t—but maybe it would be something. Maybe if she crawled back to the apartment and pressed her forehead to the floor like a penitent priestess, Feyre would see that she hadn’t meant to unravel her like that. That she hadn’t meant to become every horrible thing they’d ever feared she could be. Maybe—maybe—she’d still be allowed to love the child she had cursed with her words.

But before she could move—before her legs could obey that first fractured thought of go back—she heard it. The rhythmic beat of wings slicing through the air. Not thunder. Not some beast come to devour her. Worse.

Cassian.

She looked up and saw him, his massive form descending from the clouds like a storm incarnate, those Illyrian wings that had once been her shield and shelter now nothing but a harbinger of everything she couldn’t face. His hair was tousled from the wind, his eyes already locked on hers with a look she couldn’t read from here, but didn’t want to try. He was coming for her. Coming to find her. Coming to drag her back, maybe—to yell, or to say nothing at all. And Nesta could not bear to see his face. Could not bear to see his disappointment. His disgust. His pity.

No.

The word slammed through her like lightning. No, no, no, no. Her breath hitched as terror seized her again, but it was a different kind of fear this time—not the kind that made her freeze, but the kind that made her flee. She surged to her feet before he could land, before he could touch the earth and close the distance. Her feet pounded the stones, slipping on wet leaves, nearly falling—but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not when she knew what he’d see if he looked too closely. Not when she knew the weight of the truth she’d poured into the room like poison.

She was a coward.

A coward who ran from the wreckage she caused, who couldn’t even stay to see the ruin in her sister’s face or the grief in her brother-in-law’s silence. A coward who left Amren holding a room full of broken hearts because she couldn’t stand in the ashes of her own making. And now she ran from Cassian, too—from the only person who might have still held some sliver of belief in her. She knew how fast he could fly. Knew he could catch her in a heartbeat if he really wanted to. But still she ran, stumbling down the side street, clawing her way into shadows like some feral, cornered thing.

Because it was easier to keep running than to stop and let him see the monstrous thing she had become.

Nesta didn’t know where she was going.

Her feet carried her through the twisting, uneven streets of Velaris like they belonged to someone else, darting down alleys slick with mist and crumbling with ivy, past shuttered windows and glowing streetlamps that blurred into smudges in her vision. The city was a labyrinth and she welcomed its confusion, its darkness, anything that might keep her hidden for another moment. The harbor’s salt breeze burned her throat as she sucked in air too fast, chest heaving like a hunted animal’s. She didn’t have a destination. She only knew that she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t face him.

Cassian.

She could still see his face in her mind—hovering, unreadable, his wings poised like the war general he was, like a man who knew how to face the worst. And she… she couldn’t. She had faced monsters before, horrors beneath mountains, death and power and gods. But nothing terrified her like the look she knew she’d see in his eyes when he landed. Nothing chilled her so deeply as the idea of Cassianlooking at her like she was no better than the father who had abandoned them all, like she was the kind of person who could shatter her sister’s joy and leave her bleeding in the ruins of it.

So she ran blindly, half-blinded by tears she wouldn’t allow to fall, half-aware of the ache in her legs and the sting in her lungs. She rounded another corner, stumbled through a narrow passage behind a row of bakeries, and nearly tripped over a pile of broken crates. Still, she ran—until she felt it.

Talons.

A pressure. A clawing. Not on her skin, not physical, but far more invasive. A scraping at the edges of her mind, at the crumbling, splintered shields she had barely remembered to keep in place. Not Cassian—no, he had never dared touch her like this. These talons were colder, sharper, deeper. The presence that loomed at her mental door was not just a High Lord, but a mate. And not just any mate—her sister’s mate. Rhysand.

Nesta’s body jerked mid-step, stumbling to a halt as her head throbbed with the contact, as if her very soul recoiled. He was trying to get in. Trying to see. And gods, she had given him reason now, hadn’t she? She had done what even he had not dared to do—she had told Feyre the truth. Had thrown it like a dagger into her heart. And now, Rhysand was clawing at her mental walls like the wrathful, protective beast he was, trying to rip through her silence and find the monster who had wounded his mate.

She gasped and pressed her back against a cold stone wall, slamming her shields up tighter, jagged and uneven but impenetrable in her panic. Stay out. Her mind screamed it, snarled it, Stay out, stay out,but still she felt him scratching, testing the seams, waiting for weakness.

Nesta turned her face to the night sky and squeezed her eyes shut. She had to keep running. Because if Rhys got in—if Cassian found her—if she saw what her sister’s mate wanted to do to her…

Cassian was getting closer.

She could feel it—his presence like a storm bearing down on her, a thunderhead chasing her through the alleys of Velaris. The steady beat of his wings behind her was growing louder, more defined. She knew his flight pattern, knew the way he flew with terrifying precision when he was hunting something down. And right now, she was the prey. A part of her—a broken, fractured sliver of herself—wanted to be found. Wanted to be held, maybe. Wanted him to say it was okay, that she wasn’t the monster she knew she was. But the rest of her, the part that had been made of knives since girlhood, that part knew the truth.

There was no forgiveness for what she’d done.

Nesta didn’t think. She ducked down another crooked alley, her boots slipping on the wet stone, almost going down hard before she caught herself on the wall. Her heart pounded like a war drum in her ears, drowning out the city around her—until she heard laughter. Loud, lilting. Feminine. And the smell of heavy perfume curling through the air like incense. She stumbled toward the sound, toward the warmth and the noise like a moth toward flame. There was a door, half-open. A place. Somewhere—anywhere—to hide. She didn’t look at the sign. Didn’t stop to think. She shoved the door open, staggered inside, and gasped as the door clicked shut behind her.

The laughter stopped. Silence dropped over the room like a veil. All Nesta could hear was the rasping of her own breath, the blood rushing in her ears as her knees buckled and she collapsed, crumpling onto the floor like a broken marionette. Her palms hit the hardwood, and she tasted salt and copper and shame on her tongue. The scent of perfume was thicker inside—opulent, cloying. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t care. Her body shook, her mind splintered, and she pressed her forehead to the ground as if it might make her vanish.

Then, a hand touched her shoulder.

She flinched back so hard she nearly screamed, scrambling like a cornered animal. Her voice cracked as she choked out a single word, “Please,” over and over, like a prayer. Like she could summon mercy if she said it enough. Her throat burned with the force of it. “Please—please—please.” She couldn’t look up. Couldn’t form a sentence. Couldn’t breathe past the crushing weight in her chest. Her vision blurred, and she couldn’t make out the face of whoever touched her. She just kept her eyes locked on the floor, on the worn wood panels, as her body betrayed her—trembling, sobbing, shrinking inward like a child.

And then she heard it. The beat of wings overhead—louder now. Closer.

Terror slammed into her chest like a tidal wave. He was here. He would find her, he would see her like this, see what was left of her, and she couldn’t bear it. Not now. Not like this.

But then, a voice. Feminine. Cool. Commanding. Older. Not afraid of Cassian. Not even fazed. “Get her to the back room. Now.”

Nesta didn’t look up. She felt arms—two pairs—wrap around her, gently but firmly, lifting her to her feet. She didn’t fight. She couldn’t. Her legs dangled uselessly beneath her, her head hanging low as they pulled her along. She stared at the floor, unblinking, too numb to register where they were taking her. Her body shook so violently she thought her bones might splinter from it. She couldn’t see their faces, couldn’t register if they were fae or something in between.

The sound of the door slamming shut behind them cracked in the stillness, and Nesta flinched again, her head jerking toward the noise though her eyes were still glazed with panic. The two figures who had pulled her in—faceless, shapeless to her trembling mind—moved with swift, practiced efficiency. One reached for a tall brass bottle on a side table and began spraying a fine mist into the air, thick with roses and musk and spice, while the other was pulling down rich velvet curtains, snatching up trailing silks and shawls from nearby chairs. Before Nesta could even think to speak, to ask what are you doing,she felt hands on her again—rubbing down her arms and back with oil, dabbing scent onto her pulse points, dragging cloth across her body like they were draping her in costume.

Her panic twisted into something else—confusion, alarm. Her breath hitched as one of the women, her voice surprisingly gentle, leaned in and murmured, “I know it’s uncomfortable. Please bear with it. Your scent is… strong. He’ll track it in seconds if we don’t mask it.”

Nesta blinked at her, still barely standing, still unable to find solid footing in this world that kept tilting under her feet. But the words broke through. Her scent. That was what they were doing. That was why the silks were being rubbed against her skin, why their bodies pressed lightly into hers, transferring perfume and sweat and whatever glamour they wore like armor. The other woman’s hands were in her hair now, tousling it, adding a spray of something sharper—biting and citrusy—to drown out the smell of salt and fear. Everything reeked of heat and desperation and survival.

She wanted to protest, wanted to say stop, but she couldn’t even get the word past her lips. She just stood there, half-draped in strangers, as they worked with military focus to scrub her scent off the wind. And all the while, in the back of her mind, she could still feel the echo of wings in the sky. Cassian. Rhysand. The Night Court.

They were looking for her.

And she was here, hidden behind curtains of smoke and silk and strangers’ sweat, while someone else fought to erase her like a stain from the air.

The scent was suffocating now—jasmine and rosewater and something musky beneath it, clinging to her skin like a second, foreign body. Nesta tried to breathe through her mouth, to keep from choking on the haze that curled through the room like a veil. But then—voices. Just beyond the walls. Muffled by the velvet curtains and the perfume-clouded air, but clear enough to pierce through the static in her mind.

Cassian.

His voice hit her like a slap, even before she could make out the words. That low, rough edge—the one that always carried heat and steel and loyalty. He was close. Too close. Her blood turned to ice in her veins as she realized he was just on the other side of the wall. Her legs nearly gave out again, and she gripped the edge of the table beside her as if it could anchor her in place.

“I’m looking for a woman,” Cassian’s voice said, his tone hard, clipped—his commander’s voice, the one he used on the battlefield. “She ran through here not long ago. Young. Pale. Brown-gold hair. She would’ve looked—” He paused. “—she would’ve looked like she was falling apart.”

Nesta bit down on a sob that tried to claw its way up her throat. Gods, she was falling apart. And he was still trying to find her. Even after everything. Even after what she’d done. She pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from making a sound, her whole body trembling with the effort.

In the parlor beyond the curtain, the music started up again—lute strings plucked softly, a lazy melody that curled around the conversation like smoke. The laughter followed soon after, high and light and utterly false. It was the kind of laughter meant to distract, to deflect. And then, she heard her—the older woman from before. Her voice was bone-dry, coated in centuries of disdain and apathy, and it slid into the air like a knife hidden in velvet.

“What woman?” the madam asked, her tone bored, amused even, as if Cassian had just asked after a ghost. “We see many girls, Commander. You’ll need to be more specific.”

There was a pause. A long, charged silence. Nesta could picture it—Cassian standing just beyond the door, wings half-flared, jaw tight, gaze scanning every corner of the brothel like he could will her out of hiding. He had always been relentless. Always searched until he bled for it. But now, now she didn’t want to be found. She didn’t deserve to be.

“Are you certain?” he asked, low now. Dangerous. “She would’ve looked scared.”

Another pause, then a tinkling laugh—not Nesta’s, but someone else’s, a courtesan perhaps. “Oh, Commander,” the woman said, flippant, honey-sweet. “All the girls here look scared their first time.”

The air left Nesta’s lungs in a ragged gasp. Her knees buckled, and she sank back to the floor, curling into herself behind the curtain. She wasn’t sure what broke more—her pride, or the echo of hope that had dared to flicker when she first heard his voice.

The music swelled again, a lazy lull of strings and rhythm meant to drown out truths, to glaze over danger with a veil of sensual indifference—but even that could not muffle his voice. Not now. Not when it rang so clearly, just beyond the veil of perfume and velvet, as if the walls themselves bent to let him in. Nesta didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. She clung to silence like it was armor, but her ears betrayed her—desperate to drink in every word.

“I’m not asking again,” Cassian said. His voice wasn’t raised. It didn’t need to be. It was low, slow, full of barely leashed fury that cracked along the edges like lightning in a summer storm. “If you saw her—if you so much as heard her—now’s the time to speak. Because whether you like it or not, she’ll have to answer to the High Lord of the Night Court. And if she’s hiding here, if anyone is hiding her…” He paused then, and the silence was thunderous. “It would be in their best interest to come forward.”

Nesta’s stomach twisted. The words turned to rot inside her. Answer to the High Lord. Not her sister’s mate. Not Rhys. No—the High Lord. The mask was off now. There was no warmth, no family, no forgiveness in that name. Just power. Authority. Judgment. It reminded her—she hadn’t simply said something cruel. She’d committed a crime of a different kind. She had broken something sacred. Shattered it. And now she was a threat. A liability. Something that needed to be dealt with.

Footsteps echoed faintly across the floorboards. She could hear Cassian shifting, feel the weight of his gaze scanning the room again like a spotlight. Her hands dug into the floor, nails curling against the wood. She didn’t dare lift her eyes. Didn’t dare make a sound. She didn’t know if it was cowardice or shame or self-preservation anymore—maybe it was all of it, tangled up inside her like thorns.

Then, finally, a voice answered him.

It was the madam again. Bored still, but no longer amused. “You can tell your High Lord,” she said, her tone clipped like a blade being sheathed, “that we don’t take kindly to threats here. We obey the laws of this city, and no more.” The silence that followed was heavy and coiled tight, like the air before a killing blow. Nesta could feel him hesitate. Could imagine the twitch of his jaw, the flick of his wings as he weighed whether to push further or retreat. She could picture it all in vivid, horrible detail—the disbelief, the fury, the helplessness masked behind duty.

A long, ragged exhale.

Then his voice again, cold and clear and final: “If she’s here… you’ve done her no kindness by hiding her.”

A beat. Then footsteps retreating. The front door opened, and for a moment, the wind howled through the brothel like a wounded beast.

And then it slammed shut.

Nesta didn’t move. Didn’t cry. She just stared at the floor, her whole body shaking—not from fear, but from something deeper. The knowledge that this was only the beginning. That her sister’s mate—the High Lord—would not forget what she’d done. And neither would she.

As the echo of the door slamming shut faded, silence took hold again—but it didn’t last long. The tension in the air unraveled not with reverence or fear, but with breathy snickers. The two girls beside her—those who had bathed her in perfume and dressed her scent in disguise—exhaled in synchronized amusement, their laughter soft, intimate, like they were sharing a secret joke. One of them leaned against the velvet curtain, watching the now-closed door with a smirk curling her painted lips, her perfume still heavy in the air, mingling with Nesta’s breathless shame.

“He thinks he’s terrifying,” one of them murmured, low and conspiratorial, as she adjusted her bodice. “Walking in here like some god, all leather and wings and scowls. Honestly.” She gave a dramatic little shiver, grinning. “I’ve seen worse tempers from a drunk countess with a broken heel.”

The other girl snorted, draping a silk scarf over a nearby hook as though this were just another night in their endless parade of encounters. “And that line—‘she’ll answer to the High Lord of the Night Court.’” She dropped her voice to mimic his low, commanding growl, but twisted it with mocking exaggeration. “Oh no, not the High Lord,” she whispered, clutching her chest in pretend terror. “Whatever will we do?”

They laughed again, unbothered, unafraid—like the words spoken in the other room hadn’t been sharpened by fury and consequence. Like the man they mocked wasn’t capable of leveling mountains or ripping open the sky if he chose. To them, he was just another male throwing around a title, another fool with too much muscle and not enough tact. And perhaps they had seen too many like him—blustering males full of threat and pride and polished armor. Cassian, to them, was a role to be played, not a danger to be feared.

Nesta sat trembling on the floor, still unable to lift her head, still pressing her hands into the wooden slats as if they were the only things tethering her to this realm. Their laughter rattled inside her like bones, like something broken that wouldn’t stop clattering. She didn’t speak, didn’t react—she couldn’t. Because to her, Cassian wasn’t a joke. He was pain. He was love. He was the face she couldn’t bear to see when she was drowning in her own ruin. And these girls—these strangers who had shielded her out of habit or pity—were laughing at him like none of it mattered.

And maybe to them, it didn’t.

Because to them, nothing had happened at all. No life had been cracked open and spilled. No sister had been betrayed. No child had been sentenced by careless, bitter words. They didn’t know what she had done. Didn’t see the wreckage of Feyre’s face. Didn’t feel the weight of the world she had broken.

The door opened.

Light, warm and golden, filtered in through the hazy air like dawn piercing a storm. It spilled across the floorboards in a soft cascade, stretching toward her in slow, deliberate inches. And in its glow, the fog lifted. Nesta blinked hard—once, twice—her lashes wet, her breath still uneven, but her vision finally began to clear. The veil of perfume and panic receded, and the world sharpened into focus.

The first thing she saw were them—the two women who had brought her here. No longer just hands dragging her into hiding or voices dulled by her fear, they now stood bathed in light, fully revealed, as if the curtain of the world had been pulled back to show the gods who lived behind it.

They were devastatingly beautiful.

Twins. So alike it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. Tall and lithe, their bodies draped in silks that clung to them like water, every movement fluid, deliberate. Hair the color of jet ink poured down their backs in perfect waves, thick and gleaming under the shifting light. Their skin was like polished moonstone—cool and luminous, kissed with a hint of gold, as though the sun itself had once touched them and decided to linger. And their eyes—gods, their eyes—were nearly inhuman. One’s irises glinted like molten copper, the other’s like pale opals, shimmering faintly with every tilt of her head. They did not look mortal. They did not even look fully fae. They looked like something older, something shaped in smoke and ritual and divine indulgence.

One of them leaned against the frame of the door now, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, expression unreadable but not unkind. Her mouth curved slightly at the corners, a cat watching a mouse that had chosen to curl rather than run. The other had moved to the center of the room, gathering the discarded scarves and shawls with the grace of someone born to be watched. Nesta’s gaze drifted over the gentle slope of her collarbone, the way her fingers moved like dancers.

They didn’t speak. Not yet. They simply watched her, unhurried, as if giving her permission to breathe, to adjust, to come back to herself at whatever pace she could endure. The laughter was gone now. The mocking. All that remained was them, standing sentinel in that soft light—like statues in a temple made of perfume and silk, unbothered by the chaos they’d drawn her from.

Nesta’s gaze drifted from the twins, from their impossible symmetry and quiet grace, and found the third figure in the room—the one she hadn’t truly looked at before. The older woman stood in the doorway like a storm that had settled into stillness, arms crossed over her chest, one brow arched with restrained impatience. She was older, yes—her age written in the fine lines around her mouth, in the steel-gray streaks woven through her ink-black hair, in the weight of her presence that filled the room more completely than the perfume or the silk or the candlelight. And yet there was no mistaking it: she was beautiful. Terrifyingly so. But her beauty was not the soft, romantic sort that faded with time. Hers was sharp-edged, sculpted from stone and ash and years of survival. A beauty that did not beg to be admired—it demanded respect.

Her eyes were the color of old smoke, fathomless and unflinching, and they locked onto Nesta with a precision that left her breathless. There was nothing soft in that gaze. Nothing pitying. Only assessment. Judgment. Perhaps even recognition of the storm trembling beneath Nesta’s skin. The woman had the bearing of someone who had ruled something once—someone who had lost everything and clawed her way back to the top without asking for permission. There was no crown on her brow, but Nesta felt like she was kneeling before a queen.

“You’d better have a very good reason,” the woman said, her voice low, calm, but humming with danger, “for making me lie to the commander of the Night Court.”

[dead--star]

Calix von Fellner was a study in containment, a Margardian noble whose disciplined surface seemed perpetually at war with the primal echoes of his world's strange genesis.

His face held a stern, aristocratic handsomeness, all sharp angles and controlled lines seemingly carved by duty and Margard's harsh climate. Yet, the intensity in his gaze was often unnerving, hinting at depths rarely shown, underscored by the heterochromia viridum of his eyes – one the warm brown of fertile earth, the other the flat grey of Margard's perpetual cloud cover.

Starkest of all was the 'Fellner Moon,' a shock of pure white hair slashing down from his hairline to temple across his dark hair, a mark of lineage some whispered was blessing, others a taint. His frame, favouring the lean, tensile strength of a hunter over brutish bulk, moved with a coiled readiness, an elegant predator's grace held firmly in check by iron discipline.

His voice was typically low, level, words chosen with pragmatic care. He moved with disciplined economy, his posture reflecting the rigid hierarchy of Dominus-Law, his performance of the Kith-Sign salute precise and conveying rank without unnecessary flourish. Only the occasional tightening of his jaw or a brief clenching of his gloved fist might betray the storm beneath the calm exterior.

Outwardly, Calix embodied the virtues expected of his lineage, said to descend from Saint Valkorian the Stern. He was duty-bound, disciplined to a fault, viewing the world through the harsh but ordered lens of Dominus-Law, which he initially upheld with dogmatic fervour. He respected proven strength, demanded competence in himself and others, and offered little warmth beyond a closed circle.

Yet beneath the ice lay the fire of his warp-touched heritage – a controlled, hidden ferocity that could erupt with shocking speed and brutality when truly challenged or pushed past his limits. His initial faith in the Law hid a pragmatic, analytical mind, capable of cold calculation when survival or duty demanded it.

Shaped by Margard's mists, its unique biological legacy, and the unforgiving tenets of Dominus-Law, Calix was a product of isolation and harsh necessity. He was the Hand of Fellner: a blade honed by duty, bound by law, yet forever wrestling with the echo of the beast within and the shadows of truths that threatened to unmake his world.

[dc-megatournament]

A Master List of fighters in the “Batman vs Everyone” tournament so far

If a character isn't listed here, they haven't been submitted.

List of the Fights Already Posted w/Results (in Alphabetical Order)

Red = Lost fight Against Batman

Green = Won fight Against Batman

Blue = a third option was taken

Adam West Batman =

Alphonse Elric =

Amazing Man/Will Everett = Lost

Ambush Bug/Irwin Schwab = Lost

Amy Rose = Won

Angus MacGyver = Lost

Animal Man/Buddy Baker = Lost

Annabeth Chase =

Ant-Man/Hank Pym = Lost

Aquaman/Arthur Curry = Lost

Arceus =

Arsenal/Roy Harper = Lost

Atom Smasher/Albert Rothstein = Lost

Avatar Aang = Third option; Bruce attempts to adopt Aang

Azrael/Jean Paul Valley = Lost

Aztek/Uno = Lost

Baked Beans = Won

Baldi =

Barbie = Won

Batgirl/Cassandra Cain = Won

Batman Beyond/Terry McGinnis = Lost

Batwing/David Zavimbe = Lost

Batwing/Luke Fox =

Batwoman/Kate Kane = Lost

Beast/Hank McCoy = Lost

Beetlejuice = Lost

Ben Tennyson = Lost

Big Barda/Barda Free = Won

Big Hero 6 = Lost

Bill Cipher =

Black Canary/Dinah Laurel Lance = Lost

Black Cat/Felicia Hardy = Lost

Black Lightning/Jefferson Pierce = Lost

Black Orchid/Susan Linden = Lost

Black Panther/T’Challa = Won

Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff =

Bluebird/Harper Row =

Bluey Heeler =

Blade/Eric Brooks = Lost

Blue Beetle/Jaime Reyes = Lost

Blue Beetle/Ted Kord = Lost

Blue Devil/Dan Cassidy = Lost

Booster Gold/Michael Jon Carter = Lost

Brody Foxx =

Bucky Barnes = Lost

Buffy Summers = Won

Bugs Bunny = Won

Captain America/Sam Wilson = Lost

Captain America/Steve Rogers = Lost

Captain Atom/Nathaniel Adam = Lost

Captain Cold/Leonard Snart = Lost

Captain Jack Sparrow = Lost

Captain Marvel/Billy Batson = Won

Captain Marvel/Carol Danvers = Lost

Cassie Hack = Lost

Catwoman/Selina Kyle = Third Option; They make out instead

Citizen Steel/Nathan Heywood = Lost

Cosmo and Wanda = Won

Crazy Jane =

Cyblade/Dominique Thiebaut = Lost

Cyborg/Victor Stone = Lost

Cyclops =

Danny Phantom =

Darwin/Armando Muñoz = Lost

Dazai Osamu =

Deadman/Boston Brand = Lost

Deku/Izuku Midoriya = Lost, Gains a father through Batman

Detective Chimp/Bobo T. Chimpanzee = Lost

Doctor Doom/Victor Von Doom = Won

Doctor Fate/Kent Nelson = Won

Doctor Fate/Khalid Nassour = Lost

Doctor Fate/Linda Strauss = Lost

Doctor Light/Kimiyo Hoshi = Lost

Dolly Parton =

Donald Duck = Won

Dr. Mid Nite/Charles McNider = Lost

Dracula (Castlevania) = Lost

Duolingo Owl =

Echo/Maya Lopez = Lost

Eda Clawthorne = Lost

Ed Dillinger =

Elektra Natchios = Lost

Element Woman/Emily Sung =

Eliot Spencer =

Ellie (TLoU) =

Elongated Man/Ralph Dibny = Lost

Elon Musk =

Elric of Melninbone =

Elsa = Lost

Elsa Bloodstone =

Emma Frost = Won

Enchantress/June Moone = Lost

Etrigan/Jason Blood = Lost

Eva-02 =

Ezio Auditore =

Finn & Jake = Won

Fire/Beatriz da Costa = Lost

Firestar =

Firestorm/Jason Rusch = Lost

Firestorm/Ronnie Raymond = Lost

Flamebird/Bette Kane =

Gabby Kinney =

Ghost Rider/Johnny Blaze = Lost

Ghoulia Yelps =

Godiva/Dorcas Leigh = Lost

Godzilla = Won

Goku = Won

Green Arrow/Connor Hawke = Lost

Green Arrow/Oliver Queen = Lost

Green Goblin/Norman Osborn = Lost

Green Lantern/Guy Gardner = Lost

Green Lantern/Hal Jordan =

Green Lantern/Jessica Cruz = Lost

Green Lantern/John Stewart = Lost

Green Lantern/Kyle Rayner = Won

Green Lantern/Simon Baz = Lost

Grumpy Bear =

Gundam Aerial = Lost

Gwen Tennyson = Lost

Gypsy/Cynthia Reynolds = Lost

Hatsune Miku = Won

Hawkeye/Clint Barton =

Hawkgirl/Kendra Saunders = Lost

Hawkman/Katar Hol/Carter Hall = Lost

Hawkwoman/Shayera Hol/Shiera Hall = Lost

Heather (TDI) = Won

Hellboy = Lost

Hello Kitty = Won

Hua Cheng = Lost

Hulk/Bruce Banner = Lost

Human Torch/Johnny Storm = Lost

Huntress/Helena Bertinelli = Lost

Ice/Tora Olafsdotter =

Iceman/Bobby Drake =

Invincible/Mark Grayson = Lost

Invisible Woman/Sue Storm = Lost

Iron Man/Tony Stark = Lost

Jade/Jennifer-Lynn Hayden = Lost

Jar Jar Binks = Lost

Jean Grey =

Jenny Sparks =

Jenny Wakeman/XJ-9 = Lost

Jerry (Tom & Jerry) = Won

Jesse Quick/Jessie Chambers = Lost

Jessica Jones = Lost

Jim Gordon = Lost

Joel Miller (TLoU) =

John Constantine = Lost

John Egbert =

John Wick = Won

Joker (Persona 2) =

Joker - Persona 5 =

Jubilee/Jubilation Lee =

Katara (ATLA) =

Katana/Tatsu Yamashiro = Lost

Katsuki Bakugou = Lost

Kazuma Kiryu =

Kim Possible = Won

Kirby = Won

Kuchipatchi =

Ladybug/Marinette Dupain-Cheng & Cat Noir/Adrien Agreste = Lost

Lan Wangji =

Legion =

Lieutenant Columbo =

Light Yagami = Lost

Lin Manuel Miranda =

Link (LoZ) =

Lobo = Lost

Luke Cage = Lost

Luke Skywalker = Lost

Madame Mirage/Angela Temple = Lost

Madame Xanadu = Lost

Magik/Illyana Rasputin = Won

Man-Bat/Dr. Robert Kirkland Langstrom = Lost

Manhunter/Kate Spencer = Lost

Mariah Carey = Won

Mario & Luigi = Won

Martian Manhunter/J’onn J’onnz = Lost

Mary Poppins =

Maxima = Lost

Max Tennyson =

May Chang =

Megatron = Lost

Metamorpho/Rex Mason = Lost

Mickey Mouse =

Mighty Morphin Power Rangers = Lost

Mister Miracle/Scott Free = Lost

 Mizu = Lost

Mon-El/Lar Gand = Lost

Monkey D Luffy = Won

Moon Knight/Marc Spector = Lost

Mr Rogers = third option; convinced Bruce to go to therapy

Mr Fantastic/Reed Richards = Lost

Ms Marvel/Kamala Khan = Lost

Mystery Inc (Fred, Daphne, Velma, Shaggy, Scooby) = Won

Naruto Uzamaki = Lost

Nightcrawler =

Nightshade/Eve Eden = Lost

Nightwing/Dick Grayson = Won

Nimona = Won

Noo Noo (Vacuum from Teletubbies)

Obsidian/Todd Rice =

Onyx Adams =

Optimus Prime =

Oracle/Barbara Gordon = Won

Orion = Lost

Ozymandias =

Percy Jackson = Won

Phantom Stranger = Lost

Phineas & Ferb = third option; Batman hires P & F

Photon/Monica Rambeau =

Pikachu = Won

Pink Panther = Won

Plastic Man/Patrick "Eel" O'Brian = Lost

Powergirl/Kara Zor L/Karen Starr = Lost

Powerhouse/Naomi McDuffie = Lost

Power Puff Girls = Third Option; Batman recruits the PPG

Puss in Boots =

Queen Hippolyta = Won

Raven = Won

Red Hood/Jason Todd = Won

Red Tornado/Ulthoon = Lost

Regina George = Won

Rick Grimes = Lost

Robin/Damian Wayne = Lost

Robin/Tim Drake = Lost

Rocket Red/Dmitri Pushkin = Lost

Rocket Red/Gavril Ivanovich = Lost

Rogue/Anna Marie LeBeau = Won

Roronoa Zoro =

Ryu (Street Fighter) =

Sailor Moon/Usagi Tsukino = Won

Saitama = Won

Sally Jackson = Won

Sanderson Sisters (Winifred, Mary, Sarah) = Lost

Sara Pezzini = Lost

Shade, the Changing Man/Rac Shade = Lost

Sharon Carter = Lost

She-Hulk/Jennifer Walters = Lost

Shen Qingqiu = Lost

She-Ra/Adora = Won

Shredder =

Slenderman =

Snoopy & Woodstock = Won

Sogeking/Usopp = Won

Sokka (ATLA) =

Solid Snake =

Sonic the Hedgehog = Won

Spawn/Al Simmons = Lost

Spider-Man/Miles Morales = Lost

Spider-Man/Peter Parker = Won

Spider Woman/Jessica Drew = Lost

Spoiler/Stephanie Brown = Won

Squirrel Girl/ Doreen Green = Won

Stan Pines =

Star Butterfly = Lost

Starfire/Koriand’r = Won

Starman/Mikaal Tomas = Lost

Star Sapphire/Carol Ferris = Lost

Steel/John Henry Irons =

Steven Universe = Third option; Batman attempted to adopt Steven

Steve (Blue Clues) =

Stitch/Experiment 626 = Won

Storm/Ororo Munroe = Won

Strawberry Shortcake = Won

Supergirl/Kara Danvers/Kara Zor-El = Won

Superman/Clark Kent/Kal El = Won

Swamp Thing/Alec Holland =

Taylor Swift =

Terezi Pyrope = Lost

The Atom/Ray Palmer = Lost

The Atom/Ryan Choi = Lost

The Bride/Beatrix Kiddo = Lost

The Crow/Eric Draven = Lost

The Cullens (Carlisle, Esme, Edward, Jasper, Rosalie, Alice, Emmett) = Lost

The Darkness/Jackie Estacado = Lost

The Doctor = Third Option; Bruce becomes The Doctor's companion

The Flash/Jay Garrick = Lost

The Flash/Wally West Lost

The Immortal Snail =

The Pope =

The Punisher/Frank Castle = Lost

The Question/Renee Montoya = Lost

The Signal/Duke Thomas = Won

The Thing/Ben Grimm =

The Warner Siblings = Won

Thor = Lost

Tigress/Artemis Crock = Lost

Tintin =

TMNT = Lost

Tom Cruise =

Toph Beifong = Won

Troia/Donna Troy = Won

Tyson (Percy Jackson) =

Ultraman =

Uncle Iroh = Won

Vampirella = Lost

Velvet Crowe =

Vibe/Cisco Ramon = Lost

Vixen/Mari McCabe = Lost

Voltron =

Walter White = Lost

Wasp/Janet Van Dyne = Lost

Winry Rockbell =

Wei Wuxian =

Wolverine/James “Logan” Howlett = Won

Wolverine/X-23/Laura Kinney = Won

Wonder Woman/Diana Prince = Won

Wonder Woman/Nubia = Won

Word Girl/Becky Botsford = Won

Xie Lian = Lost

Yami Yugi = Lost

Zatanna Zatara =

Zheng Shang-Chi = Lost

Fights That Have Yet to Be Posted (also in Alphabetical Order)

Alfred Pennyworth

All Might

Amadeus Cho

Andros (Power Rangers)

Anomalocaris canadensis

A Random Unicorn

Batman/Jace Fox

Bingo Heeler

Captain Kirk 

Carl (Llamas with Hats)

Cure Flora 

Cybermen

Cybersix

Daleks

Daredevil/Matt Murdock

Darth Vader

Deadpool

Dean Winchester

Drake & Josh

Duck from Princess Tutu

Dynamite Anton

Edward Elric

Ellie Camacho

Emojibots

Emu Otori

Eraserhead

Extra Fine Neon Pink Glitter

Ford Pines

Geo-Force/Brion Markov

Ghost Spider

Giovanni Zatara

Ichigo Kurosaki 

Inuyasha

Joe Hendry

Julio Richter

Kaz Brekker 

Kendrick Lamar

Kisuke Urahara

L (Death Note)

Lady Cassandra (DW)

LEGO BATMAN vs 80s Joker

Lionblaze

Luo Binghe

Maggie Simpson

Martha Wayne (Flashpoint)

Midnighter

Ms Frizzle

Omni-Man

Paw Patrol

Plastique/Bette Sans Souci

Prodigy/David Alleyne

Rob Ford (crack smoking former mayor of Toronto)

Roy Kent

RuPaul

Sabrina Carpenter

Scar (FMA)

Scaramouche (Genshin Impact)

Seshomaru

Splat Black Box Dye

Stargirl/Courtney Whitmore

Suki (ATLA)

The Belchers

The Family of Blood

The Flash/Barry Allen

The Question/Vic Sage

The Ray/Ray Terrill

The Silence

Totally Spies

Tumblr Anon

Twilight Sparkle (alicorn)

Vashta Nerada

Wattpad

Zuko (ATLA)

[queensharotto]

Brittle Doughie’s Cookie Run x Reader Masterlist (Part 8: Summer 2024)

A masterlist of @brittle-doughie’s Cookie Run stories organized by month.

Genre Emojis

😞 is for angst, 🎃 is for Halloween, 🎄 is for Christmas, 🍪 is for Cannibalism, 💗 is for Yandere, 💝 is for Valentine’s, 👻 is for Horror, 🎂 is for Birthday, 💚 is for Yandere!White Lily Cookie, and 😈 is for Ancient Beast AU (Inspired by Cuppajj’s Beast Ancient AU)

The Indents are related to the featured cookies. If there are numerous cookies (Over 10 Cookies Featured), I’ll make a note on that as well. Additionally, I’ll categorize various cookies if they’re associated with a specific hobby, location, food etc.

Also, the ⭐️ will indicate a story featuring one of Brittle’s OCs while ✨ will indicate someone’s interpretation of Y/N Cookie.

Additionally, many people proved art to showcase to Brittle, which will be indicated by this: 🖌️. I will also mention who provided the art.

June 2024 ☀️

• “Lethality” ⭐️

Featuring: White Lily Cookie and Brittle’s OCs

• “Get Along”

Featuring: Dark Cacao Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie

• “Back to Your Tree NOW”

Featuring: White Lily Cookie and the Five Beasts

• “Mothers of the Republic”

Featuring: Madeleine Cookie, Clotted Cream Cookie, Light Cream Cookie and Grand Madeleine Cookie

• “Pearly Contemplation”

Featuring: Peppermint Cookie and Oyster Cookie's Envoy

• “A Warm Welcome”

Featuring: Strawberry Stick Cookie and Mint Wafer Cookie

• “Yin and Yang”

Featuring: Peach Blossom and Affogato Cookie

• “Can’t We ALL Just Get Along”

Featuring: The Ancients and the Beasts

• “Walls of the Baker”

Featuring: The Ancients and the Beasts

• “I Don’t Remember You”

Featuring: Dark Cacao Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie

• “Fishing Season”

Featuring: The Five Beasts

• “Cuddles”

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies

• “Corruption”

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

• “Stepparent”

Featuring: Clotted Cream Cookie and Light Cream Cookie

• “Auntie Time”

Featuring: Madeleine Cookie’s Aunts

• “Embracing the Purple Warrior”

Featuring: Purple Yam Cookie

• “Peach Kisses”

Featuring: Peach Blossom Cookie and Dark Cacao Cookie

• “Marriage Ensembles”

Featuring: Dark Cacao Cookie and White Lily Cookie

• “Reunited”

Featuring: Dark Cacao Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie

• “The Ivory Prophet Joins the Kingdom”

Featuring: Dark Cacao Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie

• “The Ancient Beast Order” 😈

Featuring: The Ancient Beasts (AU Tag)

• “Bad Endings” 😈

Featuring: The Ancient Beasts

• “The Prophet of Salvation” 😈

Featuring: Beast Pure Vanilla Cookie and Black Raisin Cookie

• “The Manufacturer of Darkness”

Featuring: Dark Enchantess Cookie and Red Velvet Cookie

July 2024 🎆

• “Fork This! I Quit!”

Featuring: Timekeeper Cookie

• “The Lover of Passion” 😈

Featuring: Beast Hollyberry Cookie, Tea Knight Cookie, Pitaya Dragon Cookie and Wildberry Cookie

• “Illusion of Dreams”

Featuring: Clotted Cream Cookie

• “Ancient Heroes Roast”

Featuring: Shadow Milk Cookie

• “Mermaid to Cookie”

Featuring: Crimson Coral Cookie

• “Volition’s End”

Featuring: Mystic Flour Cookie and Cloud Haetae Cookie

• “Amigurumi”

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies

• “Ticklish” 😈

Featuring: Beast Pure Vanilla Cookie

• “Return to Sender”

Featuring: Strawberry Stick Cookie and Mint Wafer Cookie

• “It’s Gonna Be A LONG Ride”

Featuring: Numerous Cookies

• “Hissy Fits”

Featuring: Pure Vanilla Cookie and Shadow Milk Cookie

• “Gwimbly Cookie”

Featuring: Strawberry Cookie

• “Aerokinesis”

Featuring: Gingerbrave, Snakefruit Cookie and the Five Dragons

• “Heartfelt Unison”

Note: Y/N Cookie’s Skill

• “Thank You Y/N Cookie! Your Princess ISN’T in Another Castle” ⭐️

Featuring: Crowned Cupcake Cookie

• “Cookie Flipside”

Featuring: Light Cream Cookie

• “Soda Adventure 2: Draw Your Blade”

Featuring: Cream Soda Cookie and Cherry Cola Cookie

• “Superstar! The Cookie Olympics Event!”

Featuring: Ice Candy Cookie, White Choco Cookie, Choco Bar Cookie, Skating Queen Cookie and Muscle Cookie

• “I’ll Wait For Your Return”

Featuring: Caramel Arrow Cookie, Black Raisin Cookie, Stardust Cookie and White Lily Cookie

• “Raspberry Rose”

Featuring: Raspberry Mousse Cookie and Rose Cookie

• “La Resistance”

Featuring: Black Raisin Cookie

August 2023 🌅

• “Love You or Not” ⭐️

Featuring: Royal Icing Cookie

• “Lines”

Featuring: Royal Margarine Cookie, Pastry Cookie, Parfait Cookie, Twizzly Gummy Cookie and Licorice Cookie

• “Spice and Zest”

Featuring: Crushed Pepper Cookie and Lemon Zest Cookie

• “Keeping Friends Close and Best Friends Closer”

Featuring: Cream Soda Cookie and Cherry Cola Cookie

• “Compliments”

Featuring: Dark Cacao Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie

• “Tale of the Mansion” 🍪

Featuring: The Juice Bar Regulars

• “A Little Help”

Featuring: Star Coral Cookie

• “Feathered Envy”

Featuring: Blue Slushy Cookie, Red Panna Cotta Cookie, Sugar Swan Cookie, Pilot Cookie, The Cookiemals and Whipped Cream Cookie

Divider Source l Next Masterlist l Previous Masterlist