#I need more Stone being smooched | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollfacefantasy · 11 months ago

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hi! i love your writing so much! i was wondering if you could write something with leon and a clingy reader? she just likes being held by him, and one day a make out session gets out of hand while he’s holding her so he just fucks her while standing up, not letting her get down. i don’t know if this makes sense but the thought won’t leave my head. hope you’re having a good day/night! <3

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you're such a needy little thing. leon can't get enough of you, and when he finds out you like being held, he has to take advantage of that.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral sex (m receiving), standing sex, daddy kink

word count: 3.9k

a/n: thank you so much for the request! i FELT this one cause i also have a thing about being held hehe. i hope it's what you were looking for :) reblogs and comments are really appreciated <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi

It only took Leon a couple weeks of dating to figure out that his girlfriend was exceptionally needy. He could tell you tried to suppress it to the best of your ability, control your yearning for physical contact, but it was still there. Honestly, it was obvious from the way you looked at him alone. Glossy, pleading eyes just calling out to him for some love.

At first, he was wary of this trait. He wasn’t good with affection normally. Didn’t like talking about his feelings. That stuff was just too much. He’s a busy guy already. He didn’t need extra worries in the form of a sweet thing like you rubbing your cheek against his neck, snaking your arms beneath his shirt, softly pleading “Leon, I wanna cuddle.”

But his problem was that he always gave into that stuff. Words like those hitting his ears, your pouty lips begging for his kisses, and grabby hands roaming around his body always got you what you wanted. He’d plant a smooch on your temple or forehead, grunt a quiet “c’mere then baby,” and pull you on top of him.

Time passed, and you grew on him like ivy climbing a stone wall. Your clingy nature took root somewhere inside him and drove him wild. It was addictive, feeling so needed. For the first time in his life, he felt like someone’s absolute first choice. It was nice living out his days with the subconscious idea that he was your favorite person. He could get a bit cocky about it sometimes but more than anything it made him all sappy. He couldn’t help it. He tried keeping up the cool, slick persona around you for a little while because impressing you was so important to him. But the way you looked at him made him feel like Superman. Your precious face tilted upwards to gaze at him like he was the only man you’d ever laid eyes on. It just made him wanna scoop you up and take off, soar far up into the clouds where it would just be the two of you.

So he ended up feeding into this kind of behavior one thousand percent, enabling you with no reservations. If you were sitting together, you were on his lap. Standing near each other? His arm was around you, keeping you tucked to his chest. The two of you would be lying in bed and simple cuddling just didn’t cut it anymore. No, instead, he’d be rubbing your back, nuzzling and kissing your neck, massaging your scalp. And the pet names were constant. Your actual name was only reserved for serious or special occasions. In ordinary conversations, it was always “my baby” with the intermittent “precious girl” or “princess” mixed in.

Because, from his perspective, why wouldn’t he? You both deserved this. You craved the physical affection you’d never gotten enough of while he yearned for a sweet little thing to dote on and love between the brutal DSO missions that plagued most of his time. He didn’t give a fuck if someone wanted to say it was codependent or that he was whipped. You were his baby, and if sweet tender affection was what revved your engine, what kind of man would he be to deprive you of it?

Maybe he was whipped. He wouldn’t shy away from that label. He loved you undoubtedly. His heart ached to see you smiling and laughing. Each individual cell in his body cried out to be pressed against you. But in the same breath, he’d be a liar if he said that sex played no part in his urges to coddle you.

He’d never seen a girl get as cock drunk as you. He’d warm you up with his cooing and caresses, and then all he had to do was slide a few inches in you, and you were gone. Nothing had ever gotten him so hard. It’s like your brain shut off as soon as your sweet little pussy was filled up. Really, you went the whole nine yards; whining, babbling, drooling. Your gorgeous lashes would flutter as your eyes went hazy, and you always wanted to hold his hand. Well, more specifically, you wanted him to offer his hand to you. He’d simply murmur “Aw, is it too much, princess? Here, hold daddy’s hand. That’s my girl,” and you were already cumming.

Cause that was the other part of this whole thing. Shortly after he caught on to your intense need for physical affection, he discovered your penchant for the infamous d word. The first time you’d said it, he had you pinned down to the mattress, face shoved against your pillow, hips slightly elevated while he stuffed you full of cock. You just cried it out in the same way you’d yell for God or whine “fuck.” And he rolled with it. One little word wasn’t gonna get in the way of what he’d found with you.

Beyond calling him daddy, Leon tried to take note of all the things that got you going. Sure, you were fond of physical expressions of love, and you probably wouldn’t turn down an offer from him ever. But that didn’t mean you didn’t have favorites when it came to this stuff. Leon took pride in remembering what you liked. Over the months of your relationship, he made a point to remember the specific motion you liked him to do when he rubbed your back. He burned into his mind that you liked to kiss in a way that would definitely make those over-the-top smooching noises found in network dramas. What could he say? He just wanted to do everything right for you.

Possibly his favorite thing that he discovered about you though was your love for being held. Love probably wasn’t even a strong enough word. Your affinity? Proclivity? Plain white hot need? Who fucking knows. All he knew was that you had a major thing for being wrapped up in his arms with your head on his shoulder.

The first hint he’d got at this part of you came by pure accident. He’d just arrived home from a mission, a long and taxing one at that. He’d missed you like crazy, felt as needy as you did on a daily basis, and you were practically vibrating with a longing for his touch. So when you came bounding down the hallway to meet him at the front door, he’d grabbed you by the waist, picked you up and spun you around like in an old cartoon when the prince and princess finally get their happily ever after.

Coming out of the short twirl, he’d brought you to his chest and held your body a little ways above the ground. He cradled your head to your shoulder and kept his grip tight to support you. And it wasn’t like you melted or had little hearts gleaming in your eyes, but something in your demeanor shifted.

“There’s my baby,” he muttered while smacking kisses on the side of your head.

You replied with how much you missed him, more than anything in the whole world. He laughed his deep, rumbling laugh and brought you over to the couch. You were all over him even more than normal which was really saying something. You couldn’t stop pecking his face or pushing up against him. Next thing he knew, you were tugging at his belt and taking his dick down your throat.

“Fuck, precious. don’t gotta choke yourself. It’s not goin’ anywhere,'' he hummed while tilting his head back against the couch. You weren’t normally so forward. You were always needy, but typically, you waited for him to initiate. It was much more your style to drop hints that you were in the mood and wait for him to pick up on your signals, but this time you just went for it.

He stroked the back of your head while you bobbed your head, taking him deeper each time. Groans fell from his lips, and his hips jolted in small twitches. Your saliva seeped out over your soft lips and dribbled down to his balls. You had never lacked enthusiasm before, but now you were taking him like his cock was the best treat you’d ever had.

He could barely stand the sight of you in that moment. Cute eyes drooping while your cheeks hollowed. Once he heard the muted sound of you gagging, he was done for. Shot his load deep in your throat in what would have been an embarrassingly short amount of time if you were anyone else. But you swallowed it all without any complaints and then crawled into his lap to cuddle some more. As you curled up to his chest, he knew something he did struck a chord with you to get you so eager.

So naturally, he tried picking you up again a couple days later. He had to know if that was a fluke or if it really was a thing. This time it was much more intentional, but he still played it off as a teasing gesture. He scooped you up from behind while you were fidgeting with something in the kitchen, expecting a whiny chorus of “Leon!” and “Stop, put me down!” But you didn’t say either. You let out a soft squeak and a quiet “What are you doing?”

“Just giving you a hug, baby,” he teased and situated you in his embrace so your front was pressed to his.

Almost immediately, as if your skull was magnetized, your head fell to his shoulder. Your limbs tightened around him a little and you took a deep breath like you wanted to commit his scent to memory. You didn’t even complain about him pulling you away from whatever task had been occupying your attention.

“This isn’t a hug,” you’d said softly.

“Says who? Seems like a hug to me, got my arms around you,” he responded with a small kiss to your temple.

His hand rose to your head and cradled it against his shoulder as your legs locked around his waist. He stood there with you for a moment just taking in the embrace. It was as if he could feel you melt against his body.

“A hug is when we’re both standing,” you say quietly while slotting your face in the warm crook of his neck.

“Yeah? You look that up in the dictionary or something?” he mutters in return.

When he had a firm hold on you, he walked you through the living room, taking the long way up to the bedroom to give his little experiment some time to play out. You rested quietly in his grasp as he navigated past furniture. He ran his free hand up and down your back as he moved, his other one planted firmly on your thigh to support you.

After the two of you reached the bedroom, he set you down on the bed and climbed in after you. His fingers coasted across your cheek as he looked down into your eyes, studying you in a way. He was still curious about what was going through your head. Again, him holding you like that had led to some of the best sex the two of you’d had, but there was something deeper there too. This wasn’t just a cheat code to get you to drop your panties. There was an emotional part of this too. He could tell.

“So you like when I pick you up, hm?” he’d asked.

You looked up at him from your spot against his chest, glowing a bit as you came down from the high. “I guess,” you answered with a tiny shrug.

He’d chuckled at your attempt to be casual and just dropped the subject matter. Your reasons were probably sensitive to you. Located in a deep, private cavern of your heart that was too guarded for you to let even him in yet. And that was ok with him. For now, he’d just chalk it up to some desire on an instinctual level. It was just something that made you tick, and it became something he did for you from time to time when you needed that extra level of care.

This evening, the two of you had been watching some movie. To be honest, Leon didn’t even remember what it was called at this point because he didn’t really wanna watch it in the first place. He was much more interested in you. You had just started it up as he arrived home from running some errands though, so he didn’t want to be rude and ask you to shut it off just because he was horny. Instead, he flopped down next to you on the couch.

A small laugh bubbles from your lips as he pulls you to him and kisses down the side of your face, murmuring for you to explain what’s going on in the thing you were watching. You ramble on about the story, telling him that it’s the end of the world and these guys are trapped in this house, and that one is friends with that one but hates the other one, and blah blah blah. He loved you to death, but he just couldn’t care less about that right now. He hums along with a stream alternating between “mhm” and “oh yeah.”

Your laughter increases as his kisses become more distracting. He nips at the skin of your throat and litters your soft skin with love bites. His tongue laves at your neck as his nose coasts over your flesh. After a while, your own interest in the movie begins to dwindle. You turn your head and plant some smooches on his face, enticing him to tilt his head upwards. The two of you meet in the middle, connecting your lips.

Mouths move in sync, tongues brush each other, and soon enough, your seat’s been abandoned in favor of your true favorite spot. You’re parked on his lap, the lush flesh of your ass flush against his semi-hard bulge. His hand slithers up your back underneath your shirt to rub up and down your spine while pulling you closer. Your breathing gets heavier, and you’re practically panting when you two finally pull away for a break. Your lips are wet with spit and a little puffy from making out. He drags his thumb over your bottom one as he smirks at your glazed eyes.

“Think you’d be ok with finishing this later?” he asks.

To his pleasure, you’re quick to accept the offer with a nod. “Seen it before anyways,” you admit and lean back in for more kisses.

He chuckles into your mouth and boosts you up without even turning the tv off. He’s stumbling to the bedroom, and you’re latched onto him like a little spidermonkey or something. He knew well by now that being carried took your brain to that sweet spot of utter submission, but today you were on something else entirely. You were getting whiny between kisses. He was having to support you extra because your hands were trying to slide in between the two of you and get at his pants. He assumed it was cause he got you riled up before picking you up, but he didn’t lament about it too much. He wasn’t thinking with his head right now.

All your squirming around nearly made him trip and topple the both of you to the ground. He grunts and shifts you around, trying to get you to settle down at least till you reach the bedroom. You wouldn’t let up though, continuing on with your impatient hip rocking and greedy fingers. He’s sure he’s about to fall over and one of you is moments away from serious injury, so he totters a few steps over and secures you against the wall.

“Jesus, you’d think I’d just got back from a war or something,” he breathes.

You laugh, but keep up your neediness. “Just want you so bad. Missed my daddy all day,” you murmur.

“Yeah? I know it’s hard being away from me. Your little head’s just not cut out for all that thinking is it?” he coos condescendingly, “This is how you're meant to be, just attached to daddy, letting him take care of everything while you tag along.”

“Mhm,” you nod and kiss him again. He can feel you smiling against his lips.

“Yeah, so how bout you do me a favor then and stop wriggling around so much. You wanna get dropped on your head so thinking isn’t even an option anymore?” he teases.

“No. I just…” you whimper defensively. A smile spreads across your face as you hide your face at the base of his neck. “I just want you… really bad.”

That was a tone Leon knew well by now. That was the tone of the guessing game. It was the voice you used when you wanted something but were too shy to just ask for it. So Leon had to decipher your signals and figure out what that thing was. Luckily, this time around it was pretty simple.

“Really bad? Like pinned down in the middle of the hallway while I’m stuffing you full of cum bad?” he asks.

“Sorta…” you say.

With an amused shake of his head, he thinks a little more. The stuffed full of cum thing was a given. So what was off? He was thinking through this as if searching for a missing puzzle piece. He runs through different scenarios before it clicks. He laughs a little. It was kind of obvious once he had it.

“Oh, of course not. There’s no way you’d choose to be out of my arms. What was I thinking?” he says, exaggerating his cadence, “So you want it standing?”

You nod, and with the right answer, that little smile feels so much sweeter. He leans harder into you, keeping you by pressing you between him and the wall. Giving you a few messy kisses, he finally undoes his pants and pushes them down to his mid-thigh. He was fully hard now. You could feel it as he rolled his hips against your center.

“Lucky you’re wearing a skirt, nice and easy for me,” he hums.

He bunches up the fabric around your waist before dragging his fingers over your panties, feeling how they were damp. He smirks against your lips while applying more pressure, seeking out your swollen clit.

“Already so wet, baby,” he chides, “Is this how you get while I’m not with you? Can’t think of anything but daddy cause your pretty pussy’s just crying for some more attention.”

“Yeah, need you to make the ache go away,” you say in a breathy whimper.

“I know you do,” he coos.

It’s a bit difficult in this position, but Leon manages to remove the last barriers of cloth separating the two of you. He lines up his dick with your entrance and slides home. Now it’s his head that falls on your shoulder as he groans. His stance didn’t really allow him to ease in. He was balls deep in the first stroke. You let out a long satisfied moan.

Taking a moment to readjust, he gets his elbows hooked under the bends of your knees. You’re basically bent in half, his cock to your cervix. This angle felt even deeper too. Your walls pulse around him as you work to accommodate the length.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Every part of you clings to me,” he grunts before taking a step away from the wall.

Losing the stability behind your back had you rocking and shifting more, causing his tip to nudge against all those sweet spots. Your thighs quiver as Leon gets into a rhythm and figures out how to bounce you on his cock like his. The sound of your skin meeting floats down the hallway. You whine and whimper, your eyes roll back as your head tilts the same direction.

He could tell you were loving it. Your favorite place to be combined with your favorite feeling in the entire world. There was nothing his sweet girl loved more than being stuffed full of cock and held by him.

“Feeling good, princess? Is daddy fucking you just how you wanted?” he asks.

“Mhm, mhm, mhm,” you whimper and nod dumbly.

“Good,” he says. He focuses on working himself in and out of you. His mind is locked on the sensation of your slick coating his shaft and collecting at the base, dripping down to his balls. But more words fill his mind and rush to his mouth to be let out. “This is why you’re so needy, right baby? You just need some cock in you or you get so frustrated. Can’t even think straight without your fill, can you?”

You shake your head wildly. Your legs tense over his arms. His hands dig into your back to keep you supported. You see his biceps flexing beneath his sleeves as he uses his strength to hold you up. He rocks you on his cock, back and forth, sliding himself in and out. You’re gasping and trembling more noticeably now. He knows you’re approaching the peak.

“Doing so good for me, precious,” he murmurs, “Keep squeezing me like that so I can fill you up just how you need.”

Your noises become more desperate. It feels as though you get even tighter. Leon slams into you deeper than you could remember. But then again, in this state, your memory wasn’t worth much. Pumping in and out, he sees your eyes squeeze show, your mouth widening into that cute familiar shape it always made when you came.

“Go ahead, baby. Make a mess for daddy,” he groans.

You do as he says, following your orders. You seize up and moan, long and loud. He tightens his grip and takes a step closer to the wall to ensure your high isn’t cut by falling. His hips don’t stop though. He feels that tensing in his belly. Gritting his teeth, he pounds you over and over until he has to stumble back to the wall.

You hit the surface with a thud, but he’s a little too busy to notice. He growls and whimpers into your neck, hips working at a more strained pace as he tries to grab that brief euphoria. A few thrusts later and release is washing over him. He fucks you full, going deep and staying true to his word about filling you up. He pumps every last drop in.

You slowly slide down in his arms till he lets go of your legs and your feet can touch the ground again. Looking up at him as he comes down, you watch his features melt into the relaxation of post-release. You lean up and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. His eyes open and look down at you. A lazy smile spreads on his face and moves in to return the gesture.

“So how’d I do?” he asks with that smug look you loved so much.

“Perfect like always,” you answer, genuine in contrast to his teasing. You step forward on wobbly legs, grabbing his hand to finish your trip to the bedroom together. He leans down and smacks a kiss on your neck.

“Clearly not perfect enough if you’re walking on your own now,” he purrs in your ear.

You smile and look down. “There’s still time to fix that,” you offer.

“Of course there is,” he agrees with a light swat to your ass. He pecks your lips once more before following you through the entryway to your shared room.

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #smut

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astralnymphh · 7 months ago

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jus needa grab ellies hips from behind and sway em while music plays in the background… until you sway em a little too much and she gives you that look. she’s all mushy internally but acts like a stone wall on the outside. turning around to softly sway her towards the sofa and lay her down. EEEEP she’d totally get that loser grin out too. eating her out and she’s all squirmy n’ flustered <3 neeeeeeda handle her cause she deserves some loving !!!

18+ ─⋆˙꩜ ur so real for this anon. said loser grin crooking her pretty peach lips as she observes you, leading your mouth over various leas of fabrics and flesh. all on one synonymous path to the heart of her thighs; collarbone, sternum, belly button, the borderline of her waistband. with each muddled smack of your kiss, she would squirm, and rouse in volume. so, when the area most craved, most anticipated for, is met with your hungriest kiss - she moans, "uhhnn, shit," and lets a curse slip, chin nearly touching her neck as her head had perked to follow you, visually. that's when the grin n' all her cute dimples and wrinkles recede, when realization sinks in. ellie could tell your intent earlier, but she was too caught up in the swaying and the smooching to actually prepare her mind. lime-eyed fluster shines in the sockets staring at you - pursed brows and mushy, heart-shaped pupils - as you undo her bottoms, backs of your knuckles crossing the textured length of her thighs as you ease the waistband down. a giggle forms in your chest when her legs quickly retreat from the pantholes you've just glid from her ankles, ellie clearly being too enkindled and flustered to guess where you want - no, need her legs to go. "hey, hey- where ya' going els'?" your voice crawls to her, and you collect her ankles in your softened fists, bringing her to you. her tone is cracked, careful, infected with a tiny laugh. "sorry," such a silly girl, apologizing when your face is gratuitous between her thighs, "i-i didn't know where you wanted me to— aahh.."

ellie is the worst at taming herself when she gets licked: will press so dearly on your head as your tongue swipes or takes her clit into the warmth of your mouth, you aren't a stranger to her raspy curses, whines and jerky movements. for sure. sometimes that loser beam will return with her rushed and breathy chants of, "yes.. yes, yes yes.." pussy lips throbbing and pushing for more of your delirious tongue. could you also imagine her, softly curing her bitten n' tugged lips with another, "fuck, fuck it, m'sorry," right before her fingers hook the lowest point of your head and shove you into her little, desperate grinds, breathlessly begging. "i wanna come, wanna come, fuckin' lick me faster - fuck!" eyes twisting cross-eyed as she finally climaxes. all. over.

on a side note - ELLIE HIP LOVING NATION! [2nd picture from ellievaleriaa via pinterest : P] [lmk if a big text version is needed]

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slimmestofshady · 5 months ago

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Bad Habits Kill You

Summary: The 90s in Detroit wasn’t exactly easy to live in with two kids and a boyfriend who redeveloped a bad habit.

Warnings: Drug Addiction, relapse, toxic relationship, abusive on both sides, accusations of cheating but no actual cheating, swearing, mention of smut, mention of drug dealing, breast feeding, robbery

6 calls, 13 text messages later and you found yourself driving home with your 3 year old daughter strapped in the carseat, livid that Marshall hadn’t picked up the phone. Working two jobs and trying to live life comfortably was becoming difficult as you felt like you were the only one here trying to keep the family afloat. This had been the fifth time this week you had to leave early and pick her up due to your boyfriend not showing up. Two write ups later with the check engine light on the car, hardly any gas in it and needing an oil change that you couldn’t afford you unbuckled her, carrying Ellie inside only to hear your newborn screaming once again.

Scoffing, you pushed open the broken screen door, the object squeaking when it was pressed back only to find Marshall’s blonde head fast asleep on the couch, a bowl of weed sitting right out on the rickety table next to Sara’s play pen.

“Mommy, why is daddy always tired? He never eats with us either.” You knew what this was, rehab hadn’t been working and it wasn’t just the sleeping pills he was taking. What were you supposed to say to her?

“Daddy’s just been very busy, why don’t you go play with your toys? Okay?” You smooched her on her delicate little head, ruffling her hair. A child at that young of age shouldn’t even have to ask those questions or ask why other kids have more than you did. Even in a relationship it felt like you were a single mother just trying to make ends meet.

Picking up Sara from her crib you kneed him lightly in his side in irritation, causing him to moan and groan, mumbling something about being cold in the process. You kneed him again to which he turned around and shouted in his groggy state, his baby blues eyes dilated with dark circles shading his white skin.

“What?!” His temper was not in the slightest controlled, only pushing you farther past your limit of being civil or concerned for his well being.

“You were supposed to pick Ellie up, and do you hear that? That’s your other daughter crying to be taken care of which I can see you’re doing a great job at.” He clenched his jaw, folding his hands together, rubbing them. He got up, closing the distance between the both of you pointing an accusing finger directly in your face.

“I know how to be a fucking parent Y/N. Besides you’re one to talk, did Andre fuck you yet cause he been blowin up the phone all god damn day.” Taking Sara to her room, you rolled your eyes from having the same argument every fucking day while laying her in the crib, but he followed.

“At least he offers to watch the kids, more than you’ve ever fucking done! Tell me how many pills did you fucking pop today and don’t lie to me because I can see you’re clearly stoned. Fucking blanked out and shit.” You closed the door once you layed her down, refusing to argue with him in front of the kids but that didn’t mean they didn’t hear.

His hand wrapped around you arm pulling you back until you were pushed against the wall of the tiny hallway, giving you no personal space as he spat his venomous words.

The tensions was rising, only fueling your immense anger. This was the same old song and dance as every other fucking day. Why didn’t you leave? Well it’s easier said than done when you loved someone.

“I’m not fucking stoned babe I’ve been working on a new song and just fell asleep. Besides I don’t see you bringing any money so where you been if it ain’t work?” He pulled out a red piece of paper in his pocket with the words “EVICTION NOTICE”. Snatching the paper out of his hands, you noticed they only were giving you a week to pack your shit and get out due to being nearly three months behind on rent.

Scoffing you shoved the paper at his chest, trying to walk away but he didn’t let you shoving you back against the wall again.

“Marsh, don’t start your fucking shit okay?! I’ve been working my ass off but god forbid I work a full fucking shift because your ass has to be sat on this fucking couch, smoking dope and taking your fucking sleeping pills and xanax!” As he started cussing you out, you didn’t think before slapping him harshly across the face when he accused you of cheating once more based off the basis of no money coming in yet you’re always “at work.”

“What the fuck y/n! You don’t want to play this fucking game with me aight?!” Right before you could spit fire back, Ellie walked out of her room crying, causing you both to stop. She was just a child and didn’t ask or sign up for any of this. A sympathetic look of sorrow washed over Marshall and yourself the tension dwindling ever so slightly when you saw her teary, beading eyes, her cheeks reddened from the hostile situation.

With open arms, he picked her up cradling her against his chest as his hands rubbed her back gently.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. Mommy and I will stop arguing okay?” You crossed your arms, huffing from this constant fighting but seeing how quick he was when he was awake to console her, and ensure those crybaby tears stopped was heart warming. He had the potential to be such a good dad if he would just set the drugs aside but maybe that was too much to ask.

“My-my tv is gone, all-all my stuff is gone!” With frantic eyes, you both pushed open the door to see the room a wreck, and multiple items missing. Some of her blankets on her bed, her stuffed animals gone, even her piggy bank that had nearly $500 in it. It had taken over a year to save it, in hopes of starting a fund for her when she was 18, and now it was just gone.

You couldn’t hold back the tears, feeling like everything was just crumbling down. They flowed freely down your cheeks, Marshall noticing and trying to pull you in to his side with his other arm but you waved him off, walking into the bedroom and closing the door. How much more of this could you take? There were shootings at least once a week, you were barely able to afford food, living off food stamps that barely covered shit. Whenever it seemed to be going great or a little better than before, everything would just turn to shit.

As you slumped down onto the bed, you couldn't help but notice the bathroom light still open, the shattered mirror from the night before slightly ajar.

Pushing yourself off the bed, you walked into the room with a dreadful feeling, hoping you weren't right. Taking a deep breath, you opened the object only to find the 3 pill bottles completely empty with their lids off, how much shit did he fucking take.

There was a knock at the door pulling you from your thoughts, but when you heard his voice asking if he could come in your blood boiled. When you didn't respond he pushed the door open, Sara no longer in his hands. When he saw you had found the empty bottles, he had a guilty look on his face but not remorseful.

There was a dead silence as you stood with your arms crossed shooting daggers his way.

"Tell me again that you're not fucking using. I'm not fucking stupid. How do you expect me to become closer with you when you can't even own your shit! This is getting old, and I don't know how much longer I can do this!" A switch like the atomic bomb flipped inside of him and he wasn't thinking before he pushed you on the mattress as you pounded against his chest, but you were never a match compared to his strength.

He folded his hands around the warmth of your neck, shaking you in place but not squeezing hard enough to cut off circulation.

"You don't know what it's like! Who the fuck are you to judge me huh? We're livin in this broke down piece of shit fuckin trailer, I'm tryin to fuckin write songs and start a good life for us, while you bring some dude around our fuckin kids when I'm not home, actin like you perfect, you ain't perfect either!" The tears welled in your eyes in a mix of emotions. He was right neither of you were but how did you get to this point. You had a plan, a good one, but everything kept getting taken away from you. It was like playing ring around the rosey but always falling down. You stared into his ocean eyes while sniffling when he finally released your neck.

"Fuck!" He screamed with profound irritation. You were both tired of fighting nearly every day, it was draining but the love was still there even if it was minuscule at times.

"Can you tell me truthfully I'm not being replaced by your fuckin' boss at work?" His eyes settled for a moment, just needing to know the truth.

"Marshall there is nothing there, nothing has happened. I'm just trying to find someone to watch the kids and I clearly have to even when I'm not home." A sorrowful look of hurt and guilt crossed over his face. You weren't wrong that he wasn't trustworthy to his own god damn kids and he wasn't wrong that you should've at least asked him about Andrei watching the kids. He was a private man, he didn't like strangers around the house let alone his kids.

As your breathing steadied, Marshall buried his head in the crook of your neck, allowing a singular tear to slip from his eye and land on your skin. He wanted to be better a father, a better boyfriend but it was so difficult during times like these.

"You need to get help baby..." A choked sob escaped you. You hated seeing him like this, he was better than this.

He had gone five months sober and when you noticed the signs he was using again you hadn't asked again after how irritable he was with you the first time, until today at least.

This wasn’t all on him though, the relationship issues anyway.

in his own head he felt there was no going forward, there was no escaping the impending, disastrous thoughts in his mind. The drugs soothed those intrusive thoughts, how could he lose himself inside his own head if he was asleep?

“I know, I know…” You both layed there for a moment in each others company. Neither of you calling the cops about the break in since they never seemed to actually do anything given where you lived.

“Maybe we should take the kids out for dinner or something, get Ellie’s mind off her things being gone.”

“Well how much do we got in the account?” You shook your head, sitting up and waving your hands up in the air with defeat.

“Not enough. I think altogether for the month we have around $120.” Fuck. He couldn’t do shit for his kids but somehow had enough money to get drugs? His mind twirled, the stress and realizing his priorities weren’t straight pressing an immense weight on his shoulders.

A thought crossed his mind of what if he started to sell only using every now and then? That would surely bring in money, especially around this neighborhood and keep you afloat for the time being but he didn’t say it.

He also had to worry about the kids. He refused to let them be homeless.

“Let’s take them we’ll figure it out. We aigh’t now?”

“Only if you promise me you’ll get help. I’m here to support you, okay?” Your hand caressed down his cheek as you stared into his baby blue hues, he nuzzled into your touch nodding before helping you out of bed.

Ellie was sat coloring with the crayons she still had on the living room floor wrapped in a blanket. That was another thing you were behind on, the fucking heat bill but that was a concern for another day. Luckly the electric and water seemed to still be on for the time being.

Marshall swooped her up in his arms peppering her face with loving kisses while ruffling her hair. He was always so good with her, such a caring dad and the sight made your heart melt. Moments like these made the fights seem almost pointless.

“Are you and mommy done fighting?” Her voice was so sweet and innocent, her small fist clenching and grasping at Marshall’s white shirt. The small gesture warning his heart. He just wanted his daughter to be happy.

“Yes baby. Daddy loves mommy we just have a lot going on, adult stuff you don’t need to worry about. Let’s get you and sissy some dinner, okay?” She nodded against him, perking up when he mentioned McDonald’s. It wasn’t the healthiest but it was affordable and it made her happy and that was all that mattered right now.

Passing her to you, Marshall went out to the car throwing a raggedy, old gray sweatshirt on before lighting a cigarette as he started the car. It took him about three times for the car to turn over, rickety old piece of shit, he was just grateful the heat was working for his angels. Checking the glove box, he ensured his gun was still there while a car passed by slowly, music blaring. He was skeptical of everyone and everything in this neighborhood, especially when something like today happens for the fifth time this year.

Pushing the door open, Marshall rushed to your aide to help Ellie down the stairs, avoiding the section with a nail sticking out of the wood while you carried Sara in your arms.

“Should we get gas?” You shrugged, nodding and informing him you still had work and Ellie had daycare to attend.

“How much we’re paying for that again?”

“Nearly $100 a month.” He hasn’t realized how expensive it was, scoffing and mentioning how the government expects people to live off minimum wage jobs and take care of their children.

Dinner seemed to be going smoothly, Ellie was making friends and playing in the play pin section of the restaurant while you and Marshall sat with Sara near the window in a close distance, sharing a milkshake while laughing over the memories of the past.

“Be careful sweetie!” Marshall yelled after Ellie noticing how close she was to slipping a falling off a plastic cube. She nodded to her dad, going back to her activity.

He couldn’t help but glance down at your tits, they’d gotten so big from the swelling of breast feeding. One of the things he loved that happened when you were pregnant. He bit down on his bottom lip intrigued, making a comment about how even after giving birth he still would take you right here right now over this table had their been no kids around.

Smacking him playfully with your cup, you giggled. It was about time she needed to be fed but before you could excuse yourself to the restroom, Ellie came up to have a drink break, not wasting a minute before she blurted out,

“Mommy, when is Andre coming over again? He likes to color with me and he talks about you a lot…” You we’re at a standstill for words, being left speechless by your toddler. Marshall’s jaw clenched, his hand forming a fist as he held his composure. He simply said, “Believe me now? Hows that for truth?” Ellie yanked on her dads sleeve, asking for a refill on her drink giving you the perfect way out of the situation.

“I’m going to feed Sara, I’ll be back in a couple minutes.

“Yeah, aight. You do that.” Arriving home, the car ride was mostly silent. Marshall laid Ellie down in your bed as she fell asleep in the car, too worried about her being in her own room and the same for Sara moving her crib for the night near the back corner of your room where the light wouldn’t be in her face but she’d still be close.

While you were still in the living room changing laundry, he stumbled into the back of the closet, reaching for a small box that was hidden under a flap in the carpet, popping a pill or two in his mouth, rinsing them down with water from the sink.

He closed the door lightly to not wake either of your kids, walking out into the living room and not hiding that he was not in a good mood, slouching down into the couch.

“So when the fuck did you plan on telling me that he been coming over into my fucking house with my fucking kids? You didn’t even ask me.” You sighed, knowing that resurfacing the topic if anything to with Andre would end badly, especially after the comment Ellie made.

“It was only one time babe, you were out with your friends, I was working late, Nate was out of town. I didn’t exactly have a choice. Those things Ellie said, I understand you are upset but until we can find someone else I don’t know what you expect me to do or what we’re going to do come next week.” Closing the dryer, you accompanied him on the couch, not looking for a fight but a resolution, but he loved to fight.

“I don’t want some strange, douchebag guy that wants to sleep with my girl around my kids Y/N. Plain and simple. Don’t worry about next week I’ll figure it out.” The way he ended the sentence meant there was no room for any other decisions. He wouldn’t allow it and quite frankly he was ready to choke this bitch out and arrange a little meetup in an ally to beat the shit out of him “And I don’t want a boyfriend who is high all the damn time yet here we are. Your bad habit isn’t just killing you, it’s killing us.” Yeah maybe you were right but maybe his trust issues got in the way of that cause as far as he was concerned if he saw Andre or even heard about him being here again he was gonna call up some of his buddied and make him a dead man.

This constant back and forth bullshit was getting you nowhere and frustrating the every living fuck out of him.

“I promise you I’ll go into rehab again once we get this shit figured out. But you gotta promise he ain’t coming around our kids anymore, and tell him to get rid of this fuckin number.”

“ And I will okay? No more Andre. I promise.” He nodded still not believing this guy was going to leave you alone but for now he wanted to relax, the pills already taking effect and making him drowsy he just hoped you couldn’t tell. Trying to avert attention from himself, his hands grasped your thighs pulling you into his lap and caressing your ass cheeks making you giggle.

“What’re you doing?”

“What I cant feel my girl up? C’mon the kids are asleep. We could get in a round or two.” That would be nice and a big stress relief, you could already feel his large bulge growing beneath you, causing your pussy to throb in anticipation while you rolled your hips down against him before pulling your shirt off, revealing your breasts.

“What’re you waiting for then?” You leaned in closely to his ear, lips just brushing over the bottom lobe and biting playfully.

“Fuck me.”

#Marshall mathers x reader #Eminem x reader #eminem imagine #Marshall mathers imagine #Slim shady #slim shady x reader #Slim shady imagine #Eminem #marshall mathers #ranaewrites

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m4rs-ex3 · 2 months ago

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s7 spoilers ✨✨

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ok

"death alive" fucking snipe me the insane death motif that seems to be present here is killing me pun intended

GRAAAHAHAHHGROWLS IM SO EXCITED I CAN TEVEN

"i don't want to be separated again"

stop it right tf now bc this is literally what i have been wanting one of them to say so badly. also smooch. dear christ

the fact that terry wants so badly for him and claudia to be free that he is pleading with fucking archmage aaravos himself. like ik they're partners in crime atp but still my guy has balls. the dedication. poor thing 😭

aaravos fucking leading claudia on with even more hope of viren being saved - his own backstory making the way he's manipulating her grief 10x more twisted - and terry seeing right through his bullshit..... im foaming at the mouth

fuckin.g- FOR ME?!?!?!?!?!?

CALLUM SOBBING OVER EZRAN??? (dreamer's nightmare was prepping us for this huh)

SOREN APOLOGIZING TO CALLUM?? (for what i do not know) EMOTIONAL CALLUM/SOREN HUG DEAR GOD ALL IVE EVER WANTED

the making of a primal stone, more moon magic, a quest for an ingredient, insane biblical imagery... once again, FOR ME??!?!?!?!??!

"AND THE CROWD GOES WILD!!!!"

NECROMANCY!! just what this show needed omg

astrid my love. i was a little worried post-s6/pre-date announcement that we really wouldn't see that much, if any, of the celestial elves, but oh ho ho i can't believe i ever doubted you tdp. like you're telling me that astrid is tired of watching, of being the wise observers (especially now that her own brother has been so far removed from, well, being a non-all-seeing prophet), and that all she wants is to, for once, do something about all the tragedy she knows is coming and hasn't been able to do anything about? christmas fucking morning i tell you

goddamn the true extent and emphasized tragedy of katolis has been brought up enough that you just know they're not messing around

NO STOP SEEING SARAI AND HARROW NEXT TO GROWN AND CURRENTLY FCUKED UP EZRAN IS GOING TO FUCKING DEMOLISH ME

obviously ez being angry is just wow omg teehee but just. immediately being so vengeful and wanting to "destroy him" with zero hang-ups is.......... yeah wow omg teehee

"it's great!" i genuinely trust that with my life

ok hello this will most certainly be the most incredible visual to ever exist holy shit. also this is making me realize that we've never actual seen ez on the throne in arc 2 and i mean that's insane enough

this is incredible what can i say. i can see it now: rayla shoving worms in his face like "JUST EAT THE FUCKING WORMS ITS GOOD FOR YOU ASSHOLE" and runaan fighting her like a toddler refusing to eat his vegetables (except it's the opposite bc it's a vegetarian father refusing to eat his grubs)

i love how out of touch aaravos is (makes sense after centuries underneath inside of a rock) bc in what world is this normal. i highly doubt they have snow white or the bible but still it's just human nature to be weirded tf out by that. also yes @zuppizup ur so right his affinity for fruit being played on is amazing

also corvus: yeah yeah uh huh right and what exactly is your name, sir? aaravos: ah yes my name! it's uh uhh i mean it's uhhhhhhhhhhh. jofus

TWO IN THE FIRST EPISODE (which worries me but anyhow) IN THE FORM OF A GOODBYE AND A REUNION AND IN FRONT OF EVERYONE TOO???? AS A TREAT??????????

i'm all for ezran ripping runaan to shreds but i can't exactly say i see the correlation here. although that is kinda funny. it's like when i can't find my phone or smth so i just look at my dog and go "whiskey did you eat it" (she's been asleep this whole time and also she has never eaten/chewed on an object in her life)

also help inigo montoya ahh

ok 1) i, much like everyone else, kinda presumed that the tension would mostly be between ezran and callum and he wouldn't really hold anything against rayla, but the act of straight up arresting him really makes me wonder how rayla's gonna react 2) i really need to see callum's reaction (mainly out of defending rayla, but also because i can see him kinda being like "HEY i JUST freed him bro fuck you") and 3) the way that it is emphasized that soren is the one to arrest him..... idk i just figured that between his love for rayla, his own daddy issues (+the fact that viren was the one to imprison him so it would kinda be like righting his wrong), and that harrow was in fact not his father so compared to ezran he'd have a lot less resentment (he was of course still his king and soren had to actually watch it so still some but like. comparatively) i didn't think he'd be this combative but i'm certainly not complaining. the more angst the merrier

AW YEAH BOYS SHES COMING TO KATOLIS!!!!!

this has been your incoherent, feral mars commentary.* thank you

#*“”“commentary”“”#tdp spoilers #tdp s7 #tdp #the dragon prince #tdp s7 spoilers #continuethesaga #giveusthesaga #nycc 2024

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yandere-sins · 2 years ago

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The Orcas' Tale - Chapter IIII

You guys are really swimming through these polls. Maybe I made it too easy for you, but you got it right again! We are nearing the end, and finally, we make our escape from our captors. Enjoy!

Fandom: Original Content Pairings: Yandere!Orca Mermen x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Monsters, Violence (Fighting and getting attacked), Butchering a fish, Dub-con touches/kisses, Animalistic behavior, Mention of claws/sharp teeth, Hinting at death, Long post

"Human~"

The voice in your head echoed far and clear through your dreams of muddy waters and shadow creatures. It was the only thing able to pull you from those nightmares plaguing you, with its melodic up and down of a whisper, the sound vibrating in your chest as if it were a part of you. Something wrapped around your shin, large and cold, heating up as it made contact with your skin, and you pulled your legs upwards instinctively, trying to flee from the grabby hands, only to get blocked by a large weight pinning you down.

A brief moment of confusion passed your tired mind, your body heavy and rigid from the hard sleep on the stone ledge that, for a moment, you wanted to cry from being awoken much too early to fully rest. Somewhere in your circling thoughts, you must have passed out despite your hesitations to sleep around these intriguing but threatening creatures, too exhausted from everything that happened to you the previous day and the seal fur luring you in like a siren's song.

"Human."

This time, the call had already shattered through your dreams, hooking your conscience and pulling it back to reality. You awoke with crusts gluing your eyelids together, remnants of the salty water you never got to wash off. But when you wanted to reach up, you found your arms pinned to the ground you were lying on, forcing you to open your eyes without the help of a good rub. Your view wasn't great, though, as you were faced with darkness, not even the blue shimmers of light getting beneath the body that was covering you.

There was never a moment without horror when you were around these strange, unpredictable creatures. But the loss of your movement and the weight feeling ever so crushing on top of you certainly put the cherry on top. Your mouth—one of the few things able to move—opened before you could even think about screaming, but just as quickly, it was covered by lips not your own.

You made a pitiful quaking sound as a tongue slipped over yours, straight towards your throat. There was little room to struggle with this huge body on top of you, but you still did your best to flail your arms and legs, only to be shut down by much stronger limbs. Sharp teeth grazed your tongue and lips when you tried to close off the access to your mouth, reminding you of the predicament of their bites, the taste of iron and fish filling your panicked senses.

Until you had to take a breath. You were close to tears when you realized you were suffocating from the kiss, unable to gasp or fill your lungs until desperation forced you to inhale. The other tongue paused, waiting as you took your breath, both of your bodies shuddering as you received the sweet, sweet air you needed. Your eyes had squeezed shut as there was only darkness to see either way, but now that the tension in your body began to fade in confusion, you forced them open.

The amber of Nerrocan's eyes seemed almost like a glowing green as it reflected the faint blue lights of the cave plants, allowing their light to overtake the darkness. He allowed you to breathe through him a few more times before he awkwardly kissed you, creating some space between your mouth until only the sounds of sloppy, wet smooches rang out. His gaze fixated somewhere below your own eyes as he licked over your—blunt in comparison—teeth and sucked in your tongue, the feeling of his sharp ones making you flinch in surprise. Feeling your reaction, he pulled away with a jolt, replacing his lips with his hand before you had time to react.

"Don't," he warned, the sound curt and blunt. Not at all melodic like you were used to their voices by now. Don't scream, you figured from his order, and when his eyes moved to the side, so did yours, Nerrocan softening his hand clasped over half of your face so you could turn your head.

Sprawled out to your sides were the other two mermen. You'd never have expected them to sleep so soundly next to you. However, you heard Krill let out whistling snores when he breathed out, and looking at Lyr, a bit of drool dripped from his lips, indicating the two were truly asleep.

"They only just entered deep sleep. We have to be very quiet," Nerrocan whispered, even leaning down to the side of your head to speak into your ear. His closeness brought back the tension, shivers running down your spine. But you nodded into his palm, and he didn't question you before lowering his hand.

"I will take you to the humans."

Your eyes widened in surprise as you listened intently to every word he murmured into your ear. "But…" you mumbled, barely moving your lips. He'd be able to hear you, no matter the volume of your voice. Glancing back over to the other two for a moment, your furrowed your brows as you looked at Nerrocan, finding his gaze to be on them too. For a moment, you thought you saw a flash of sadness cross his features as he looked at his pack, but other than you, he shook off the doubts before leaning down once more.

"Now. Be quiet."

Questions shot into your mind as Nerrocan slowly descended into the pool of water, using all his strength in his arms to temper the movement and slide into the wet soundlessly. Part of you was skeptical as you sat up, watching Nerrocan very openly take precautions from the others, apparently betraying them, considering how careful he was to be secretive. It made little sense for him to act this way, especially considering he was never the most interested in you either. Your questions about the why and how didn't help soothe the doubts that suddenly rose inside you, whether you should trust this guy more than anyone else.

You gulped as he held out his webbed hand towards you, a serious expression on his face while most of his body was already submerged in the water. Waiting for you. Expecting no more delay from you who wanted this in the first place. Nerrocan said nothing while your thoughts were hissed in his voice, an illusion of your own nervous uncertainty. You want this. This might be your only chance.

And the others didn't care.

They didn't need to spit this fact into your face to make it any more true than you already knew it was. Neither Krill nor Lyr cared or wanted to care for what you wanted, and neither of these possibilities was any less hurtful. They might look human (at least for half of their body), but they weren't. And there was no reason for them to help you.

But what reasons did Nerrocan have? Why would he help you and go against their united front? Why go to these lengths for a human he seemed to harbor no sympathy for, either?

You didn't have a choice this time.

Shrugging off the seal fur you used as a blanket, you peered nervously at the sleeping predators of this sea, the two looking almost peaceful, with no worries on their minds. They were different from you, and, looking at Nerrocan, he was different from them too.

On all fours, you crawled slowly, quietly, biting your lip whenever a pebble pressed into your palm or shin to keep yourself quiet, over to him. When you reached out your arm, his wet skin slid along your hand, up your wrist, forearm, to your upper arm, where it wrapped around. Nerrocan lifted himself out of the water while he pulled you towards him, your faces only inches apart when you realized he tilted his head and readied another kiss.

You didn't want that! But he held you steady as he pressed his lips to yours, tongue slipping out to lick over your closed-off mouth, asking for entry. "Air," he breathed, and you scrunched up your face as you realized what he meant. You'd have to dip down into the ocean again. There'd be no saying how long you'd be stuck there if you wanted to try to hold your breath by yourself, so you needed to rely on him. To him, it was just a way of offering you air, but to you, it was much more meaningful. As if he was asking you to trust and allow him to protect you, making you feel vulnerable and gullible. What if his intentions were malicious after all?

"Air!" he reiterated, this time hissing the word in urgency.

Behind you, Krill grumbled as he turned on his side, his arm falling to where you had just laid. If he noticed you gone, he'd probably jolt from his sleep and catch you two trying to escape, neither of you getting out of this situation safely. Nerrocan was strong; you had no doubts. But you knew Krill was older. If it came down to it, it would be strength against experience, and you doubted Krill would be fighting alone. Nerrocan was putting himself against his whole pod, even though you had no idea why. But you, too, had to play your part if he was ready to go this far.

Finding hold on his arm, you reached out to wrap your other arm around his neck. It was much easier to get things over with when you closed your eyes, so you surrendered to the darkness as you pressed your lips to Nerrocan's, allowing him to overtake your mouth once more while his free arm snatched around your midriff. It all went by so fast. Nerrocan lifted you from the ledge and pressed you to his body as his kiss deepened, making you reliant on the air he breathed through his gills as he pulled you into the water.

The harsh cold shocked you, but inside the water, Nerrocan's body was finally warm again, just like the first time he pulled you down under. Strangely enough, this memory resurfaced now, the panic and fear you felt then replaced with a spark of determination and the desperation to escape and trust him. However, this time, Nerrocan let you go as he noticed you voluntarily moving your body toward him instead of putting up a fight. Finding the smallest spot on his torso, you wrapped your legs around it as best as possible, arms holding on to his neck and fingers sinking into his hair as if your life depended on it. He loosened the kiss only once, threatening to drown you, when he gasped as you clawed at his scalp, as you were afraid he might slip from you.

You didn't dare to open your eyes even once as Nerrocan put your bodies into movement, navigating you two through the ocean with strong strokes of his tail. Nerrocan's arm slid over your back, pressing you against him while you kissed for air, making you almost feel… safe. He used the other arm to steer through the waters he swam through vigorously but kept you safely against him at the same time, never again prying your lips apart to make you fearful of the ocean you were in. The longer you were tied to each other's lips, the more natural it became. As if his mouth was the diving gear you needed for air on an expedition. But had you opened your eyes, the only thing you had seen would have been his, as the reflection of the ocean darted by inside them, with no time to awe about the wonders of the sea.

When you two finally breached the surface, your worries melted away in an instant.

You found yourself liberated from the shackles of the ocean, barely feeling the water around you anymore as you pushed yourself away from Nerrocan, breathing in the fresh air as deep as you could. He was surprised for a moment by your sudden, energetic push higher. Still, he quickly adjusted his hold to lift your whole torso out of the water.

After four deliberate, long fills of fresh air, you finally opened your eyes, staring at the twinkling stars above. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the horizon had already colored itself in a warm pink, promising a beautiful day. The water was calm, and when you looked down, all you found was Nerrocan's eyes staring up at you, his head tilted back to reveal a smile playing on his lips.

"You're really taking me back to the humans?" you croaked, suddenly feeling a lump in your throat. This was almost too good to be true. Nerrocan had already brought you back to the surface, a dreadful place had you been here alone, no land in sight for miles and miles. You'd probably never have made it alone, so you were thankful he was with you. But what if he was just playing with your feelings? Showing you your own helplessness?

"I will. I promised. I'll take care of you and protect you."

"But why?"

The question made the lump in your throat swell even more, and you realized it was accompanied by tears shooting into your eyes. Nerrocan was promising you hope, but your heart was already too fearful to allow it. "Why help me? Why go against Krill and Lyr?"

Lowering you a little bit, Nerrocan reached up, swiping a wet thumb over your cheekbone and collecting your tears. You laughed as you were now wetter than from crying, and he did it again as if he didn't understand why the tears wouldn't stop. But when you reached up to press his palm against the side of your face, he stopped, staring at where your skin met his with an intense focus.

"I… don't know," he muttered, squinting his eyes suspiciously. For someone who always seemed very collected, he was much more expressive than you could have hoped for. You felt yourself trust him more when he showed his emotions openly. "I just know I have to bring you back. You want to go back, so that's what I have to do."

"Are you sure? You don't sound sure…"

"I am. I am unsure why I feel this way, but I am sure about what to do. And we must move now, or the others can catch up with us before sunrise."

It wasn't the answer you hoped for, the questions burning in your mind never being solved to your satisfaction. But you swallowed them for the sake of this escape. Nerrocan had proven himself trustworthy, and when you gave him a nod as his go, he pulled your hands from his shoulders where you had supported yourself and slipped underwater again. Only to emerge with his back facing you, directing your arms around his neck again.

"As long as the sun isn't high in the sky yet, we can swim on the surface. But we'll have to go back underwater when it gets dangerous for you. Humans are vulnerable to the sunlight, right?"

"Yes," you confirmed without thinking, slowly hooking your arms around his neck and drawing closer to his body. "Yes, we are."

"You are very fragile," he noted, but there was no bite to his words, and you spotted a smile on his face as you peered around to the front. Next thing you knew, he had ducked his head into the water, pushing his body upwards for you to sit on. Nerrocan didn't need to tell you to wrap your legs around him as best as you could, hands falling to the space between his neck and shoulders before he began to push onwards.

It wasn't easy to hold onto him, but you did your best, feeling like a cartoon character riding an oversized dolphin from the TV shows of your youth. There was some fun to it, but the moment your focus shifted anywhere else than your grip or the even but still fast pace you two had, you were sliding down his body like a slippery eel. Luckily, Nerrocan would always grip your legs in time to steady you until you found your place on top of him again, but you concluded that the trip to where you wanted to go would be an exhausting one.

But at least, now you had a chance to make it.

By the time the sun had already gone down again, you were sore and desperate for a break. You had no idea how you made it through the whole day without a moment of calm since you two began your journey, with no food and only an embarrassing amount of saliva to swallow from Nerrocan to replace your need for water. Talking about water—you were sick of it already, and it had only been one day.

"How long?" you gasped, wiping your face with your hands before planting them into the sand.

"Two more days if we can keep up the pace of today."

Nerrocan eyed you suspiciously as you kneeled on the small island in the middle of the ocean, barely ten steps wide and only sand and stones. There was some fern in the middle of it, but you doubted it was edible. Clutching your stomach, you weren't sure if you were hungry or nauseated from hearing the news about how long you'd still need to endure this kind of travel. You wanted to be better than this, toughen up, and take it as the price you'd have to pay for surviving silently without complaints. Still, at the same time, you couldn't imagine making it through another two days like this.

His eyes fell on your hand on top of your stomach, brows furrowing as he studied your sickly posture. "Wait here," Nerrocan instructed sternly. "Don't go anywhere without me."

You shook your head, waving your hand dismissively. As if there was anywhere you could go other than the other side of this small, sandy beach island. All you wanted to do was sit on steady ground for a while, rest your sore muscles, and dry off your skin. Hopefully, you wouldn't suffer long-term injuries from staying in water for so long. Still, even that was something you considered a minor price to pay for returning to civilization in one piece.

It could have only been a few minutes, your mind almost immediately dozing off when you were left alone on the island before you heard the splashing sound of someone emerging from the water. You jerked awake, disorientated as you looked around, only to see Nerrocan crawling out of the water, a fish hanging from his mouth with blood dripping out of it. Who knew if it was edible, but when Nerrocan held it out to you, your stomach gave a small, pitiful growl, and you sighed at your own needs.

You hesitated to take the fish as it was, complete with head and tail and entrails as you suspected. It also wasn't a species you'd usually enjoy at a restaurant. Nerrocan had bit his marks into the flesh, bleeding it out for you already, but when he noticed your hesitation, he paused, drawing the fish back. You never had the time to fully appreciate the merman, but the moonlight illuminated him like a god. Those trained muscles you had noticed before, moving and flexing as he moved, whether in the water or on land. They were perfectly accustomed to his needs, to whatever he needed to do, even though the bulky tail made for a heavy drag when he pulled himself onto land. His silky hair glowed in the white light, always moving, the long strands falling and curling over his body like waves caressing him. His eyes were razor sharp when he focused, beastly and predatory. But every time he looked at you, his expression relaxed, eyes softening as the tension fleeting. You could never tell what he was thinking, but you didn't mind his staring, his gaze so much more gentle than Krill's when it roamed your body. Around his hips was a leather strap, a net, and a small dagger hanging from it. The latter he pulled out, the blade looking dull and flat like a clam knife.

However, when he cut through the fish with the bare minimum of his strength, you realized it was sharp and ready. You always thought they only used their claws and fangs. However, watching Nerrocan skillfully disembowel and skin the fish was an impressive showcase of his abilities. Using his hand as a plate, he quickly put the dagger back into its sheath before serving the fish to you, not letting it get close to the sand. You inched closer to him to take away the pieces you wanted, one bite turning into two, then three and counting as you realized your body's need for sustenance.

Nerrocan watched you for a while, following your fingers sliding over his palm to pick up the pieces with an odd curiosity before switching to watch you place the food in your mouth and chew as if he had never thought about this way of eating before. But eventually, he wrenched his eyes away, directing his focus back on the sea, and you found him lost in thought when you finally finished your meal.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, suddenly overcome with a lot of guilt as you noticed his keen gaze, watching the waves splash around you. The things you'd have given to walk around in his mind for a while, figure out if he was measuring distance, what he could see in the moonlight, and feel with his tail fin in the water. The urge to study something so similar, yet different, had always been strong in you. But deep in those amber eyes, you could see longing, making you realize those similarities were worthy of your empathy.

"What are you sorry for?" he asked, turning his attention back to you and dipping his hands into the water to wash them off now that you had finished.

"For… well… everything. I didn't even leave you any dinner. Not to mention you left your pod because of me… your family. Your brothers."

He was silent as you dropped the heaviness weighing on your heart. There was more you felt guilty for: the fact you made travel harder by being unfit for the terrain or that you had doubted him for the longest time. You didn't even have anything to repay his kindness with, and you didn't think he'd like anything you could give him as repayment when he sat you down at land again.

"My brothers?" Nerrocan mumbled, furrowing his brows and cocking his head.

"Yes, the other two," you clarified, suddenly unsure about your assumption.

"We are not brothers; they are my mother's sister's children. But I am closer in age to them than my actual brothers. Krill taught me what I needed to know for my life in the pod. He made me a fine hunter, but I have long disliked his leadership abilities. He wants to be like his mother, which can be quite restrictive for others. I have sometimes struggled to understand his reckless behavior, and I loathe being blamed for his mistakes. And Lyr is… a problem. We've never gotten along well, but Krill insisted we had to stick together. You don't need to worry about them or me. It is quite normal for males to leave the pod. I'll be fine."

Cousins, you thought. All along, you thought they were close as brothers, especially how orcas usually acted in their pods. Still, you had been wrong about many things. You wouldn't have assumed yourself to be an expert on orcas, much less mermaid orcas, but it seemed you had been misguided about their relationship. You were also surprised to hear his thoughts about them, considering how well-integrated he had been into the pack. It made you remember Krill's words about the others, how he thought Nerrocan had ideas he wouldn't talk about. Hearing them from him now, it made sense he never spoke up against his cousin.

But then again, the bit about males leaving the pod made less sense as you believed the only reason they did it was to mate and then return to their families after all. Maybe it was different for mermaids? Did they stay with their mates? Protect their families?

Questions over questions, and you began to understand that the reason they all made you so nervous was your drive to find answers. But that seemed to be impossible, even at this point. You could ask him, but would it do you any good? All this time, you thought about revealing their identity once you returned to the mainland. To write up research papers and hold conferences about the strange existence of orca mermaids, but now… with how little you actually learned about them, would you have any grounds to stand on? If anyone caught on to the holes in your knowledge, they'd call you a sham and crazy for sure. After all, no one had ever learned about the existence of mermaids so far, other than in fairytales.

"Say…" you started, opening your mouth to at least have some answer, even if they were just for yourself. You picked up one of the stones littering the beach, worrying it in your hand while he watched, minding the edges that protruded sharply from it. You wanted to ask him the bases and maybe what he'd do in the future. Even if he told you not to concern yourself with these worries, they still plagued your mind. Could he even return despite Krill and Lyr knowing what he did, taking you with him? Maybe it was less about the concept of his existence that you wanted to know about, but Nerrocan himself.

However, instead of an answer, Nerrocan suddenly hissed, throwing half of his body in front of you and forcing you to pull in your legs to avoid them getting crushed under his weight. You could see very little with his body in the way, but it was impossible not to notice the tension in his bulking muscles and how he leaned forward, ready to pounce.

"What's… What's going on?" you asked, trying to peer by him, spying through the gap between his body and arm.

"Quiet!" he hissed, but his body only strained further after hearing your voice. He seemed unwell as if something hurt him, but you couldn't see an open wound on his body.

Overcome with your nervousness, you held your breath as you tried to glimpse at what he saw, scanning the relatively calm waters as best as you could for any hint of danger that would justify his reaction. For a long moment, there was nothing, and you felt the tension begin to ease again, deciding to lean back and calm down, when Nerrocan snapped around, pinning you to the ground as he reached for something behind you.

You yelped in surprise, your head hitting the sand with a thump, but it was only thanks to Nerrocan pushing you out of under him that you nearly escaped the swiping, clawed hands reaching for you. You dropped the stone in your hand as a sharp pain pushed you into action, forcing you to open your eyes and face the picture unfurling before you. Nerrocan held another face in his hand, his claws digging into the other merman's scalp as you heard a snarky laugh from the grey half-human.

The moonlight made him look brilliant white, but in the shadows of their bodies, you could see the grey coat on him, very different compared to Nerrocan's deep black shade. Even though Nerrocan was a hulking figure even to this merman, the other still came with his own clawed hands that dug into Nerrocan's arm and sharp teeth grinning from beneath Nerrocan's palm. He held the grey merman up in the air as best as he could, preventing the creature from finding hold and crawling but also causing him to put all his weight into clawing at Nerrocan's arm.

"You damn orcas are always so perceptive," the other merman snarled, licking over his lips. "And here I thought we'd have an easy snack."

We? you thought when a sudden jerk went through Nerrocan's body, forcing him to lower the other merman back on the sand while he glanced back over his shoulder. You followed this gaze, only to see another set of webbed and clawed hands wrap around and dig into Nerrocan's tail before starting to pull. Being forced back into the water, Nerrocan gripped the other merman by the neck, dragging him over the sand and stone with him as the three began descending into the wet.

"Stay out of the water!" he yelled, your eyes meeting for a split second, yours blown wide in fear, his sharp and commanding. You weren't sure if it was meant as reassurance that he kept eye contact until he was pulled under; perhaps he was only trying to make sure you wouldn't get involved. More and more water was thrown around as you quickly climbed away from the edge of the island, sitting down on the grassy spot between the ferns. There was so much water being splashed around before the movement suddenly ceased, only to resurface seconds later. You saw tails thrashing against the surface, more light-colored ones than Nerrocan's dark hide, but you weren't able to figure out how many attackers were down there.

It all happened so fast that you didn't even notice you were shaking in fear until you curled your hand into a fist, another sharp pain zapping through you. It felt wrong to look away when Nerrocan was fighting for his—and consequently your—life, but you still glanced down at the cut in your palm, long and bleeding, not having noticed it until then. It must have been the stone that you accidentally clutched when you were attacked, but it seemed like a small thing while there was a fight going on just a few feet from you.

The pain was quickly forgotten when one of the unfamiliar mermen suddenly jumped out of the water, landing on his belly as he lunged at you. Sharp teeth etched into a mad grimace, so much more horrifying than any animal could ever be when it was the face of a human you were staring down. You only got glimpses of your attacker. Of the grey coat and the dorsal fin, which was shorter and sharper than the orcas'. Everything else was similar, though he wasn't as big as Nerrocan or the others, that much you could tell. He looked as if a shark had taken on a half-human form, and from what you heard, this might have been the case.

Your scream fell silent as you forced yourself away as far as you could, water already threatening to envelop you when Nerrocan suddenly pounced from behind the merman, gripping him by his hair and keeping him at bay. His teeth were bared, his eyes so dark you saw no spark of humanness in them. None of them resembled humans at that moment. Nerrocan didn't look at you, even though you couldn't help but watch him, terrified, as he dragged the attacker away from you. Another merman lunged at his tail, and you clearly saw him bite down into Nerrocan as he twisted around to grab that merman, too, letting himself fall back into the water and bringing them both down with him. That bite was not the only wound you noticed in the short time the struggle occurred before you. You saw the scratches on Nerrocan's body, the blood trickling from his shoulder, and the claw marks on his arms.

This fight was raw and brutal and… unfair. Even though he kept them at bay, those two other mermen didn't have wounds deep enough to bleed yet. Orcas were stronger than sharks, but you had never seen a fight between one orca and two sharks before. The outcome wasn't clear this time, but your gut twisted and turned with the realization there was no guarantee Nerrocan would be able to win on his own.

He told you to stay out of the water, to not get unnecessarily close to the danger, but should you just wait and watch as the two attackers ripped your only chance of safety and returning home apart? Nerrocan told you to stay back, and you had already decided to trust him. Would you be a hindrance if you tried to help, or would you give Nerrocan that little window he needed to finish off these two? The only way to distract them was to get into the action, but what if you put yourself into danger—accidentally or not?

There wasn't much time to think of anything else you could do. After all, this fight could end at any second when one of them made a mistake.

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waters-and-the-wilde · 8 months ago

Text

hehe scenario. jupeter coming out the other side of All That with a bit of 'wow you're just straight up a bit codependent but maybe that's actually the best-case scenario for you right now carry on fellas'

oh they've Had Their Talk in the aftermath, and, okay, it's agreed that they are Not Doing Romance because Nureyev needs Time To Grieve and it would be better to Take The Pressure Off Of Being In A Relationship and they will Reevaluate when Nureyev's had a chance to be a guy who doesn't have to worry about where his next meal is coming from. but also Like Hell is Juno just going to Leave Him Alone after all this. and the result is that they spend the Big Crash just. completely unhinged about each other. Nureyev's shot past 'feeling vulnerable around Juno scares the shit out of him' and well into 'raw nerves and gaping wounds and compound trauma and feeling vulnerable about literally anything and everything all the time and being around Juno is integral to not spiraling into the abandonment hell vortex'. meanwhile Juno's like 'holy shit Nureyev is letting me be there for him. this is already incredible progress'

u think they were insufferable on the Carte Blanche well. on the Carte Blanche Nureyev was still working on things like trusting Juno enough to let him back in at all and he Had An Image To Maintain and lots of Private Stuff to Deal With and Juno was still figuring out how not to be a prickly ass all the time and 'when is it appropriate to give your bf his space when your default mode is to Investigate Shit' and none of that is a going concern right now

'sometimes you gotta be a little bit mentally ill to handle the mental illness' they have so much separation anxiety and they are clipping their carabiners together. hooking pinky fingers and following each other when one needs to do something in the next room. where's Nureyev? sitting in Juno's lap again. his ass is experiencing 'nervous system doesn't know how to respond to the sudden removal of constant crushing dread and just goes fucking haywire at unpredictable intervals'. he gets random-ass panic attacks and there's only so much the breathing exercises and the grounding exercises and self-soothing techniques can do compared to 'Juno is here and he's fine and he's safe and he is more than happily providing prolonged physical contact' to get him to calm down on a physiological level

meanwhile Juno's like 'i chased this idiot across half the galaxy because he wouldn't ask for help and had to deal with him being all stone-faced and cold about it, do I look like i mind that he's clingy now? a lady does not need his personal space at this time. a lady is living for this. a lady is also maybe feeling clingy have u considered that'

everyone who isn't rita (idek who. melee? the other vivopolis refugees??) is assuming they are just getting a very bad grade in taking it slow and are barely humoring them about it. and neither bothers with denying the boyfriend allegations but it's not bc it's true it's they're just. too exhausted to get defensive about it

rita: and i mean they ain't actually smooching too loud in the kitchen or whatever

melee probably: he just came out of Juno's room wearing Juno's shirt

juno: he's a thief that's his shirt now

(12 hours earlier:)

nureyev: (shows up to juno's room at 3am) im sorry for waking you i had nightmares about [the bomb/the carte blanche raid/dokana capturing you] i just needed to see that you were alive and make sure im in the reality timeline and then i will go back to-

juno: get in loser we're watching bad cops

rita: hi mista' n do you want some of this blanket

nureyev: that's very kind but im afraid im

juno: yeah hold up he's like really sweaty im gonna get him a clean shirt

nureyev: you really don't need to-

juno: how are you even still standing up when you're shaking like that

nureyev: that is. an excellent question

juno: anyway welcome to the club i fired rita like an hour ago bc i had nightmares about her dying on the asteroid

rita: i had one where i was gettin chased by this big stompy plant monster with lotsa teeth and i had to distract it by throwing all my snacks behind me and then i was outta snacks and then i was up getting more snacks when mista' steel fired me

rita: you know i think only reason i ain't got separation anxiety about mista' steel is because we spent all that time in the ruby together while we were chasin' after you and that gets a gal over it real fast

juno: thanks rita :P

#good morning i am once again committing my little scenarios #hypothetical denouement nonsense #this is not even remotely legit speculation i am just saying words recreationally #the penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev

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lunatic-pudge · 9 months ago

Text

Postal Dad Headcanons

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Requested by Gojifan1962)

HAPPY POSTAL 2 DAY!!!!! Can't believe Dude is finally old enough to drink. Homie is going places and I'm proud of him!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Aight, so I'm turning this request to a pregnancy/dad headcanons cause why not. Kill two birds with one stone and might as well start from the beginning, breaking the news that you're pregnant

-Now, Dude doesn't seem one to want kids. But since these are my headcanons, too bad. I'm sure he's thought about it before, but never really took time to truly consider it, especially with his deteriorating mental health and a marriage that has lost it's meaning long ago

-He's always had Champ to look at as his baby. His spoiled little baby at that. But now that he isn't with his ex-wife anymore, and is now in a happier relationship (with you, dear reader) having a kid or two might be something for him to start considering, might

-The pregnancy was definitely unplanned. A little "oops" if I may. It was nervewracking to tell him. How would he react? Does he even like kids? Could he handle being a dad?

-So, after some pep talk, you finally tell him. It doesn't register at first. KInda goes in one ear and out the other. It takes a few seconds of him blankly staring at you for him to finally understand what you said. And, surprisingly, he's ecstatic! Pick you up, swing you around, give you some smooches. Maybe some tears even shed

-But then the hard part starts, the big thing is that there's gonna have to be some changes (the crack addiction). After years of doing it, it's gonna be hell to quit. But if he kicks it now, it won't be a problem later when the baby is born. So be ready to have a cranky Dude around. You're both gonna be taking care of each other during this time. He's gonna need a lot of support during this

-Once the rough part of withdrawls is over, and he starts feeling better, he'll be already coming up with ideas for the baby's room. I'd like to think that his trailer has two rooms, one the guys you sleep in, the other is probably where he keeps his weapons. So he's gonna have to find a new place to put all his weapons cause we can't have the new baby trying to use the Napalm Launcher... yet

-At some point, he's gonna question if staying in Paradise would be the best choice. He doesn't want his kid to get hurt or deal with the consequences of being his kid, so you guys might pack the trailer up and start anew somewhere else, let's just hope the chaos doesn't follow

-As the months go on, Dude will start to get anxious. He worries that he won't be a good dad for the little one. He never had a good relationship with his Father's, one's dead and the other he basically has no contact with. He knows you'd make an amazing parent, no doubt about it. But he will need a lot of reassuring that he'll make a good dad. Plz help him

-He's ready to deal with anything and everything you throw at him. Morning sickness, cravings, he will go out at 3am to get you whatever you're craving if it means making you happy. He'll let you lay around and do nothing while he takes care of the place. Hell, even Champ will be loving on you as well. Staying by your side during the whole pregnancy (Dude gets a little jealous)

-When it's baby time, he's in full panic mode. Speeding to the hospital and refusing to leave your side. He'd be ready to fight the doctors and nurses if they don't listen to you or are even slightly rude. By the time the baby is born, he's gonna have a broken hand by how hard you were gripping it and he almost got kicked out of the hospital three times

-So now baby is born and Dude now has a new best friend. He just met his kid and he's already planning all the fun chaos the two will have. He's so excited to finally be able to hold his baby. He already knew he was gonna spoil the fuck out of them

-He's a lot more of an active dad than you'd think he'd be. He's rather a night owl so he doesn't mind being the one who's getting up to take care of the baby, he wants you to get your rest.

-Is the type to get the baby onesies that say things like, "I can't fucking read". He thinks it's hilarious. And if you don't stop him, he'll be trying to teach the kid how to swear and flip people off.

-The type of dad you'll catch sitting at the tiny kids table with your kid, wearing a tiara and getting his nails done by your kid. Yes, he will wear a dress if his kid asks. How is he supposed to say no to such an adorable face?

-He can't help but spoil them. Again, he struggles to say no to them. He would kill for his kid. He would steal toys for them as well. He will shank a bitch for an American Girl doll, he doesn't care. His child NEEDS this doll, and he will stop at nothing to get them what they want

-He will teach his kid how to defend themselves. He doesn't trust people and he wants to make sure his kid is safe. He'll be gifting his kid weapons once they turn 13. The kid will have an alarming knowledge about different types of weapons

-He doesn't want his kid seeing him killing people. He knows how traumatizing it can be to see such a thing. He'd feel so horrible if he was the cause of his kid's trauma. But he sees his kid kill someone, he's helping with hiding the body. If they're killing someone, then clearly that person was in the wrong cause his kid can do no wrong

-He really do be a dad that is chill and you can tell everything to. If his kid is in deep trouble, they know they can call their dad to help. Very rarely will Dude ever be mad at his kid. They have to do something really horrible for him to be upset with them. He's also the type of dad who wouldn't care if his kid smokes and/or drinks. He'd smoke with his kid if it didn't make his schizophrenia worse

-So to finally end this long post, Dude would be a good dad. He wouldn't be perfect, but he's trying. He would want the best for them. He does get overprotective of them as well. He'd be a content man in life with his family. Ain't nothing gonna ruin it <3

#postal #postal dude #postal dude x reader

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seramilla · 5 months ago

Note

(Have some fun with this one to make up for the buckets of angst I’ve dumped in the ask box :3)

Three months. It’s been three months since she was tossed into the training room and was essentially turned into a living training dummy. Lute yelped as she cashed into the floor again.

“Come on Lute!! Get up! Fight back!! If you’re really sorry then show me and fi-!”

“Oh fuck off already Vagina!! You aren’t the one dealing with demon limbs you bitch.”

She glared at Vaggie as her tail lashed about angrily.

“The only thing that we have in common is a missing eye!”

“So the wings don’t count?”

Lute let out a guttural growl at her the glared at the floor. She had discovered a fundamental change in her wings a month ago. She thought at first it might have been due to muscle atrophy due to her slow recovery. That was her initial thought until she had finished her first proper molt. Her strong and powerful falcon like wings were gone…replaced by loathsome raven wings.

“They aren’t the same…nothing is. You’re expecting me to fight like I used to when I can BARELY walk without tripping over these fucking demon bird legs! And do I even need to mention this obnoxious and annoying thing!?”

She holds up the disproportionate demonic left arm. She’d been using it mostly for blocking. It was so uncomfortable to use and felt like didn’t even belong to her. Lute blew some hair out of her face. It had grown past her shoulders now. She was pondering where to get some scissors when a sweet musical voice filled the air. Everything fluffed up knowing who owned it as she bolted and hid.

“Hey Vaggie! Carmilla said you would be here training so I brought you some water.”

“Thanks Em, did you want to give one to L-“

Vaggie turned to find her opponent had disappeared and smirked.

“Never mind just leave it by the door and tell Carmilla everything is fine.”

“Okay! I’m going to help Charlie at the hotel and whenever Lute comes in tell her I said hi.”

“Will do, don’t let Niffty set the kitchen on fire again!”

Emily huffs as she leaves.

“That was ONE time!!!”

Vaggie laughs as she slams the doors behind her. Then turns to the pillar with a tail poking out from behind it.

“She’s gone so you can come out now lover-girl.”

Vaggie blocked the wickedly fast strike from the clawed hand.

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!!!”

Vaggie continues dodging Lute's attacks, as the other former Exorcist keeps throwing her weight around and missing her.

“Admit it! You love Emily soooooo much! You want to kiss her and hug her and smooch her! Don’t lie! It’s written all over your silly love-struck face!”

The feathers around Lute's neck become ruffled and stand on end, as if she's trying to make herself look bigger and more intimidating to her opponent. She rushes Vaggie again, voice roaring and echoing off the walls of the training room.

“I AM LITERALLY GOING TO MURDER YOU, VAGINA!”

Vaggie easily side-steps Lute's attempted body slam, and backflips away as if the movement is nothing.

"How does the saying go?" Vaggie asks, placing her hand on her chin as if she's thinking very hard about the right words to use. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me? Are you like this with all girls you think are cute, or is it just Emily?”

Lute swipes at her again with her large clawed hand, but the attempt is futile and weak, as Lute has apparently lost all sense of coordination in her limbs with her blind fury.

“You know the only way I’m going to stop teasing you about this is if you just admit you like her," Vaggie says with a chuckle.

Feathers bristling even more, Lute appears as if she's had enough of being the butt of Vaggie's joke. She yanks a huge tower shield off the wall of the training room like it's nothing, and then hurls it across the room at Vaggie with her demon hand, like a child might throw a Frisbee at the park.

“What makes you think I’d admit ANYTHING to you?!” Lute screeches, sending the shield directly toward Vaggie's defenseless head. Vaggie doesn't hesitate, ducking and rolling out of the way as the shield crashes into the wall behind her, seeming to shake the entire compound with the impact.

“Hold the fucking phone! Time out!" Vaggie yells, holding her hands up in the universal sports sign for a pause. "That’s against the rules! This is hand-to-hand combat, remember? No weapons! And where the actual fuck did that show of strength come from??”

Lute isn't looking at Vaggie now, but down at her demon arm, flexing the oversized digits of the hand experimentally. She'd just picked up and thrown that shield without thinking about it. As if on pure instinct. As if she'd known ripping the decorative piece off the wall would be as simple as pie.

“I….I don’t know. I don't know what came over me.”

“Dios mio…” Vaggie says, rubbing her forehead to relieve some of the tension building behind her eyes. She looks at the shield and where it made contact with the wall, including the small crater now a permanent fixture on the wall's surface.

"Wait. Wait! I can fix this!" Lute says desperately. Lute runs over, picking up the shield from where it collided with the wall, and frantically moves back to try and reaffix it to its decorative plate. She does not want to incur Carmilla’s wrath today. “There! Good as new!”

Lute stands back, hands on her hips, admiring her work.

To her and Vaggie's dismay, the shield immediately falls off the wall again, this time knocking over a container full of spears, lances, and pole arms onto the floor in a heap.

"Oops..."

“Oh no, Mamá is gonna be pissed," Vaggie says, holding her hands to her face. "That was bolted down as decoration only!”

"Wait, what?" Lute asks, looking at Vaggie and completely forgetting the disaster strewn across the floor momentarily. The word Vaggie had just uttered is infinitely more interesting. "Mamá? Are you actually calling Carmilla your mother?!"

Vaggie blushes, and quickly tries to change the subject back to the important matter at hand. "Focus, lover girl! We need to clean up this mess now, before Carmilla gets back!”

"Holy shit!" Lute shouts, an honest-to-goodness cackle erupting from her throat. "You are!" Lute leans into the wall, pounding her smaller fist playfully into the smooth surface, as if this is the funniest thing she's ever heard in her life.

Vaggie's face flushes red. She's so embarrassed, the smoke coming from between her ears is almost palpable. She can practically feel it steaming like a smoke cloud above her head.

"Yeah? What about it? She basically opened up her home to us and feeds us! We spend more time here than at the actual hotel. She calls me mija and mi nina! Why shouldn’t I call her mom? I’ve never had one of those before! Heaven forbid, I want to know what that feels like!”

Lute is still wheezing. There are tears coming out of her eyes, which she wipes away with her oversized claw. Vaggie doesn't think she's ever seen Lute laugh so hard, in either Heaven or Hell, and finds it extremely inappropriate.

"Vaggie, come on...shut up and let me have this!" Lute chortles.

Vaggie, still fuming, starts to hurriedly gather her things into her shoulder bag, and throws it and the contents over her shoulder. She doesn't have to stay here, or put up with this. This is fucking Lute, for Satan's sake. Where does she get off demanding leniency?

“Since when have you ever let me have anything?" Vaggie asks, trying to hold back tears from her good eye. "I have a family now. People who love me! And so could you, if you'd just look beyond your own fear and ego to let a good thing happen for once!”

“Hey! Vaggie, that’s not fair—!”

“What’s not fair is me letting you off the hook again because Charlie taught me to be nice and shit," Vaggie bites back, completely done with playing Lute's games. "Bye, Lute. See you later.”

"Wait!" Lute shouts back, angelic arm reaching for her old comrade, in disbelief at Vaggie's change in demeanor. Lute fumbles for what to say. "You can't hold that over my head! At least you have a family! As if I could ever have something like that, anyway!"

Lute goes quiet again, voice trailing off as she stares at the large, oversized claws of her demon hand. Then she looks back to the mess she made; the one with the pile of disheveled weapons on the ground, as if it's the perfect metaphor for the absolute disaster she's made of her life. Her tail drags as she walks sluggishly over to the weapons on the floor. She picks up the barrel, sets it upright, and tries to fix the shield again.

“Sorry…" Lute starts, voice much queter and more forlorn than before. "I just haven’t had a good laugh like that since…ever, really. It was nice to be able to just…you know…let it out for once.”

Vaggie turns around, away from the doorway and facing the inside of the training room again, readjusting her gear bag on her shoulder to look back at Lute.

“That’s your problem, Lute. Yours to fix. You still haven’t learned how to derive pleasure from anything other than putting people down. Adam is gone, but you’re still here, relying on his old coping mechanisms. I’m sorry for teasing you. But you could have a family, too, if you’d just give Emily a chance. She doesn’t give a shit what you look like. She makes excuses to come see you every day, and all you do is hide.”

Lute has already started putting the other weapons back in the barrel. She sighs, setting one of the heavy weapons down, and turning back to Vaggie.

“I don’t deserve her...she deserves better than me. I already fucked up her life, and I don’t want to ruin it again. That's what I do; I ruin things…myself included. I don’t know how I’m supposed to even fix myself… Dammit…I’m trying to be better, but I keep fucking it up!”

Lute's vision blurs with tears. She grabs a handful of feathers from her demon arm out of instinct; it had taken her weeks to stop obsessively pulling them out. But she doesn’t pull them out this time, and Vaggie considers that a small, silent victory.

“Don’t make me have to get Carmilla," Vaggie warns, and Lute lets go of her feathers. "You fucked a lot of shit up, lover girl. Me included. But if you hadn’t, I never would have found Charlie. Good things can rise from the ashes of the bad choices. But nothing is going to change unless you open yourself to the possibilities. You lose every shot you don’t take. And frankly, I hate this chastising version of yourself. Shit’s fucking depressing. I want the badass lieutenant back. The one who used to beat my ass to a pulp during drills.”

Before turning to leave, Vaggie looks back at Lute, and tries to offer her an olive branch, of sorts.

“You still need to beat me before I’ll forgive you. That was our deal. But Emily is an open book. She’s changed a lot for the better. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised if you just set the record straight and admit you have feelings for her.”

Out of nowhere, a water bottle beans Vaggie right in the face.

“STOP CALLING ME LOVER GIRL, DAMMIT!" Lute shouts. "JUST BECAUSE I THINK SHE’S CUTE DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN TEASE ME ABOUT IT!”

It takes Lute all of 10 seconds to realize what she'd just admitted to Vaggie, and suddenly, her face is infused with red. When she sees the smug cat-like grin spread across Vaggie's face, she shouts after the other Exorcist, “No…don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you DARE tell her I--”

Vaggie bolts.

“YOU MOTHERFU--!”

Neither of them get far. Lute is hot on Vaggie's heels, tripping over her own tail in her bid to capture her fellow angel before she can spread her embarrassing, shameful news. Then out of nowhere, Vaggie slams directly into Carmilla, and then Lute into Vaggie's back, as they nearly topple all over each other onto the floor.

"Oh...he--hey, Mamá!" Vaggie says, waving sheepishly. Lute drags herself off of Vaggie, looking away in shame. "How's it going?"

Carmilla has that tell-tale expression of hers plastered all over her face from the jump. She cranes her neck to peer around the pillar and into the training room, laying witness to the absolute chaos that is the pile of weapons strewn liberally across the floor.

“Magnificent, girls," she says, never once losing that calm, confident demeanor. "I just found out I have some new clients dropping by this afternoon to draw up a new manufacturing contract. I would hate for them to get a bad impression based on the current state of my facilities. Wouldn’t you?”

Vaggie and Lute swallow heavily. They both know that expression. Carmilla doesn't have to tell them what to do, because they already know what will happen if they don't follow instructions and right this perceived wrong. Immediately, without even being asked, they begin to clean up the impromptu mess, shouting back at her in tandem, “Yes, Carmilla! We’re sorry! We’ll clean up right away!”

“Good girls," Carmilla says with a smile. Just another eventful day at the Carmine estate, Carmilla thinks, before turning around, and making her way back to the lobby to wait for her visitors.

This is based on a conversation me and @xellas-the-wanderer had last night. I've edited for formatting and consistency's sake.

#hazbin hotel #carmilla carmine #vaggie #lute hazbin hotel #emily hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #ask #fan theories #chaggie #emilute #pining wings au

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lucky-clover-gazette · 6 months ago

Text

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 19

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

He found he had put himself bodily in Guymar’s way. ‘No. No one goes in.’ Anger, irrationally, blossomed. Behind him was the closed door to the tower rooms, a barrier to disaster. Guymar should know better than to barge in and make Laurent’s mood worse. Guymar should have known better than to cause Laurent’s mood in the first place.

one kiss and he’s fully down bad. like these are max levels of damen down bad-ness. it took one kiss. holy shit dude. we went from “laurent knows everything and is always planning something terrible” to “you will NOT bother my poor little meow meow while he does his silent soliloquy”

‘This time, I want it actually kept clear. I don’t care who is about to get molested. No one is to come here. Is that understood?’ ‘Yes, Captain.’ Guymar bowed and retreated. Damen found himself with his hands braced on the stone crenellation, in unconscious echoing of Laurent’s pose, the line of Laurent’s back the last thing he had seen before he had put the heel of his palm to the door. His heart was pounding. He wanted to make a barrier that protected Laurent from anyone who would intrude on him. He’d keep that perimeter clear, if it meant stalking these battlements and patrolling it himself. He knew this about Laurent. That once he gave himself time alone to think, the control returned, reason won out. The part of him that didn’t want to drop Aimeric with a punch recognised that both Jord and Aimeric had just been put through the wringer. It was a mess that needn’t have happened. If they’d just—steered clear. Friends, Laurent had said, high on the battlements. Is that what we are? Damen’s hands drew into fists. Aimeric was an inveterate troublemaker with terrible timing.

this is so ridiculous damen you have laurent brainrot it is so funny how this has unlocked primal rage and determination in you that literal flogging couldn’t

but keep your head up king, this is the chapter where you get to smash

The idea of stopping, allowing himself a moment to think, was terrible. Outside, there was nothing, just the last hours of darkness, and the long ride in the dawn.

and no more laurent to smooch >:(

‘Watch over the Prince,’ he heard himself say. ‘Anything he needs, make certain he has it. Take care of him.’ He was aware of the incongruity of the words, of his hard grip on the soldier’s arm. When he tried to stop, his grip only tightened. ‘He deserves your loyalty.’

damen said “it’s MY turn on the projection”

His time as Laurent’s Captain had been short-lived. An afternoon. An evening. In that time they’d won a battle and taken a fort. It seemed wild and improbable, a hard-edged golden piece of metal in his hand.

also they’d kissed on the mouth. leaving out a pretty essential detail there damen

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Your servants brought me to the wrong rooms.’ ‘No, they didn’t,’ said Laurent.

pffft did they just know? i’m not sure when laurent could have asked them to do it. so they must have just assumed laurent wanted him there

‘I don’t want to talk about Aimeric,’ said Laurent. ‘Or my uncle.’ Laurent began to come forward.

uh laurent i don’t think damen mentioned the regent at all. i think you’re telling yourself to stop thinking about your uncle because you would like to fuck damen without ptsd making it weird

Laurent said, ‘I know you’re planning to leave tomorrow. You’re going to cross the border, and you’re not going to come back. Say it.’ ‘I—’ ‘Say it.’ ‘I’m going to leave tomorrow,’ said Damen, as steadily as he could. ‘I’m not going to come back.’ He drew in a breath that hurt his chest. ‘Laurent—’ ‘No, I don’t care. Tomorrow you leave. But you’re mine now. You’re still my slave tonight.’ Damen felt the words hit, but that was subsumed in the shock of Laurent’s hand on him, a push backwards. His legs hit the bed. The world tilted, bed silks and roseate light. He felt Laurent’s knee alongside his thigh, Laurent’s hand on his chest. ‘I—don’t—’ ‘I think you do,’ said Laurent.

laurent listened to “dead girl walking” from heathers musical on the way up to the rooms in preparation for this. also i love the mixed feelings here—on one hand, hell yeah laurent, let yourself have this, but also this is fucked up for you both, and you really should talk it out, and the fact that you’re demanding his abandonment before fucking him is concerning, like you only want to fuck if you know he’s leaving anyway, but i mean why not then, if he’s leaving, and you know he wants you, and this is the last night to do it…

also laurent knows damen wants this, and he’s not actually using the slave thing here. the only way he’s using it, is calling damen on what he said earlier that evening before the kissing. cashing in on it, in a way. it’s not exactly healthy but i wouldn’t say it’s like non-consensual or anything

‘What am I doing? You are not very observant.’ ‘You’re not yourself,’ said Damen. ‘And even if you were, you don’t do anything without a dozen motives.’ Laurent went very still, the soft words half bitter. ‘Don’t I? I must want something.’

ooof that hit a sore spot, i think. laurent very badly wants to both lose and take control right now, and sex is a way he’s both lost and had control in the past—lost control to the regent, and had it over damen back in arles. he’s trying not to think about that, about the reasons, and damen is trying to make him think about it, and also implying that laurent can’t just do anything because it’s what he wants or feels.

‘Laurent,’ he said. ‘You take liberties,’ said Laurent. ‘I never gave you permission to call me by my name.’ ‘Your Highness,’ said Damen, and the words twisted, wrong in his mouth. He needed to say, Don’t do this. But he couldn’t think past Laurent, improbably close. He felt each shifting inch that divided their bodies with a fluttering, illicit sensation at Laurent’s proximity. He closed his eyes against it, felt his body’s painful yearning. ‘I don’t think you want me. I think you just want me to feel this.’ ‘Then, feel it,’ said Laurent.

“i don’t think you want me, i think you just want me to feel this” is an INSANE and deeply true line. but also, i think laurent does want damen—HIS damen, not damianos. and this is the last night he can have his damen.

and maybe laurent enjoys your reactions, damen. ever think about that?

‘You liked this too, with Ancel.’ ‘That wasn’t Ancel,’ said Damen, the words coming out, raw and honest. ‘That was all you, and you know it.’

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOO

The rise and fall of Laurent’s hand was like the slide of Laurent’s words, like every frustrating argument that they’d ever had, stymied, tangled up in Laurent’s voice.

great line. love how it ties the sex act to something deeper between them

Laurent held his former mood within him, constrained, and converted into something else.

horny and angry is not the ideal way for them to fuck for the first time, and for laurent to fuck for the first time since [redacted], but since when has anything been ideal for laurent (or damen, as of book 1)

He felt Laurent pulling back, pulling away, shuttering himself, trying but not quite able to manage a cool snap withdrawal. Laurent said, ‘Adequate.’

book 1: “Laurent turned to Damen. ‘Well?’ Laurent said. ‘Can you couple adequately, or do you just kill things?”

He’d caught Laurent’s wrist before, to hold him back from a blow, a knife strike. He held him now. He could feel the desperate urge for retreat. He could feel something else too, Laurent keeping himself apart, as though, this act being finished, he had no template for what to do. ‘Kiss me,’ he said again.

this is so good. it’s good for all the things damen knows, and all the things he doesn’t know. because he’s doing good here, even without the truth about the regent clicking. he’s helping laurent figure this out, confidently and compassionately, and showing him that he doesn’t need to retreat.

Dark-eyed, Laurent was holding himself in place as though pushing himself past a barrier, the tension in Laurent’s body still telegraphing flight, and Damen felt the shock with his whole body when Laurent’s gaze dropped to his mouth. His own eyes fell closed as he realised that Laurent was going to do this, and he held himself very still. Laurent kissed with a slight parting of his lips, as though he was unconscious of what he was asking for, and Damen kissed him back carefully, dizzy with the idea that the kiss would deepen.

see my previous comments about trauma and my appreciation for laurent as a romantic interest/lead

For a moment, looking felt like kissing, an exchange in which the distinctions of intimacy blurred.

"distinctions of intimacy blurred" is such a succinct way to summarize the way pacat writes the overall romantic arc. they do not need to be fucking to be fucking, and when they are fucking, they're doing other stuff too

It was not what Laurent had expected. He felt the slight shock of Laurent’s surprise, and the way Laurent held himself, as though confused as to why Damen wished to do this, but he felt the moment when surprise turned to something else.

“confused as to why damen wanted to do this” yeah that’s pretty typical for laurent

Damen allowed himself the minor delight of nuzzling.

fantastic line

He lifted his fingers to the tie that closed Laurent’s collar. He had been trained to do this, he knew every intricate fastening.

talk about setup and payoff...

Exposed, Laurent’s nipples were hard and puckered, the first tangible evidence of desire, and Damen felt a wild surge of gratification. His eyes lifted to Laurent’s. Laurent said, ‘Did you think I was made of stone?’ He couldn’t stop the rush of pleasure he felt at that, said, ‘Nothing you don’t want.’ ‘You think I don’t want it?’ Seeing the look in Laurent’s eyes, Damen deliberately pushed him back onto the sheets.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

okay big turning point! probably the first major tell we’ve gotten of laurent being out of control of his reactions, AND he isn’t ashamed of it and asks for more!!! massive laurent (and damen) w!!!

Lifting a hand idly to the exact place above his head where Damen might have pressed it, Laurent gazed back at him through veiled lashes. ‘Like being on top, do you?’ ‘Yes.’ Never more so than at this moment. To have Laurent beneath him was heady.

they’re both having so much fun in different but complimentary ways. laurent enjoys what he’s doing to damen, damen enjoys what laurent is doing to him. they’re both getting something out of it, which i don’t think damen fully understood what he said that thing about laurent not wanting him, but wanting to make him feel. he wants it because it’s you specifically, dummy.

Despite the cool tone, he was aware of the extent to which Laurent was holding himself in place, allowing himself to be touched. Tension still glinted in Laurent’s body, like the shine on a blade edge that would slice you open at the wrong touch.

Damen let himself experience dizzily just how much he liked the idea of controlled Laurent betraying himself in salt flavoured need into his mouth. He touched it with his hand and encountered a texture like hot silk.

i like how pacat finds these ways to say what’s going on, but in a much more compelling and beautiful way than just “damen wanted to blow him” and “his dick was nice”

‘I am not going to reciprocate.’ Damen looked up. ‘What?’ Laurent said, ‘I am not going to do that to you.’ ‘And so?’ ‘Do you want me to suck your cock?’ said Laurent, precisely. ‘Because I don’t plan to. If you are proceeding on the expectation of reciprocity, then you had best be forewarned that—’ This was too convoluted for bed play. Damen listened, satisfied himself that in all of this talking there was no actual objection, then simply applied his mouth.

LOVE THIS. how complicated traumatized laurent trying to deflect is just washing over damen, he doesn’t care if it’s not reciprocal, he just wants to make laurent feel good. something laurent doesn’t understand or expect because sex for him has always been about making [redacted] feel good and that’s it. and laurent’s bitchiness here is so tenderly and funny and in character. he delivered a “precise treatise on cocksucking” in book 1, of course he’d regard this like a business negotiation

For all his seeming experience, Laurent reacted like an innocent to this pleasure. He let out a soft shocked sound, and his body re-formed around the place where Damen was giving his attention. Damen held Laurent in place, hands to hips, and allowed himself to enjoy Laurent’s slight, helpless shifts and pushes, the quality of his surprise, and the hard act of repression that followed, as Laurent tried to even out his breathing.

damen associates sex with happily giving and receiving pleasure, so he’s confused/surprised by laurent’s unfamiliarity with actually getting attention and enjoying himself

Laurent was, by far, the most controlled lover Damen had ever taken to bed.

damen a lot of them were slaves. coached to make you feel like a god. just saying

And felt it stymied. As rhythm built, Laurent’s body locked down, his responses repressed. Looking up, he saw that Laurent’s hands were fists in the sheets, his eyes closed, his head turned to one side. Laurent, out on the shattered edge of pleasure, was holding himself back from climax by sheer force of his impossible will.

again i say, i’m so glad to see someone like laurent as the love interest in a romance novel, holy shit

After a long moment Laurent said, with painful honesty, ‘I . . . find it difficult to let go of control.’ ‘No kidding,’ said Damen.

:) a really nice tension-breaking way to find a little humor in it all, made even lighter by damen’s lack of awareness re: [redacted]

‘You want to take me, as a man takes a boy.’

this is the first moment where i’m just like DAMEN. truly. how are you not guessing this. i get that it’s consistent with his character to not assume the worst, but oh my god

‘You make it sound simple.’ ‘It is simple.’

The words fell into a stillness between them. Laurent’s breathing was shallow, and his cheeks were flushed as he closed his eyes, as though he wanted to block out the world. ‘I want,’ said Laurent, ‘I want it to be simple.’

‘Yes,’ said Laurent. ‘But—wasn’t it—’ ‘Will you stop talking about it.’ The words were ground out.

oh he’s trying so hard to let himself have this. probably before he feels really ready but it’s his last night with damen so!!

For all his bizarre nervy tension, Laurent was indisputably eager, physically. Damen searched his blue eyes. ‘Contrary, aren’t you,’ said Damen softly, thumbing over Laurent’s cheek. ‘Fuck me,’ said Laurent. ‘I want to,’ said Damen. ‘Can you let me?’ He said it quietly, and waited, as Laurent’s eyes closed again, a muscle sliding in his jaw. The idea of being fucked very clearly had Laurent out of his mind, as desire competed with some sort of convoluted mental objection that really needed, Damen thought, to be dispensed with. ‘I am letting you,’ said Laurent, the terse words pushing out. ‘Will you get on with it?’

this is so well-written, both what’s in the lines and what’s in between them. it’s a sex scene but it’s also a masterful scene of dramatic irony and characterization for them both

He watched Laurent’s face, the slight flush, the fractional changes of his expression, his eyes wide and dark. It was intensely private.

of course he's in his own head. that's laurent, for better or for worse

He felt some sense that he needed to hold onto this, to hold it tight and never let it out of his grip. You’re mine, he wanted to say, and couldn’t. Laurent didn’t belong to him; this was something he could have only once. His chest hurt.

To get what you want, you have to know exactly how much you are willing to give up. Never had he wanted something this badly, and held it in his hands knowing that tomorrow it would be gone, traded for the high cliffs of Ios, and the uncertain future across the border, the chance to stand before his brother, to ask him for all the answers that no longer seemed so important. A kingdom, or this.

i don’t have much to add here. it’s being explained perfectly in the text. it's nice to be at this point of understanding with the characters and plot that things can come together like this, thematically, on the page.

#sam reads capri #capri #lamen #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #captive prince #prince's gambit

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year ago

Note

Pinnie.

Pinnie Pin Pin.

You can't just tell us that the neck is an erogenous zone for mushroom people and just leave us like that.

You know we need to assault that overgrown fungus man's neck.

so how would he react if his piglet immediately took every opportunity they had to get their grubby little hands/lips on his dick neck? :3

Letting you know how sensitive his neck is was perhaps one of the worst things Morell could have done. And he knows this. He knows, because your eyes twinkled in that same way they always do when you're up to no good.

The chef braced for a whole lot of shenanigans, but he never expected you to be as persistent as you're currently being.

" Morell... "

He sighs, looking up from full pots on the massive stove and rolling his eyes at your figure seated on the nearest empty counter. You can make puppy eyes and swing your legs all you want, Morell's not letting you have this any time soon.

" Fer tha last time, Piglet- " He warns. " Yer not touchin' mah neck. "

" But I- "

" Drop it. "

With a different tone comes a different message, and you're wise enough to listen, sulking on the cold stone while several bobbles hurry back and forth inside the kitchen walls. You watch them scramble like well-coordinated bugs under the shroom's iron rule and the chef returns to the task at hand. Seeing the way you're melting on his counter makes Morell feel a little shitty about his short fuse, but he's genuinely put off by the idea of you getting all over such a weak spot.

In fact, the monster is about to curtly apologize to you when you meet his side-glance with a slightly less depressed expression.

" Well, can I at least have a kiss? "

That, he can do for you. Mori smiles, pulling the top of his chunky pink scarf down and crowding you on the counter.

" Always, piglet. C'mere. "

...

In hindsight, Morell should have known better.

So much better...

Your lips curl in victory, and as you tug him down to plant smooches on his teeth, your tiny hands weasel their way past the hem of his neck adornment. Morell shivers hard, every single tap and drag of mischievous fingertips and flat palms on his anatomy felt with a fury. The shroom chokes and makes a sound that wasn't quite a whimper but could be mistaken for one, reflexively trying to peel away from the intrusive contact.

" Piglet! Fuckin'- "

Nothing quite prepares him for when you dart forward, face nudging his scarf out of the way to moan against the skin of his throat and suck at the sides of his neck with a determination and enthusiasm you only ever occasionally spare for him.

It's an intense level of stimulus all at once. Morell has no choice but to grunt and arch his spine, shuddering audibly when a wave of heat goes from the top of his cap straight to his cock. His arms grab onto the stone beside you hard enough you can likely see the veins in them. Morell can't help the disgustingly desperate noise that rips out of him when you lick from the bottom of his neck up to his chin.

" Holy ffuckin' shit hhn- "

In a glazed, horny stupor, he stops trying to retract his neck like a turtle and actually leans his head as far back as he can to give you more space. He'll deny doing this to his last dying breath, but it will fool no one.

The powertrip you feel as you lavish his neck in amorous, pervy attention is something you probably won't live down for a whole week, the vibrations of your self-satisfied giggling causing the chef to close his eyes and pant like an animal.

The shroom's cock tenses in his pants, tenting them obscenely. Morell is so out of his mind with arousal that he tugs your hips forward with enough force to bruise them, just so he can have something to grind against while you drool around his skin.

Maybe it's because he's never let anyone touch that part of him before. Perhaps it's because you are the one doing it, you want him that bad, you'd do something this filthy. But he's quickly becoming an overheated mess in your arms. He doesn't want to think about it, his cheeks are already so blue he's going to turn into a lava lamp at any moment. This display of vulnerability will haunt him for a while.

But it feels so fucking good...

The second you're bold enough to gently bite at him with your cute little teeth, Morell is clawing at his belt with a fury, this pitiful, jarringly submissive croon hissing through his teeth.

This new side of him is pretty interesting.

#Morell oc #monsterwhorre

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monstersandmaw · 1 year ago

Text

Laces for a Lady - 18th century, poly, shifters x human romance - Chapter Two (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Thank you so much to everyone who let me know that you enjoyed the first chapter through your reblogs and tags and comments. I don't expect people to feel like they have to engage in a way that I'll see, but I can only tell you how much it means to me if you do have the energy to do so!

Things have been pretty effing rough on this end of things for me lately, so this story had to take a back seat, but I'm hoping to be able to work on it more for you now. This chapter was originally 5k words but I broke up the 'action' of this one, so it ends on a bit of a cliffie... quite literally, almost. Sorry? Hope you enjoy it anyway??

Content: Nel settles in at Heath Top House, meets Lady Winnifred, accidentally witnesses one hell of a smooch, and finds a body floating in the water after a storm... Wordcount: 3067

Part One

If the housekeeper at Heath Top House was surprised to find a well-dressed, if slightly wind-blown and jounced-about, young lady trundling in on a village cart, she managed not to show it.

Tom drew his placid old horse to a halt and Nel hopped down onto the gravel outside the manor house and slid her case down before Tom had even turned around to see if she needed help. She tossed him a friendly smile though, and a quick thanks that made the old man’s cheeks warm beneath his grey moustache, before the front door of the elegantly proportioned, stone manor house opened to reveal a tall woman in her late forties, with her hair tucked neatly beneath a ruffled, white cotton cap trimmed with a light blue, silk ribbon.

“Miss Bywater?”

“Indeed,” Nel said, and a frisson of apprehension shot down her throat to her stomach, where it curdled with the churning remnants of her coach journey to make an altogether unsavoury sensation in her gut.

She glanced down at her travel-rumpled redingote, picked out some straw from the bed of the cart that had lodged itself in the embroidery, and smoothed out her skirts. She tried to adopt a more seemly and tidy manner before drawing in a long breath, holding it, and then releasing it with a smile to meet the woman’s eyes.

“I’m Davis,” the woman said. “Housekeeper.”

What her first name was, Eleanor may never learn, given that etiquette demanded she be known by her surname by her employers and their guests. As a hired companion, Eleanor fell somewhere between the two, but even so she was unlikely to be considered on the same social standing as a housekeeper.

“If you’d like to follow me, Miss Bywater.”

She cast one last look back at Tom, who was already gathering his reins to stir his chunky, grey horse back into motion, and she offered him a final smile. He tipped his cap to her and set off, and Nel stepped into the relative dark of the entrance hall.

Chequered marble in a sweeping expanse of black and white tiles stretched away and was met by an elegantly curving staircase. The walls were flanked with dark wood panels and stern portraits of past generations, and from a doorway to one side, a young woman in a pale yellow dress emerged.

She was as blonde as her dress, and her skin had the kind of pallor that suggested she rarely went out. She was slender too, and if Nel had had to make a guess at her health, she might have been bold enough to say that the lady was fragile. If she were being gracious, she might have opted for ‘delicate’, but as it was, she looked shy and wan and fragile.

“Oh, Miss Bywater?” the lady said in a slightly wispy voice, and Nel nodded and made a small curtsy.

Slightly behind her, Davis bobbed a polite and slightly deeper curtsy, and said, “M’lady.”

“Thank you, Davis. See to it that Miss Bywater’s things are taken care of. I will give her a tour of the house myself.”

“As you say, m’lady,” Davis said, briskly taking the travelling case that Nel set down on the marble floor, leaving them to it.

The Lady Winnifred Penrose looked to be in her early thirties, and, Nel discovered as she stepped forwards and took her hands in her own chilly, bird-like fingers to squeeze with only the faintest effort, she was terribly shy and a little awkward.

“You must forgive me for sounding so formal and stiff in my letters,” she said, her blue eyes sliding away briefly as her cheeks warmed a fraction. “I… I don’t know how else to write, and I didn’t know you. You must have thought me some dowdy old matron…”

Nel very carefully did not say that that was exactly what she’d been expecting, and instead masked her surprise by saying, “I’m honestly glad to find we’re closer to the same age.”

Lady Winnifred’s returning smile was genuine, and it didn’t fade as she floated back a step and said, “I must also confess that taking a companion was my mother-in-law’s idea. This, as you know, was my husband’s house, and he left everything to me in his will, which seems to have caused a bit of a stir among society, given that he actually has a younger brother who should have inherited it all.”

She sighed and spoke on in almost a whisper.

“His parents live here with me, and they try to keep an eye on things, but should I wish it, I could turn them out and we could have the run of the place.”

She looked suddenly shocked by her boldness, and Nel would come to learn that it was uncharacteristic of her in the extreme to say such things aloud. At the time, Nel just offered a private smile, and allowed herself to be shown about the house by a woman who struck her by the end of their tour as painfully, heartbreakingly isolated.

Lady Winnifred slowly but surely came out of her shell in their first few weeks together.

She had bouts of weakness and days when she didn’t feel like stirring much beyond her own rooms in the house, but over afternoon tea a fortnight after Nel’s arrival on that blustery spring morning, she confessed that while she had been a little reticent at first at the idea of taking a stranger into her home, she was now wholeheartedly glad that Eleanor Bywater had been the one to apply for the role.

“I mean, we’re almost the same age,” Winnie said as she dabbed at the last of her scone crumbs on the porcelain plate with a delicate fingertip and savoured the lingering taste of sweet, strawberry jam and thick, clotted cream. “And it has been such a relief to find someone to share in my love of reading…”

For the most part, Nel remained at Heath Top House with Winnie, as she insisted on being called by her friends, among whom Nel was apparently now counted. What few friends Winnie had lived in either Bath or London, and that physical distance seemed to have left Winnie extremely isolated while she ran her late husband’s estates in Cornwall and tried to dodge her interfering father-in-law’s heavy-handed attempts to seize control once again.

Luckily, James Penrose’s last will and testament had been most adamant that Winnie be the one to manage the finances and the mines, and from what Nel had learned by leaning over her shoulder while she wrote letters to the board and shareholders, Winnie was more than competent despite her shyness in person. James had been killed only a year and a half prior, in a tragic tunnel collapse while inspecting one of the mines he owned, and Winnie had turned into something of a social recluse in the aftermath.

Gradually, during Nel’s first month at Heath Top, she managed to get Winnie out and about on walks across the heathland when the wild, Cornish weather permitted, and they grew very acquainted with the stretch of coastal path that hugged the cliffs and played host to a prolific number of soaring seabirds. Sometimes, way offshore, they glimpsed porpoises and dolphins, and once or twice, common and grey seals basking and playing in the shallows, and over a period of a couple of months, Nel watched the young, grief-riddled widow draw a little out of her shell.

Despite the fact that Nel was technically in her employ, Winnie had also insisted that Nel could come and go from Heath Top House whenever she liked, so Nel found herself frequently borrowing a horse from the stables to ride around Winnie’s estate and down towards the coast on a shaggy, black-coated mare named Blackthorn. As the unexpected offspring of an escaped racehorse stud and a pit pony mare, Blackthorn had the stubborn stamina of her mother and the will to run of her thoroughbred sire, and Nel found herself adoring the solid, fifteen-hand horse almost the moment she clapped eyes on her.

“She’s beautiful,” she told the head groom, a quiet-mannered man in his fifties named Joe, when he’d first brought the mare out into the yard for her to try. She stroked Blackthorn’s velvet nose with her knuckles and giggled as the horse’s whiskery lips mouthed harmlessly at her fingers in search of apples. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

Late one afternoon in the searing heat of midsummer, when crickets kept up a tireless chorus in the bleached grasses and cows stood about listlessly in the scant shade of the trees and lowed plaintively, Nel took Blackthorn into town before the shops closed. Her intent had been to buy some more thread for an embroidery project that she had recently undertaken at Winnie’s suggestion, but she knew already that it was probably far beyond her limited skills with a needle.

After she’d stabled the mare at the Lantern and seen to it that Blackthorn was given fresh water and a cool place to rest, Nel headed off to walk around the seaside village on foot. With her thread purchased from the surprisingly well-stocked haberdashery on Clifftop Street, she turned and made her way down the steep, cobbled street towards the harbour in the vague hope of some relief from the heat with a passing sea breeze. The light was perfect, casting pearlescent shimmers across the still sea beyond the harbour, and gilding the white wings of the gulls as they wheeled lazily overhead, but the air was thick with the cloying scent of iodine and drying seaweed at low tide, and it didn't get any cooler as she neared the harbour.

For someone who had grown up in the country though, and who had rarely seen the sea, she was surprised at how much she had come to love living there, with its wild, rugged, independent folk and its landscape that fitted them perfectly.

Nel had just gained a glimpse of the muddy harbour at the lowest ebb of the tide, the view of colourful fishing boats listing to the side like beached sea creatures framed by the squat, white cottages of the village when, in the narrow space between two buildings to her right, a sudden movement caught her eye. There in the shadows not ten paces away, she saw a slender young man pressed up against the bare stonework of a house and crowded in by a much larger man.

She had barely had time to mask her gasp of surprise when she recognised the latter as Locryn Trevethan, as much by his sheer, hulking size and his thick ponytail of steel-grey hair as by anything else, but she was far too surprised to register anything else when Locryn put both his hands tenderly on the smaller man’s jawline and kissed him fiercely.

As she took in the skinny frame of the other man beneath him, she realised it was Edmund Nancarrow. She’d seen him around the village a few times in the months since she’d moved into Heath Top House and he worked as the tailor’s assistant near the haberdashery. She’d not had any need of a tailor since arriving at Polgarrack though, and she hadn’t spoken to him since their brief meeting in the doorway of the Lantern.

All thoughts fled her mind as Locryn rutted up against Edmund’s hips, growling and groaning and kissing him without pausing for breath. “Want you,” he hissed, bringing his hand down to palm Edmund’s crotch. “Come to me tonight. On the sands,” he grunted. “It’s been too long. I need you.”

Edmund gasped and tipped his head back, his pale cheeks flushed and his mouth open in a wanton display of lust, and he just barely managed a weak nod and a dazed smile in return.

With a flush of heat in her own face, Nel turned away.

Locryn and Edmund weren’t the first men she’d known to have an attraction towards their own sex — after all, she had been the first that William had told of his own preferences all those years ago — but to see two people so blindly engrossed in each other, so wrapped up in the sheer, honest pleasure of each other’s bodies, sent a rush of yearning and stinging jealousy through her that was so strong she felt almost faint.

At twenty five, it was not quite too late for her to marry, but it was unlikely that any man would want her now.

She had politely refused the few offers made to her by relative strangers back in London, and as a result, her father, for all that he loved her, had called her a flighty fool. It was hardly her fault that the men who had come calling for her after the various balls during the London Season had done nothing but inspire empty dread and, in one case, open revulsion. She would likely never know the kind of passion and desire that Edmund was experiencing, and she scuttled back to the Lantern with her mind in a spin.

Her journey back to Heath Top with Blackthorn passed in a blur, and she barely heard a word Winnie said to her over tea when she got back with the embroidery thread still crumpled up in her small, silk pouch.

The summer progressed in a series of walks with Winnie, afternoon tea, reading, and lonely rides along the clifftop with Blackthorn, but she didn’t see Edmund Nancarrow or Locryn Trevethan again, and she took to avoiding Polgarrack without realising that was what she was doing. The endless days of blasting heat gave way to nights of brilliant lighting storms that sent veins of white fire flashing across the sky and the sea.

On one such wild night, she woke with a start as thunder seemed to rattle the rafters and the roof beams above, and she walked wide-eyed to the window in her nightgown to watch the lighting dance over the distant sea. Great forks of it illuminated both the water and the undulating land between Heath Top and the shore, and in the searing flashes she thought she saw the dark silhouette of a ship coming round the headland.

A while later, while she still stood at the window with a shawl clasped at her collarbones and her eyes locked on the horizon, the door to her room opened with a whispering creak, and she turned to find Winnie slipping inside, wrapped in a delicate dressing gown of her own and moving like a ghost.

“It’s wild out there,” she said, wide-eyed and pale-cheeked. She’d been ill for most of the day with a headache, and looked worse than ever in the harsh light of the incessant lightning.

“Are you alright?” Nel asked.

Winnie nodded. “I hate thunder,” she added as she joined Nel by the casement, trembling. “James died the morning after a storm like this.”

“I understand.” She slid her arm around her new friend’s waist and they stared out at the storm for a long while. “That ship…?” Nel asked, staring at the shape of it out on the silver water.

“Probably a smuggler’s cutter from the Channel Islands or France,” Winnie said, and when Nel looked surprised, she laughed. “What? Half of the tea we drink, and surely all of my father in-law’s spirits come from the smugglers who are brave enough to labour through storms like this one. It’s a part of life round here. We look the other way and the townsfolk sell us the things we need, and all the while London never sees a penny of it in taxes.” ‘We’ in that case was the local gentry.

It should probably have shocked Nel a bit more than it did, but Winnie had informed her that thanks to those hefty taxes from Westminster, the price to buy imported salt for the pilchards was forty times the actual cost of the salt itself, so she couldn't find it within herself to object in the slightest.

“I suppose half the town will be out there on the beach, bringing it all ashore?” Nel asked, and Winnie nodded.

“I just hope the revenue men from Fowey don’t risk the storm,” she murmured. “They sent a captain down here in a cutter of his own to catch them. They’ve already rounded up a good number of men, though no Cornish jury has ever found them guilty.” She said it with amused pride in her tone too, as if that too was a joke played on Westminster.

They stood there a while longer, watching the storm and the ship before Winnie sighed.

“You should sleep,” Nel said. “Is your headache still bad?”

Winnie nodded and her friend scowled.

“Come, watching lightning flash across a dark sky isn’t going to help. Go and curl up,” she said, and Winnie smiled, climbing into Nel’s bed instead of returning to her own.

Nel watched the weather for another few minutes before joining her, and the two fell asleep within five minutes of each other.

Winnie remained in Nel’s bed the next morning, curled on her side like a child under the covers, but Nel felt restless as the still-churning sea after the storm, and took Blackthorn out for a ride without waking the lady of the house.

The storm had blasted away the cloying, summer heat from the day before to leave a fresh, blustery day and a blue sky.

Just as she crested the clifftop at Rocky Point, where an old stone cottage sat on the headland like another watcher over the waters of the Channel, and joined the path that ran the length of Cornwall from Land’s End to Looe, she happened to glance down into the sandy cove below.

There floating in the water, was the unmistakable shape of a man. He was face-up, and even at that distance, she thought he looked vaguely familiar.

For a long moment, Nel sat stock-still in Blackthorn’s saddle where the mare had halted obediently on the path, and she stared down at the figure bobbing and drifting with the tide like a piece of flotsam.

Was he dead?

At the thought — at the faint hope that he might still be alive — her shock crumbled and gave way to something frantic. She burst into action.

___

Next chapter ->

Dun-dun-duhhhhh! Sorry. We'll see more from the two shifters next time, I promise. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on it, as ever! (I hope there weren't too many typos but if you spot some, feel free to yell at me in the comments or my inbox - I'm quite tired when I'm posting this!!)

I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#poly shifter romance #shifter romance #poly romance #historical fantasy #18th century #18th century smuggling romance #cornish folklore #bucca #selkie #selkie x human #bucca x human #polyamory #laces for a lady

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goldenlaquer · 2 years ago

Note

AHHHHHHH OPEN REQUESTs FOR R6 AND COD ?? BABE U ARE THE HERO WE NEED BUT DON'T DESERVE !! Smooching ur sad face... bratty teasing pining reader with Mute, maybe? I heard his exhale in his trailer and AJWOOWKSJJAK WOOF WOOF i will tug his clothes steal his ammo tie his shoelaces GRRFFFF he gives me grief by existing and i wamt to give him some back. Ummm hcs obvsly those are great. Sfw would be aweeeesome ♡ thank u for your seggsy writimg always

MAH FIRST R6S REQUEST!!!! Thank you so much for coming to the call and fueling this madness!!! I shall make him suffer 🫡

Mark "Mute" Chandar Headcanons:

He fascinates you.

His every measured exhale under that impersonal gas mask. The restrained grace of his gloved hands by his sides. The controlled turn of his head. The absolute stillness of his presence. People say he's too quiet, and you suppose he is, but you think quiet is not quite the right word to describe Mute. No, "quiet" sounds more fitting for a shy, diminutive man. Mute is not shy or diminutive, quite the opposite. He's... imposing. Yes, imposing. He fills the space with his silence, and when he speaks, with his curt words (and you've heard him talk, that commanding drawl that is his Yorkshire tongue), with his austere build, and with the efficient prowl of his body over the playing field. It captures your eyes and ensnares your attention, makes you wonder where he gets that stoic composure from. And makes you wonder then, how you can break it.

He hates you.

Or at the very least, he dislikes you, because hate is a strong word that requires time and energy—you don't think someone like Mute would bother giving time and energy into someone he deems a waste of it. He hasn't expended himself into saying as much, but it doesn’t take even a genius to guess, how he must see you.

That babbling ninny. That scurrying busybody. That gravel in his boot.

All unflattering sobriquets of yourself— but hey, you take full responsibility for it. After all, you've got no one but yourself to blame for wrapping up in a terrible mischief with him, especially with how quick you come to realize that he isn't as stone as he appears.

What is a barrier to others is a mere suggestion to you. His guarded silence is a perfect opportunity you've taken yourself to fill with chatter that you're sure grates his nerves. Cheery greetings that are unreciprocated, questions that are ignored and questions that receive one word answers that you treasure and mull over and over in your head like a smitten idiot.

(Whatcha doin? No. What's your favorite color? No. You like jazz? No. Can I see you without your mask? No.)

You breathe in temerity and breathe out obstinacy. Audacity kindles every fiber of your being, and Mute with his frosty ire is the fuel that keeps it burning. You reach out with fluttery fingers and, like a seeking child, tug at his straps and pockets for attention that he refuses to give. You poke his sides and scritch the underside his mask like you would a cat, and you are reminded of the delicate bones in your finger when he grabs it and gives a warning squeeze.

It doesn't work, but make it worse. Your offenses grow bolder still. You camp out under chairs and tables so you can tie together his shoelaces and yell boo! to his unaffected countenance. And he fishes you out and puts you back on your ass so you can go ahead and lace his boots back properly again. You steal a gun from a holster and empty out its bullets into your shirt, offering a generous exchange: one kiss per bullet.

and you pout as he fists the front of your clothes, and shakes you, metal falling off you like candy from a piñata.

You fill in some of his blanks with what you hear from others, snippets of the snippets. That he's a genius, a child prodigy of some sort. University at 14. Operator at 25. Impressive.

"You a nerd, Mute?" You have to ask, toeing the line between bravery and plain stupidity, wanting to push him into something beyond pale of his stoic irritation. And you think you come so close to that, your breath held as his head slowly turns to you. And you can sense it, the simmering red that lies under his skin— but only after a stretch of strained silence, Mute dismisses your existence all together by turning his head back away.

This is a risky and nonsensical game that you’ve initiated, one that he wants no damn part of, and one that you’re determined to see to an end.

Like a stray, you follow him around so much, one quick step behind his long, impatient strides, that Smoke jokes that Mute has picked himself up a little miss poppet of a shadow.

You enjoy this. You think that you can do this forever. Bug him until he snaps and, and kills you or whatever. Or until, one day, the front of your shirt is grabbed and you're suddenly hauled up to the height of six foot one, until you can see nothing beyond your moon eyes blinking in reflection of his dark lenses.

Piss. Off.

His low, harsh voice forms each growled word with punctured vehemence.

Oh, you've done it now. This is too much. This. The wide expanse of his armored chest flattening against your much smaller and softer form, pushing deeper into you with each heavy, angered breath, filling your ears with no room for quarter. Like this, he is not quiet. Like this, he is not stiff. No, he's alive, full of furnace heat and motion, and very much pissed off.

He means to scare you off like this, to use his height and menacing anonymity to cow you into submission, into leaving him alone.

But this is what you want. All that you have craved for and more. Everything you've worked towards built on the hope of seeing just one sliver of this scene.

So instead of cowering away, you all but arch forward into his grip, into his chest, your excited pants picking up to sync with his. And in the mirror of his mask, you see how your lips slightly part, the roundness of your shiny eyes. In that moment, you see yourself exactly as how he must see you. Just how— adoring, you look.

He stiffens— in rage? in disgust? you don't know, you don't care youdon'tcare– and his grip tightens in your shirt, your collar definitely ruined beyond repair. You hear your quivering breath pick up and feel the pulse in your throat throb as you are dragged further into him until there is only a gap the width of a piece of paper separating your trembling mouth from kissing 'X'.

(and if you let out a whimper here; what would happen?)

Apparently, a fuckin’ hell in the form of a tempestuous snarl ground out through gritted teeth is what you get.

and you are unceremoniously thrust back to Earth, your shirt’s neckline gaping horribly around your throat. Left behind to dazedly watch with a pleased smile at the retreat of his broad back and the string of colorful choice words he leaves in his wake.

You: 1. Mute: 0.

#r6s #r6s mute #r6s headcanons #r6s imagines #r6s mute x reader

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joz-yyh · 2 months ago

Note

Blight kisses!! Not Bigby covering Damian in smooches 💚

Tardif/Damian is cool as well! Thinking about it now, Damian has *very interesting* standards, boy is always seeking out for the danger, or is the danger seeking out for him? Who knows really!

him dating the most intimidating men in the Hamlet /hj

Love your art always!

They're exchanging vital life essence! It's necessary for survival. Stack those blight tokens boys!

Yay, glad you like them too! Whenever I am faced with a difficult decision, I always choose both! Death itself covets Damian afterall. It's a revolving door of one seeking the other. Lol, imagine dating the grim reaper, literally a spirit almost everyone fears like it's no big deal.

Thanks, I love you! 😭🙏💕💕💕 Sorry, it's not art this time, but here's more of my Bigmian Role Reversal AU~ (They're on a first name basis!) XD

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Um, my name's Bigby, what's yours?”

The creature idles there, as if it's never been asked it's name, having no need for words until now.

“Can you speak,” the monk asks gently, understanding of their language barrier, “it's OK if you can’t.”

An idea comes to light, the creature shuffling over to one of the large boulders that form a thick perimeter around its den.

Long bloody nails draw a series of rigid lines, scrapes that Bigby can hear, but can't see taking place, poking his head around trying to follow along from where he's standing behind him.

The carving stops, the wechuge's lanky hooves stepping aside to reveal the extent of his efforts.

There, etched into the gray rockface, is exactly what the little human asked for.

- D A M I A N -

The monk sounds it out, one dark brow raised.

“Da-mi-an? Is that your name?”

The creature huffs, nods.

“Suppose it's nice to meet you. Um, so you want to be friends?”

The religious boy tries not to look as scared as he feels, because if this creature truly wanted to eat him (not for lack of trying), it would have done so by now, right?

More carving ensues, continuing alongside his name.

- Y E S -

Bigby releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, his chest filled with relief.

“Guess that makes it official. Friends it is.”

The unlikely pair fidget, unsure of where to take the conversation from here, standing there awkwardly until one of them figures out what to do next.

Bigby is first, having the advantage of speech, fumbling nervously to fill the silence.

He assures himself that this situation was no different than it would be if he was with anyone else, the same general rules for introductions apply, regardless if it was a cannibalistic beast or one of his fellow monks.

“Well, since we're friends now, we should probably get to know each other better. So, uh, what sort of things do you like? I like tea and books.”

A pause while the wechuge chisels out his reply.

- H U N T M E A T -

This is not a topic Bigby wishes to die on, swaying the subject matter in another direction before Damian decides to hunt him for meat.

“How old are you? I am 25.”

- U N K N O W N -

“Oh, that must be hard, not knowing. Maybe, you're around my age?”

- O L D E R -

“How can you be so sure? Thought you said you didn't know? Maybe, you're younger.”

He's getting just a little sassy at being treated like a grade schooler, Damian tapping the word, ‘older,’ again in confidence.

Along with embarrassment, this exchange demonstrates the immediate flaws in such primitive methods of communication.

“We're going to run out of stone if you keep answering my questions like this.”

The resourceful monk muses for a moment, finding a patch of soil and a stick nearby, Damian watching him curiously.

“Here, come draw it in the dirt.”

Chains rattle as the tortured beast kneels down, residing next to the human, an illustration taking shape as the monk draws a stick figure with horns.

“That's you,” Bigby explains.

If the wechuge had eyebrows, surely they'd be quirked at such simplified depictions.

“And this is me.”

Another stick figure, the two appearing to hold hands in camaraderie with twin smiles on their faces.

The wechuge shifts, capturing their height difference more accurately by redrawing himself with longer legs.

“I get it, you're tall, I am short,” he sighs, not the crucial point he hoped to convey, but taking the critique nonetheless.

“What should we talk about next?”

As Bigby embellishes his artistic vision, adding flowers, grass, and a sun, a red glow emanates from Damian's bloody claws.

It instantly grabs the monk’s attention, watching as symbols appear, what looks like runes scorching the very air around him, bright and smoldering like a branding iron.

“Wow,” says the mystified monk, “I didn't know you could do that.”

Usually, only acts of divine intervention display themselves this clearly, which leads him to his next inquiry, “It doesn't drain your energy, using magic like that?”

More runes manifest, translating into words he can recognize.

¬ N O ¬

“Can I touch it?”

He's already reaching out, fingertips tingling, passing through their ancient figures despite the hellfire they're crafted from.

“What else can you do?”

The words come pouring out of his mouth before he can stop himself, utterly fascinated because it was a rare thing, finding one with powers like himself.

Damian is more than happy to oblige, vines growing from the center of his palm, creating winding sprouts and tiny leaves, a tiny flower unfurling at its peak.

“So pretty.”

The monk smiles, mindful of his touch, tracing out their shapes. The roots are strong and coarse, the petals soft and delicate, as close to the real thing as he can get.

“Thank you for showing me.”

He leans a little closer to Damian, the monster fixated on him, returning the bloom back inside his ghastly flesh, freeing up his hand to write.

¬ YOU ¬

“Me,” the monk sounds surprised. “Oh, is there something you want to ask me?”

¬ WHY HERE? ¬

“You want to know why I was in the woods? I was summoned. A nearby parish said they had urgent need for me. I just hope they're alright.”

Suddenly, Bigby is burdened by guilt, knowing it was Damian’s fault he never arrived, but still seeking solace in the creature's rags, worried for what tragedy befell those crying out for help.

#ask #reply #anon #bigmian #my role reversal au #my writing #darkest dungeon #abomination #flagellant

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ellekhen · 6 months ago

Text

Of Silk, Sun, and Sparks

Chapter 5 - A Talented Touch

Chapter Summary: Gale indulges Astarion's request. After a brief respite, it turns out that neither of them are quite done with Church.

Pairing: Astarion/Male Tav/Gale (w/established Astarion/Male Tav) Rating: Explicit Length: 16K+ words; Chapter 5/6

Excerpt below:

In the present, Astarion relaxes, kicking aside the sheets that have become habitually twisted during the couple’s stay in Gale’s old apartment. Beside him, its former tenant occupies himself with casting prestidigitation upon his own mess, muttering as he goes.

Astarion closes his eyes with a wistful, contented hum. Despite his absence, he can almost feel Church still moving beneath him, his torso vibrating with his sweet voice as he received Astarion ecstatically. And then, oh, that tightening of his body before the enraptured tiefling collapsed in the throes of his release…

“…Astarion?”

The elf blinks over at Gale. “…what?”

“I asked what exactly you wanted to talk about,” Gale chortles. “But perhaps I should be asking how you are instead?”

He hesitates, glancing down at his nude friend. “Out of the three of us you didn’t get your satisfaction, after all…”

“Oh believe me, darling, I received plenty of satisfaction,” Astarion simpers, his eyes flicking towards the doorway outside of which Church passes, his silk robe hanging loosely off of his shoulders. “I thought Church was reactive, but you, my dear…” he beckons to Gale and the man follows him eagerly in for a firm smooch. “…maybe it’s how uptight you usually are, but I thoroughly enjoyed your little shakes and cries as we had you at our mercy.”

He also enjoys how Gale blushes nearly scarlet at his words. It was an amusing sight to see how hot and bothered the wizard got as soon as he was pinned beneath Church. Astarion could say from experience that it’s quite a nice position to be in, after all.

“Well! I’m pleased you’re pleased,” Gale chuckles. “But back to my question — what would you like to discuss while our man is out of the room?”

Astarion hesitates. It was a throwaway comment, really, once upon a time. But after everything Gale has boasted and demonstrated about his magical prowess, Astarion does truly wish to see it in practice.

“Do you recall, erm, a little request I made? Over the sending stone?” Astarion asks. He hates how timid his voice sounds, but Gale’s expression softens at his words.

“Of course,” Gale murmurs, stretching his neck and arms with a quiet crack. “We could give it a try.”

“I’d like that,” Astarion smiles in relief. “Provided you’re not too spent from being spoiled between us both…”

“I have quite enough energy for this, thank you,” Gale insists. “Now,” he holds out hand. “Pull?”

Astarion grasps the wizard’s hand. As he pulls upon it, a sheer but solidifying image of the man follows his hand away from Gale’s body. The elf draws him out completely until there before him kneels yet another Gale — a perfect duplicate.

“Um, hang on,” Astarion scowls up at the copy. “I didn’t actually need to do that, did I?”

“No,” Gale admits, ushering the duplicate aside. “But half of what makes magic impressive is the presentation, so…” he shrugs.

“You know, I always wondered,” Astarion remarks, eyeing Gale’s Mirror Image warily. “How often does this… fine fellow… make an appearance in your bedroom?”

“You mean besides when I’m in want of a mirror?” Gale replies dryly. “All of three times in this context, at least.” He frowns. “But, er… I suppose during some transcendental moments with a… past flame… we would exercise something similar.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “You sly dog!” he laughs, scandalized. “Did Mystra enjoy an audience?”

“More like happy, hands-on participants,” Gale mutters. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay in the moment, understood?”

Astarion has the decency to act abashed. “Of course, pet. Now, what exactly did you and yourself wish to do with me?”

He shimmies enticingly past the anticipation in his chest, as if he wasn’t the one who specifically requested this a week ago.

“Not just me, myself, or I,” Gale quips. “Behold! The one trick they won’t teach you in wizarding finishing school… but the one that will certainly make you the most friends.”

—

By the time Church returns to the bedroom with two glasses of water in hand, he’s greeted by a deep, cathartic moan.

All the Gales look up at Church apologetically.

“...you seem to have kept yourselves busy,” Church manages to say.

Astarion mumbles something unintelligible from where he lies face down upon the bed. One Gale — an illusory duplicate with his edges shimmering with the Weave — straddles the elf’s hips as his hands knead skillfully along his scarred back. Another sits further behind him, intently massaging one of Astarion’s feet as the other rests in his lap. Another still kneels before Astarion at the edge of the bed, rubbing his thumbs against Astarion’s temples and pressing carefully down his scalp before stretching his neck.

It takes Church a minute to identify the real Gale — bespectacled and propped up against the headboard in a nest of pillows. He seems to have composed himself since Church’s departure, nonchalantly flipping a page of one of the tiefling’s starjammer books as Astarion lets out another lengthy, pleasured groan.

“Aw, Gale… you broke him!” Church teases as he leans down to press a kiss against Astarion’s temple. The elf grumbles, half-heartedly nipping at his hand before falling limp again. He appears to have practically melted beneath the Gales’ ministrations.

“I should have tried this years ago,” Gale remarks, peering over his spectacles. “It would’ve kept him busy every time he tried to distract me from my reading.”

“Honestly I didn’t expect this, from what I was hearing in the other room,” Church huffs a laugh, handing the man a glass. He cuddles up to Gale’s side to read over his shoulder. “But it’s even better than I hoped.”

The three — six — of them take a respite together, curled up in bed as they bask in the afterglow. Eventually one of the Gales coaxes Church away from the headboard, carefully stripping him of his robe once again as he begins to massage the tiefling’s back as well.

“Out of all of us, you probably need this the most,” Church points out to the real Gale. “I’m sure we’ve done a number on your back.”

Gale shrugs evasively. “It’s been well worth it so far,” he says, turning a page. “Although you may need to ask me again tomorrow.”

Church laughs, gesturing at the space in front of him. “Come on — let me take care of you?”

“That’s not necessary!” Gale begins to protest, but when Church reaches over to pull the man towards him, he doesn’t resist.

“I know you can make three of these at the drop of a hat, but the fact that they’re independently moving is gods-damned impressive,” Church says, ushering Gale to lie face down upon his stomach. “So if your mind isn’t relaxing, then at the very least let me help your body relax.”

He happily takes a seat upon the cushion of Gale’s ass, smoothing his hands down the man’s tensed back. “Fair warning, I’m headed straight for those neck and shoulders.”

“I suppose that’s where I’ve got—mmhhhhhh,” Gale moans as the tiefling’s dexterous fingers begin to press into his flesh. Indeed, hours upon hours of reading, writing, and grading papers have rendered Gale’s neck and shoulders knotted and taut.

“Oh come on, work with me here.” Church kneads into him, trying his damndest to break down his muscles’ resistance. “You’re as tense as a swordsman!”

He glances over to see Astarion peeking at them, a small smirk upon his relaxed mien.

“How are you doing?” Church calls softly to him.

“I’m… peachy,” Astarion slurs. “...juicy.”

“‘Juicy?’”

“I could sleep and dream… just… like… you,” Astarion mumbles. “Gale darling, listen to that sweet boy and let go now.”

From where he lies prone upon the bed, Gale twirls a finger — dismissing his duplicates in a trio of iridescent shimmers. Church isn’t surprised in the slightest afterwards when Gale’s neck finally relaxes. Mirror Image isn’t typically a concentration spell, but with each of the copies focusing on a different task, the wizard’s mind must have been a flurry of activity. Now, Gale sags down against the bed in a near-perfect mimicry of Astarion’s current state.

“That’s it,” Church encourages him, stroking through his hair. “Let me take care of you for a bit, alright?”

Gale groans softly as Church’s thumbs knead circles down his spine, elongating the man’s back vertebrae by vertebrae. His shoulders rise and fall slowly, steadily as Church tends to him.

Astarion doesn’t move much from where he remains melted upon the bed. He merely props his head upon his arms, watching Church rock gently upon Gale’s hips as he massages him.

In the companionable silence, Church finds his eyes drawn to his partner’s relaxed body more and more. The dip of his waist before his hip bones is just so enticing as Astarion shifts upon the bedspread, knowingly showing off the length of his body as he rearranges himself before his partner.

Church adjusts himself abashedly, feeling his cock fill as it rests upon Gale’s tailbone. He can’t help but be very distracted by the recent, visceral memory of Astarion sliding inside of him all the while Gale squeezed around his hard, aching front…

Astarion chuckles, his own eyes growing hungry.

“Oh I know that face,” he purrs. “Ready for more, my love?”

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