#a shadowed figure approaches - {anon}

[iixiplaytimeisoverixii]

do you love anyone?

The question hit him hard and made his heart ache. The answer was clear, but he didn't know exactly how to go about answering it.

Not at first.

Settling on a straight forward approach, he took a deep breath and replied, "Yes, I do. Deeply in fact. However, I do not believe that they know how I feel for them and I don't intend to share my feelings. It is not that I fear to share this with them, but I believe that it is better to keep my emotions hidden away in order to protect that person from the danger they would find themselves in if they were to find out and come to love me in return."

He was sure that this grey masked stranger wouldn't understand what he meant by this. Who would? Surely they were asking themselves:

'why would loving an once great ancient egyptian pharaoh put someone in danger?'

He wasn't prepared to share the story with anyone, espcially not with someone who was hiding behind a mask....

Not yet....

[beloveds-embrace]

Sooo much angstttttttttttt 😭

I need the boys to wake up and do whatever it takes to fix it, please, I can't take the angst 😭😭😭

Does this count as fix-it? ���� hope you enjoy, anon! Also this turned out far longer than i thought it would lol

First Part

Another shift slowly happens within the duchy, palpable. The whispers of servants echo louder than ever, growing sharp and cutting in the empty halls you once used to frequent. They still avoid you, but now they wonder and whisper of your health. It’s not just them; the men you’d once hoped you’d at least be on an amicable basis with slowly change as well, the longer your absence haunts the halls and galas.

John is the first to act. It’s hesitant at first, awkward even, as though he can’t figure out how to approach the shattered remains of what he’s ignored for so long. He stands outside your door one evening, his shadow stretching under the flickering candlelight, fist raised to knock. But he doesn’t. Not at first. He falters, as if the weight of his guilt roots him to the spot.

When he finally does knock, it’s tentative, barely audible.

“…Are you awake?” His voice carries a softness you’ve never heard before, but it grates against your numbness.

You don’t answer. Your eyes barely flick towards the door, not moving from where you are curled on your side.

He lingers, sighs, and leaves.

You had intended to let yourself waste away, in all honesty. Only your mother doesn’t let you; she bursts into your room one day, sneers at the miserable sight you make, and insults you to the high heavens. Nothing new, even if her digs hurt, even if she says she isn’t surprised by no one loving you when you are like this, but she forces you to eat some nibbles and then into a shower; she doesn’t care. She is simply tired of having you be an embarrassment and hiding away from the public eye.

Thus, you no longer stay in your room. You don’t bother with jewelry, with heavy gowns or complicated hair styles or even clearing the layer of dust off your furniture, you just leave your room. Thankfully,

Unfortunately, that means passing by the maids and servants. It means passing by them. It means interacting with them again, though no longer initiated by you.

Simon is the second, and less direct. He lingers in places you begin to re-frequent; the library, the gardens, the corridors near your room. He doesn’t speak, just watches from the periphery, eyes heavy and intense. Once, when you brush past him without acknowledging his presence, he mutters something under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. But he doesn’t try to stop you and you don ask what he said.

He probably didn’t mean you, anyways. You doubt he wants to speak to you, the obstacle.

Johnny falters the most. Though your interactions with him were few, you’d occasionally hear from the servants about how fun he is in general. His smiles, though they’ve never been aimed at you, look quite fake to you, jokes half-hearted and dying on his lips whenever you pass on rare occasions.

One day, he brings a tray of food to your room himself, hoping to coax you into eating with something he’s cooked just for you. You answer the door, see him holding it, and shake your head without a word. Even if it looks delectable, like the dishes John would get.

“Please,” he says, his voice cracking. “I- just try a bit, hen.”

But you close the door before he can say more. He will try again and often, sometimes just leaving the tray, but you never touch it. You’ve lost weight, you know, and the only reason you are getting some nutrients at this point is because you occasionally sneak into the kitchens late at night for tiny snacks to tide you over. If Johnny knows it’s you, he’s never said anything.

Kyle is quieter, yet more present. The guilt eats away at him the most; he knows that his lack of care and respect had a part in the way the rest of the maids and staff treated you. He spends his evenings pacing the hall outside your room, his head bowed, mumbling apologies that you’ll never hear, wondering which one is best.

Once, he catches you in the garden alone, his mouth opening as if to speak, but you pass him without so much as a glance; you already know he won’t care for you have to say or ask for, he’ll just say he is busy, so you just don’t bother.

He stays frozen in place, his hand half-raised, the words stuck in his throat.

The servants, per Kyle and John’s orders, begin to change. Their guilt is slower to manifest, but it’s there and it’s evident in the way they rush to fulfill your needs despite your reluctance. They clean your room with quiet efficiency, no longer treating you like a burden, even though you hadn’t asked it of them. They leave fresh flowers on your desk and vanity, extra blankets on your bed, and freshly pressed gowns in your wardrobe.

You ignore all of it. It’s a waste of everyone’s time snd effort. You aren’t worth it.

Yet despite their heavy guilt, they return to and continue serving you.

But nothing changes the heaviness in your chest, the emptiness that refuses to leave.

One day, closer to the date of the annual winter gala hosted by the emperial family, you step into the dining room unannounced, your presence startling them all. It’s the first time you’ve joined them in weeks. You move slowly, your posture rigid and tired, your expression unreadable.

“Duchess,” John starts, his voice uncertain, rising from his seat.

“…John,” You sit without meeting his eyes, your movements slow and deliberate. The table is silent, the tension suffocating as John, Simon, and Kyle exchange uncertain glances.

John clears his throat. “It’s good to see you, wife.”

You don’t respond.

The meal is awkward, stilted, but it’s necessary for you; you need to get reused to John for your eventual reappearance in high society. Johnny offers you dishes with a hesitant, hopeful look in his eyes, and Kyle pours your wine with an unsteady grip. John and Simon try to start a conversation, but their words falter and fade when you don’t reply.

Still, they try. Over the following weeks, their efforts grow.

John begins carving out time to spend with you, awkwardly hovering near your door, waiting for even a crumb of acknowledgment. He starts leaving small notes for you- apologies and quiet promises to be better. They pile up on your desk, untouched but not thrown away. You want to believe, but you feel jaded and tired.

Simon offers you quiet companionship, instead. Standing at your side in the garden or library, saying nothing but ensuring you’re not alone. He speaks softly when he does talk, a one-sided conversation with only the occasional hum or noise from you, but he’s undeterred.

Johnny keeps cooking for you, leaving trays of food outside your door with little notes attached: Eat a bit, bonnie. Just for me. You don’t eat much, still have very little appetite, but you do start taking bites here and there, and it’s enough to keep him trying.

Kyle offers small acts of service- holding doors open for you, keeping anything you might need available at hanf, ensuring your rooms are kept warm and comfortable. His words are rare, but his actions speak of endless guilt and the quiet hope that he can earn even a sliver of forgiveness.

The maids and butlers follow suit, their movements quieter, their service more thoughtful. They stop muttering, their eyes full of remorse whenever they see you. They bow in respect, and no longer treat you as if you aren’t a part of the duchy.

But you keep them all at arm’s length. Their guilt is evident, their efforts genuine, but the wounds they’ve left on your heart are deep. Forgiveness, if it ever comes, will not be easily earned. For now, you let them try, watching their clumsy attempts with a mixture of numbness and quiet satisfaction (that you do feel guilty over, but truly can’t help).

Several weeks before the gala, John comes to your office. He sits down, and waits until you are finished with your paperwork before he speaks. You are in a beautiful dress- Simon’s gift- and your hair is in a delicate style, done by your maids. You look pretty. You feel nice, even if the numbness remains. These days, it’s less.

“Duchess, I was thinking,” he began, voice soft and patient. “it might do you some good to get away for a while. A change of scenery.”

You turned to look at him, the suggestion pulling you from your numb reverie. His blue eyes searched yours, and for once, there was no coldness, no distance. “Somewhere quiet,” he continued, “where you can rest… away from all of this.”

The idea of leaving the suffocating walls of the manor, and the heavy tension of the duchy was tempting. And yet, you hesitated, unsure if you could trust the gesture or if it was just another attempt to smooth over appearances.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he added quickly, as if sensing your doubt. “You won’t have to worry about a thing. You can choose who you’d like to go with, or even if you want to go alone. It’s entirely up to you, Duchess.”

Johnny and Kyle appeared in the doorway then, Kyle holding a tray with a steaming cup of tea, Johnny with a small, hopeful smile and a plate of your favorite biscuits. Even Simon lingered near the threshold, his gaze steady but tinged with something softer than usual.

They were all waiting for your answer, their expressions almost pleading. You could feel the weight of their guilt and the sincerity of their offer. It wasn’t much- not enough to erase everything that had passed- but it was something. A step forward.

“…I’ll think about it.” you said at last, your voice quiet but firm. And for the first time in a long while, you saw a flicker of relief in their eyes.

[vivalarevolution]

𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓷

Paul Atreides x Reader

Request: „Paul Atreides falling in love with his father's younger wife, whom he recently married for political reasons, yet he remains loyal and in love with Jessica.‟

A/N: Request from anon. A very interesting concept that I thoroughly enjoyed writing. As always, I hope you will like reading my work, especially since this is my first attempt at writing for Paul Atreides.

Please remember that english is not my native language and mistakes might happen.

She reminded him of a goddess , a being from ancient books that survived the destruction of Old Terra. She was beautiful like Aphordite , full of warmth as Hestia and innocent and sensitive as Persephone. Yet her eyes were full of sadness , like those belonging to Oizys.

And the young duke hated it.

He hated her sadness. The sadness which was caused by his own father. Leto Atreides married her , but there was no love between them , there was only darkness and misery that was draining the young woman from the inside. In Paul's eyes, his father's actions were cruel. He did not deserve such a delicate soul , and much less he deserve it to destroy it.

He tried , almost desperately , to understand the man when his eyes followed him with his own mother , but in vain. Because he loved the woman he could not have too much to forgive him for what he did to her.

So he stopped. He stopped looking for forgiveness , which never existed.

Instead, he surrendered to the arms of forbidden desire , surrendered to the feelings he had been hiding so deeply inside himself, surrendered to her will without her even knowing.

His shadow began to follow hers, her steps became his steps , her breath became his breath.

And suddenly Paul Atreides became everything to her that his father never was. He became her protector , her rock , her guardian , her savior.

But that wasn't enough for him. He wanted more. He had to have more.

He found her in her chambers , she was sitting on one of the many cushions, reading. But when she felt a presence behind her she stopped , turning her head to the side , looking out of the corner of her eye at the young duke.

-Paul - she said softly , turning fully in his direction - What brings you to me? - she asked him , closing the book , which suddenly no longer seemed interesting to her.

He didn't answer , not immediately.

But as the silence lengthened between them , the tension begin to grow as well.

-I want you - he replied suddenly , and despite the seriousness of the sentence his voice was composed , remarkably calm.

-What? - the woman whispered, shocked.

His words seemed to cut through the air like the sharpest knife, leaving behind a mark that was impossible to erase.

-I want you - he repeated , slowly approaching her figure.

She watched his movements , stopping only when the brunet kneeled before her.

-But you already have me - she said , placing her hand on his pale cheek.

Paul grabbed her wrist and closed his eyes allowing her addictive scent to dull his senses.

-Not in the way I would have wanted - he confessed , tasting her soft skin with his lips.

At his words, the woman pulled her hand from his hold , moving away from her husband's son.

-We can't. You know it's forbidden - she announced, furrowing her eyebrows.

-I know - he responded , getting up from his knees to approach her yet again - But no matter how cruel the truth is , my father does not love you , he never will. And I hate him for it, I hate him for marrying a woman he is not able to love.

-The world has always been cruel Paul. You cannot change it , you are in no position to. You are not a god - she said with a shadow of sorrow in her voice , feeling tears involuntarily flow into her eyes.

-But I can change the part of the world you belong to.There will be no more misery , no more pain - he declared, approaching her , trapping her between the wall and himself.

-Don't say that. I am begging you , don't say that - she whispered , closing her eyes, trying to push the brunet away from her, but to no avail.

The man kissed her cheekbones , nuzzling his face into her thick locks.

-Tell me the truth - he asked , but was met with silence - Tell me the truth - he repeated , but his voice no longer sounded familiar.

-I love you more than life itself Paul. I'm willing to die if it means I can taste your lips, even for a slight moment - she admitted, but although her words were sincere, it seemed to her as if someone pulled them out of her, without her permission.

-And I love you - he said - And believe me when I say this. I will never stop loving you. My love for you will only cease to exist when the sun will rise in the west and set in the east , when the seas go dry and mountains will blow in the wind like leaves.

-One day , you will regret those words Paul Atreides - she professed , feeling her breathing become more shallow and her eyes more clouded.

-Never - he growled , before attacking her full, pink lips.

His kisses were the opposite of him. They were burning , chaotic , dangerous.

But despite this , she desperately grabbed his shoulders , trying to pull him closer and closer. Their hands traveled over each other's bodies , as their lips tasted one another, never having enough. They seemed to have forgotten about everything except themselves.

Suddenly the mortal world no longer existed. There was no fear , sadness , or despair. In their place came lust , desire and love. Feelings that were forbidden to them.

But they didn't stopped.

They didn't stop when their bodies merged into one. They didn't stop when the first rays of sun appeared on the walls of her chambers.

They didn't stop because there was nothing strong enough to separate Paul Atreides from his goddess.

[radio-writes]

Going on anon bc this is a bit messed up but can you write Alastor x reader where Alastor uses sex as a form of torture?

Fuck your God and His Righteous Hand(s)

Synopsis: Hasn't Alastor always been such generous partner? Hasn't He always provided for you? Given you everything and anything you ever wanted? Except for your freedom of course.

The night you decide to run away from his graciousness, you find out just how generous he could be.

Warnings: noncon, forced relationship, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, physical harm to reader, degradation, smut, over stimulation, tentacles are used (I probably missed a lot, let me know)

Tags: Alastor x fem!reader; dead dove do not eat

MDNI

Your heart beat loudly against your chest, your breath ragged and heavy. Branches and twigs snapped and broke and fell all around you as you ran.

Not that you could hear any of it over the overwhelming sound of static flooding your ears. 

As if the dark wasn't terrifying enough, you had to stumble through the woods with tears blurring your vision too. Arm stretched in front of you, swatting away vines in your path as you desperately tried to get away.

You had to get away.

You couldn't get away.

You could almost feel the ground shake beneath your feet. You could almost feel his breath that skimmed the back of your head. There was no use in running, but run you did anyway.

You kept running even when you felt his clawed fingers grab at your shirt; the fabric tearing easily.

You kept running even when you could hear his voice right by your ear. "I think it's in your best interest not to anger me any more, darling."

You couldn't keep running when a heavy, velvety tentacle wrapped around your ankle; your breath knocked out of you as you tumbled onto the forest floor.

Your hand outstretched, palm reaching into the darkness. It was a terrifying, unknown, and threatening darkness—but to you it still meant freedom.

That was the last clear thing you saw before you landed flat on your stomach, the weight of your failed escape weighing you down more than the dark shadow around your leg. 

He was laughing.

He was out of breath, panting almost as heavily as you were, but he was laughing.

You heard the crunch of leaves and twigs as he approached your collapsed form. No longer rushing, no longer frantic. He seemed to take his time as he walked towards you, now that he's sure you couldn't get away.

Still, the tentacle holding you down tightened—a warning not to try anything again.

Not that you could. The moment of rest allowed to you as you laid on the ground, made the pain and exhaustion of your body much too apparent for your liking. Your legs felt like led, the numerous scratches from who-knows-where all sung in a harmony of stinging pain.

Even when you knew you couldn't run anymore, your mind frantically whirled through ideas. You tried to think of something, anything, to keep away from the Radio Demon.

At least until his shoes finally came into your view; the red accents bright against the inky darkness. They stopped right by your head, and suddenly it felt too dangerous to even think.

You found the dirt and mud of the forest floor much more appealing than having to look Alastor in the eye, so you kept your head down. Your head shrunk into the ground as the man looked down on you.

"I must admit, I hadn't expected you to run." Alastor said, still a hint of laughter in his tone. Had you looked up then, you would have seen just how much of a mess you've made of the demon. His hand pushed his red hair back from his forehead, sweat trickled down the side of his neck. 

But it wasn't his unusual state of exhaustion that would have been shocking if you looked at him right now. No, what would have been surprising—what would have been unnerving— was the wild, desperate look in his glowing red eyes.

While you were scared, desperate to get away.

He was terrified, desperate to get you back.

The view of your small figure as you weaved through trees, dipping in and out of his sight had filled him with such cold, heavy dread.

Almost as much as the sight of your hand nearly meeting that of another demon's.

"Oh! But you're so filled of the unexpected today, aren't you, darling?" You could hear the spite in his tone, but you didn't dare raise your head.

You felt him step closer.

"I mean, I hadn't expected you to try to sell your soul to another demon, either." You cringed, lifting your arms over your ears as the static warped his voice terribly.

You felt a heavy weight on the back of your head. It rested there briefly, before it shoved you down further into the dirt. Your face pressed down into the mud, but you didn't dare fight back. You didn't dare move. The most reaction you allowed yourself was a small whimper of fear.

The sound fueled Alastor's rage, already barely kept under the surface of his smile. His eye twitched in annoyance. Why were you shaking? Why were you afraid? 

Shouldn't you be kissing the foot on your head right now? Shouldn't you be thanking him for saving you from making a terrible mistake? A soul as unique as yours would have been wasted on a demon like that. 

This ungrateful behavior, this attempt to leave him, just wouldn't do.

His foot left the back of your head, but it allowed no relief. The black tentacle wrapped around your leg swiftly yanked you up.

Your eyes widened in shock and your hands dug into the ground in an attempt to stay there. But it isn't a surprise that your flimsy resistance was easily broken through. The world soon turned into a dizzying blur of colors as you were lifted into the air. The trees floated from above and the sky was a muddy mess of leaves and roots, your arms hung limply above your head. The blood that now rushed to your head didn't help you in making much sense of what was happening.

But none of that mattered when your eyes finally met Alastor's.

As you were held up by your leg, upside down in the air, Alastor's usual wide smile looked like a snarling frown. His narrowed eyes did nothing to help the fear that quickly ate its way through you.

It was silent for a moment. Tension so thick in the air that you found it so terribly difficult to breathe.

But when he finally spoke, you thought to yourself how you actually preferred the suspenseful quiet.

"Have I not been the perfect partner?" Alastor asked. The static over his voice now eerily back to the usual amount. His tone was cheery, light, like this was just another early morning chit chat over breakfast between the two of you.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak.

The black appendage holding you up tightened, your skin already beginning to bruise. Although, it seemed that was the only indicator of Alastor's true mood, as the demon remained composed in front of you.

"Have I not given you everything you wanted?" He asked as he brought you closer to him.

When you didn't respond he brought his clawed hand up to your face. 

You flinched, feeling his cold skin against yours, fearing that he'd tear right through your flesh. 

But his touch was gentle. His fingers softly brushed away the mud and grime from your cheek. 

"I've bought you everything you liked. I've protected you. Fed you." His voice was so soft, soothing. Like an old radio show you would have listened to while you drifted off to a restful slumber. 

"I've even fucked you through your pathetic little heats." His claws dug into your skin. Blood gushed down your face, the scarlet liquid stung your eye even as you clenched it closed. 

"I've spared useless, disgusting sinners on your request. I've played nice for you. I've given you everything." His hand shifted from your cheek to your neck, his grip tight, threatening.

The static over his voice once again horrid as it deafened you. His eyes, now drowned in black, narrowed into a glare at your form.

Your hands flew to your throat, pulling at Alastor's fingers. "Please, I'm sorry, Al!" You begged as you struggled. Your body flailed and squirmed as he held you above him, looking almost like a fish torn from the sea, desperate to breathe.

"Oh you're sorry?" Alastor's head titled to one side as he watched you. "That absolutely changes everything then!" He said cheerily, mockingly.

The tentacle holding you up loosened out of nowhere, sending you down into the mud for a second time that night.

You managed to keep yourself up by your arms as you greedily heaved in air back into your lungs. Your head still spun from the rush of blood, and you felt like you were about to vomit out whatever flesh Alastor made you eat earlier that day.

You felt something at your chin—Alastor's microphone it seemed—and it tilted your face towards him. Your teary eyes met his cheerful ones, and your chest tightened. It's been a long time since you've even stepped outside, but you now felt more trapped than you ever have before.

He bent down, lowering his face closer to yours as he smiled down at you. 

"Since it seems like I've neglected my dear darling partner for so long that they've decided to seek attention elsewhere, I think it's best to spend some nice quality time together. Don't you think that'd be nice, sweetheart?" Alastor's voice held no threats. Promises. Only promises.

You shook your head no before he even finished talking. A desperate shaking hand reached up to him. "No, please. Al. Anywhere but the radio tower again. Please."

"Don't worry, doll. This time will a bit different." He assured.

You moved quickly, hurriedly, scrambling to your knees ready to beg at his feet. But before you could even part your lips to start, Alastor had both of you melted into shadows.

You re-materialize in the one place that haunted your dreams. The one place in Hell that truly, actually, did feel like hell to you.

Your blood felt frozen as you remained on the floor. Eyes wide in fear as you stared at the control panel.

Alastor turned his back to you, humming cheerfully, nonchalantly, as he made his way towards the main seat. "There's no need to look so alarmed," He said, you could almost hear the way his eyes rolled at your stupid expression. "We won't be having any special guests for this broadcast."

You finally tore your eyes away from the contraptions. Your gaze landing on Alastor's wide back as he slowly removed his coat. "You...you won't be torturing some poor soul?" You asked confused—and admittedly a little hopeful.

You couldn't count the horrible days he had made you sit and watch and listen as he took his sweet time tearing souls apart. How he joyously broadcasted the tortured screams for his Hell's entertainment.

Alastor's grin widened, stretched just a tad bit too far, before he turned his head to look back at you.

"Oh," Heavy static morphed his voice once more. "I didn't say that."

You didn't have time to react before his tentacles sprouted from his back, his inner shirt ripping to make way for them. They grabbed at your limbs, slithering around to get a tight hold as they pulled you to him.

A scream ripped from your throat at the sheer suddenness of it, and it made Alastor's heart leap in his chest. Oh how he loved those adorable reactions of yours.

"That is delightful! But do save your voice, dear. I do have to start us off first," He said gleefully as he turned around to fiddle with the controls.

You heart sunk. Eyes wide as the realization hit you. He wasn't going to force you to listen to someone being tortured. 

"Alastor, wait—"

"Why hello, you wayward sinners! Hope everyone's having a wonderfully hellish time right now, because boy do I have quite the treat to make your evenings even better!" Alastor spoke into the mic, his eyes gone black as he held your gaze. "Yes, indeed, this one is going to be very special." 

"Al, please—" You bit your lip, cutting off whatever pleas you were going to throw at him.

One of his tentacles pressed against your clothed mound as the others held you in the air. It quickly worked its way under your bottoms, ripping through it easily and exposing you to Alastor's lazy gaze. 

"Don't, please. I'm so sorry, Al. I won't do it again, I promise, please." You whispered, not wanting all of Hell to hear how you begged for mercy.

"What's that, darling? I'm afraid you'll have to be a little louder for our lovely, horrid, listeners." Alastor mocked, just as the tentacle between your legs started to slide between your folds. Another made quick work of your already torn shirt.

You grit your teeth and clenched your eyes closed. Stubbornly, you refused to make a single sound from Alastor's ministrations.

But you know how this ends.

You're hardly the first soul he had broken during a broadcast.

You, of all people, knew that well.

Another one of his appendages slithered its way to your core. It teased at the entrance, pushing, testing your hole.

"I hope everyone has a lovely time!" You hear Alastor speak to his listeners, just as a scream ripped through your lips.

You weren't nearly wet enough to take him. Your walls resisted, but not enough for his strength. The black shadow pushed its way deep into you, others coiled at your legs to spread them apart. One remained by your clit, lazily flicking along. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You cried as Alastor fucked his tentacle deep into you. The harsh thrusts sending your ample chest bouncing.

Alastor didn't respond, he rarely ever does to his victims. He preferred to let the song of their anguish play uninterrupted. But he did find himself paying more attention than he usually did to the way your body reacted to him.

His gaze locked at the way his black shadow disappeared into your slick hole. How it came back to light drenched in your juices, only to push back in harsher. How your little pussy stretched wide around his tentacle to accommodate its size.

His eyes traveled further up, watching as he wrapped one tentacle around your breast and squeezed. A lovely horrified sound coming from your lips from his actions.

He watched as you sobbed, attention fully on him. Only on him. And he couldn't deny the rather unfamiliar heat the pooled in his stomach at that fact.

The tentacle at your clit moved faster, pressing down just the slightest bit more at that little bud. You tried your damndest to silence the screams from your throat, but as your mouth fell open, you could only do so much.

The coil in your gut snapped easily. Alastor tightening his hold on you as he kept your spasming form in the air for his entertainment.

Your juices flowed down his dark appendages as it kept up the pace. Tears forming in your eyes as they gave you no reprieve, no time recover.

You fight against his hold, aching to close your thighs and catch your breath but the dark shadows merely pulled them apart wider. You pulled at you arms, wanting to push away the damned things from your core but you were merely held back the same way.

"Wait, please, stop." You were barely able to form a coherent sentence. The tentacle inside you opting to curl just the right amount to hit that soft, perfect spot inside you with every thrust. That spot that Alastor knew drove you wild when he fucks you through your heat, after a lot of begging on your end, at least.

You clenched down on it, that being the only thing you could think of that you could still do to slow this down. It unsurprisingly did nothing but make you feel more of each drag and pull against your walls.

Another orgasm is stolen from you as a tentacle began to grind itself up and down your sloppy slit, drenching itself in your slick as it attempted to join the one already fucking you. Your screams broadcasted for all of Pride Ring to hear.

It doesn't stop. He doesn't stop. His dark shadows held you still, fucking into your cervix without mercy, playing with your clit, your breasts. Pulling yet another sloppy orgasm from you.

"No more," You heaved. Alastor's assault seeing no end near. "I can't. Al, please." You begged.

You craned your neck over to look back at the demon. You find his gaze no longer on you or your body, but on the papers in front of him. His script. 

He was idly jotting down notes, chin rested on the palm of his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He almost looked bored, but the twitch of his ear as you called out his name showed you he was still paying you some attention. 

"Alastor, please," You tried again. "I am sorry. I won't do it again. I won't leave you again." You sobbed.

The tentacle inside you pulled out to your brief relief, only for it to slam harshly, deeper back into you. It's pace at breakneck speed that even with the tight hold around your limbs, your body was moved with every push and pull. 

"Oh, I'm sure you won't, darling." He finally replies to your pleas, although he didn't even glance your way. He continued correcting his notes, your sweet begging made for a wonderfully sweet background song. "Because why would you ever leave someone as generous as me?"

He ripped orgasm after orgasm from you. Your release dripped and drenched the floor of his radio tower. You begged til your throat was raw for some reprieve, for some forgiveness. But Alastor went about his way around the studio. Fixing this and that. Barely paid you any mind.

It was only when you've stopped pulling against his hold. When your legs had gone slack in the air, and your screams faded into whimpers did Alastor finally approach the control panel again.

"Wasn't that just darling! A wonderful performance, if I do say so myself," He laughed into his microphone. "I'm sure you lewd folks enjoyed yourself as much as our star of the night here, so make sure to keep an ear out for my next broadcast!"

His eyes finally land on your exhausted body. Your chest heaved with every labored breath as Alastor's tentacles finally slowly pulled out of you. A wet shlop of your juices dripping out as it did. 

He slowly lowered you onto the ruined floor, and your dazed eyes locked with his.

"There will definitely be more of where that came from." He said, less of his usual cheer. His tone lower. Threatening—no, promising.

You didn't move—you couldn't move—from the floor. You simply watched as Alastor shut down his broadcast and took his time straightening out and cleaning up his work station. He was humming cheerfully, seeming to be in a much better mood than when the night had begun.

When he was finally satisfied, you watched as he walked to where you were, stopping by your feet as he smiled down at you.

"Well, you've definitely seen better days." A laugh track followed his mockery. 

"I'm sorry." You heaved out. You hoped this was the end of it. You hoped he would just throw you back and lock you in his room again. Anything but stay in this wretched radio tower. "I'm yours. I won't try to run anymore."

Alastor chuckled at your response, moving to rest his cane against the wall before he reached up to his neck. He slowly loosened his bowtie and unbuttoned his shirt. "Oh I know you know that." He said waving off your words as if they didn't matter.

He lowered himself over you, his towering figure blocking out what little light you had. "But I'm afraid I need a bit of a reminder about who you belong to." 

His hand made quick work of his trousers, pulling his hardened cock free.

His claws were at your waist and they pulled your limp body closer to him. Not that you offered any resistance.

"You can do one more for me can't you darling?" He wasn't really asking.

You can't. But you nod your head anyway.

He pushed into you easily. Your previous releases coated him and allowed a slicker entry. 

Your back arched despite exhaustion, and Alastor drank in your pained expression. "There's a good girl. Always ready to ruin herself for her lover." You heard him say. "Don't worry, I won't make this long."

But of course that was a lie. He pulled back so slowly, revering in the way your drenched walls felt around him; how they clenched around his cock like how he saw them do around his tentacle. Then he thrusted himself back harshly into your sloppy hole, forcing what little sound you could still make out from your lips.

He fucked into you, slowly, deeply, maddeningly. Making sure you both felt each and every drag of his heavy cock.

He wasn't one to crave sex as much as most of hell, but when it was with you—his precious partner, he had to admit he didn't hate the sensations all too much. And if it meant reminding you who was in control, if it meant making you owe him, making you dependent on him, making you crave him, then it was all the more enjoyable to see you fucked out and speared on his dick.

One of his hands made its way to the back of your neck, pulling you up into his lap. He fucked up into you as your head lolled to the side, struggling to keep your body upright.

Alastor drank in your expression. Your glazed over eyes, the tear stains that smeared through the mud and blood along your cheeks, the drool dripping from your split lips. Yes, this is what you deserved for even daring to leave him. This is what you needed to be reminded on just how good a partner he is.

He wrapped a tentacle around your hips, keeping you steady as he pounded his cock into you. His free hand now moved between you, to your clit.

Your hips spasmed as he drew quick circles on the bud, but you fought the instinct to squirm away. You wouldn't leave him. 

You can't leave him.

You know that now.

Alastor's grin widened when he noticed your actions. "There's a good girl." He purred again, leaning down to your neck to lick up your skin.

"Let me feel you cum on my cock now, darling. Let me feel how much you want me to fill you up." He whispered, his sweet voice right by your ear as he pressed down harder on your clit.

You whined, tears pouring from your eyes once more as he tore yet another orgasm from your weakened body.

Your fluids drenched his dick, soiling his pants as you came around him. Alastor all but tore your skin as he gripped you tight. His own pace finally picked up.

You felt him twitch inside you, before the hot feeling of his seed soothed your battered cunt. 

"Tell me, would that scum have let you cum like this?" Alastor whispered in your ear. He held you tightly, his head still at the crook of your neck.

"No," You responded weakly. You felt him twitch inside you again.

You tried your hardest not to think back to the poor sinner, ripped limb from limb in a blink of an eye. Their body likely still stomped down into the mud of the forest floor.

"Would any other wretched soul be able to give you what I give you?" Alastor asked again. He playfully nipped at your ear.

"No," You responded again.

"So who do you think can treat you, treasure you, best, my dear?" He pulled back, his smug smile loomed over you as he held your chin for you to keep his gaze.

"You, Alastor. Only you can treat me this good." The words were bitter in your mouth

You hadn't sold him your soul. And he would never ask for it.

But you were his and his alone, nonetheless.

"And don't you ever forget it." He mused, pushing you back down to the floor as he began to fuck himself inside of you again. His previous release slowly pushed out with every slow thrust.

"Be still for me, darling," He whispered sweetly. "Let me have my fill of you for now." 

I don't usually write smut but this request sent me haywire. Hope I didn't disappoint, anon! I loved your demented request ♪

[midnighvtm4ss]

Omg i absolutely loved rosemary!!! Also the fact it’s based on a Sierra Ferrell song is amazing. That brings me to my request to maybe an Arthur fic based on her song “I Could Drive You Crazy” 🤭🤭🤭 I feel like that song is so Arthur and his darling girl coded

I COULD DRIVE YOU CRAZY

cw: fluff, hunting, pre-canon, two idiots in love, arthur is crushing so hard it’s actually embarrassing

wc: 3,3k

a/n: the way I SCREAMED when I saw your request anon !! i loove Sierra Ferrell she’s one of the few artists i have constantly on repeat. Sorry I took my sweet time replying but I had to make this piece good. This is a little insight on Arthur and his darling girl pre-relationship dynamic ! Thank you for requesting and I hope you like it <3

The late noon sun bathed the camp in a cold, bright light, casting the long shadows of the nearby douglas fir trees stretching all around you as it began its slow but steady descent behind the rolling hills of the Tall Trees region as afternoon approached. The smell of woodsmoke and simmering stew filled the air, mixing with the earthy scent of pine and the faint aroma of freshly turned earth. You stood beside Pearson, by the cooking wagon. Your hands busy chopping vegetables while the man stirred the stew pot, his gruff voice occasionally muttering to himself as he adjusted the few seasonings Miss Grimshaw desperately requested to add into his infamous venison stew. Abigail stood nearby, cleaning the dishes used in the morning. Her laughter light as she shared stories about young Jack with you.

“Jack’s been askin’ after you,” Abigail said with a fond smile. “Ever since he learned how to say your name he’s been saying it non stop. Makes me miss the time when the only things he could say was ‘mama’ and random bubbling noises”

“He’s a sweet kid,”

“Yes, and a spoiled one too. No matter how much I try, he refuses to go to sleep until he hears your voice telling him a goodnight story”

You chuckled, feeling a warmth in your chest at the thought of the boy’s eager face. “I’ll have to think up a good one for him tonight, then.”

The sound of approaching hoofbeats drew your attention away from the conversation. You glanced up just in time to see the men returning from their latest job. Dust and sweat clung to them, their faces weary but carrying the unmistakable look of men who had just succeeded at their mission. Among them, a particular figure caught your eyes. Arthur Morgan dismounted with practiced ease, his broad shoulders slumped slightly by the fatigue of the day’s event. Even from a distance, his presence was commanding, a strong aura following him as he led a tired Boadicea toward the hitching post.

Even from a distance, there was something about Arthur that drew your eye—his quiet strength, the way he moved with precise purpose, his steady presence that always seemed to bring a sense of security to the camp. You watched as he handled the reins, hitching Boadicea and patting her dark brown mane, undoubtedly praising her for a job well done.

Was it possible to be jealous of a horse ?

His gaze briefly scanned the camp before it landed on you. For a fleeting moment, your eyes met, and you felt a flutter in your chest. You quickly returned your attention to a particular interesting piece of tomato you had cut, wishing for your burning cheeks to calm.

“Mister Morgan!” Pearson’s booming voice cut through the air, making you wish the earth would swallow you whole. “We’re runnin’ low on meat. Reckon we’ll last two more days with what little I have.” Pearson’s voice lowering to a more quiet tone as Arthur inched closer to the wagon. “Can you head out and bring somethin’ back before it gets dark?”

Arthur looked over at the stew pot, his face churning with an unreadable expression, then back to Pearson with a nod. “Sure, Pearson. I’ll head out now.”

As he turned to leave, something inside you stirred. You weren’t sure if it was the desire to escape the mundane tasks of camp, to immerse yourself in the unknown beauty of the wilderness or, more than that, the desire for a chance to spend time with Arthur, to learn from him, to be close to him. Nonetheless, before you could second guess your action you placed down your knife, stepping forward, the words hurriedly leaving your lips as in fear you might stop them if they took a second longer to pronounce.

“Mister Morgan,” you called out, your voice a little hesitant. “May I come with you?”

He paused, turning to face you fully. A faint hint of surprise washed over his face. His aqua eyes, always so full of depth and intensity, softened slightly as he considered your request. “You sure ‘bout that? Huntin’ ain’t exactly a walk in the woods.”

“I’d like to learn,” you insisted, your heart beating faster as you met his gaze under his worn gambler’s hat. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a gesture that seemed almost shy. He nodded. “Alright, then. Let’s get goin’.”

It took an immeasurable amount of strength to refrain yourself from smiling brightly at the man in front of you. You promptly returned to your cutting station, untying your apron in quick movements. Abigail came closer to you, taking the apron from your hands and putting it on ready to replace you in your work. As you two locked eyes, a knowing smile adorned the brunette’s face, making you flush.

Your steps were quick as you followed Arthur to the hitching post, your Hungarian half-bred just a few feet away from Boadicea. You gently pat her, giving her a stalk of celery you stole from Pearson. Circling around to tighten the strap of your saddle you felt the heavy gaze of the outlaw follow your every move. His muscular form already mounted on his horse. You mounted your horse, not wanting to trouble Arthur and make him reconsider his decision. He cleared his throat before speaking,

“We’ll go through the woods on the left near the lake,” he stated, tutting at his horse to move forward “Mac told me he found a few deer tracks down there.”

You simply nodded, not trusting your voice to give away your feelings.

The air was cooler than the already crisp air in camp. Beneath the canopy of trees, the sun’s rays filtering through the needles of the pine trees in dappled patterns on the forest floor. The smell of pine and earth was much stronger here, mingling with the fresh scent of moss and the faint musk of animals that had passed through earlier. Arthur led the way, silent and sure, while you followed close behind, too occupied by taking in the view to initiate a conversation.

Passing through a particularly steep path Arthur signaled you to stop. He hopped down from his horse, walking a few feet forward before stopping. You copied his action. The ground beneath your boots was soft, a carpet of moss and pine needles that muted your footsteps.

“First rule of huntin’,” Arthur began, his voice low and steady as he crouched down to examine a set of tracks in the soft dirt, “is patience. Animals can sense when somethin’ ain’t right, so you gotta move slow and stay quiet.”

You nodded, kneeling beside him as you peered at the tracks. They were faint, just a few indentations in the earth, but Arthur pointed them out to you with practiced ease. The proximity of him, the way his voice dropped down on to a near whisper, sent a thrill through you that had little to do with the hunt and everything to do with the outlaw beside you.

“There,” he said, his hand brushing against yours as he pointed. “That’s a deer track. See how the hooves dig in? Means it was here not too long ago. We follow these, and we might just catch up to it.”

His touch was fleeting, but it left a warmth on your skin that lingered long after he pulled his hand away. You nodded again, trying to focus on the task at hand, reprimanding your mind for wandering to such thoughts. But it was difficult with Arthur so close, his presence almost overwhelming in its quiet intensity.

Together, you moved through the woods, following the tracks with Arthur’s guidance. You moved in silence. The woods offered you the calm noises of the rustling of leaves, the distant call of a bird, and the soft crunch of your boots on the forest floor. Every now and then, Arthur would pause, his head tilting slightly as he listened for any signs of movement, his sharp eyes scanning the space surrounding you.

Finally, after what felt like hours to you but was probably only a few minutes, you spotted the deer—a lone buck grazing in a small clearing, its head down, completely unaware of your presence. Arthur’s hand came up in front of you, motioning you to stop and you both knelt down behind a fallen mossy log, using it for cover.

He handed you his rifle, his hands steady as they helped you position it against your shoulder. His touch on you gentle, guiding you with the same care and precision he used in everything he did. You could feel his breath on your neck, making the small hairs on your nape stand up. The brim of his hat grazing your hair as the heat of his body so close to yours made your heart beat so violently that you were sure Arthur could hear it.

“Alright,” Arthur whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in even close. “Here’s where it gets tricky. You gotta stay calm, keep your breathin’ steady, and line up your shot. Don’t rush it. As long as we don’t make a sound the deer will be there. Let the moment come to you.”

“Steady now,” Arthur murmured, his voice low and soothing. You took a deep breath, the crisp air filling your lungs. “Just like that. Breathe in… and out. Always pull the trigger on empty lungs”

You tried to focus, tried to steady your breath as he instructed, but the closeness of him, the deep rumble of his voice in your ear, made it difficult to concentrate. You aimed at the deer, your finger brushing the trigger, but your hands were trembling ever so slightly.

“Breathe,” Arthur reminded you, his hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder grounding you, steadying you from the imminent recoil of the rifle. “You’ve got this.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest, and then you squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, echoing through the trees.

A second passed where it was deadly silent, you opened your eyes to check on your target but your aim had been off. The bullet whizzed past the deer, embedding itself in the trunk of a nearby tree. The deer’s head shot up, and in an instant, it bolted, disappearing into the underbrush before you even had time to lower the rifle.

Your shoulders slumped in disappointment, and you let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry, Mister Morgan,” you muttered, gloomily handing the rifle back to him.

But Arthur wasn’t upset. Instead, he gave you a reassuring smile, his eyes warm as he shook his head with a strange myrth. “Don’t be sorry. You did good for your first try. Takes time to get the hang of it. Deer’s easy to track but a damn tricky target, especially when you’re just startin’ out.”

His words were kind, but you couldn’t help the sense of failure that settled in your chest. You had wanted to impress him, to show him that you could be just as capable as any of the men in the gang, but instead, you had let the moment slip away making a fool of yourself in front of him. You lowered your gaze to your lap, playing with a stray cotton strand of your blouse.

“Come on,” Arthur said, standing and offering you his hand. “Let’s see if we can track somethin’ else. We’ve still got some daylight left.”

You took his hand, feeling the roughness of his warm calloused palm against yours as he pulled you to your feet. The warmth of his touch, the easy way he smiled at you, made it hard to stay upset for long. There was something about Arthur—something steady and reassuring—that made you feel like everything was going to be alright, even when things didn’t go as planned.

You dusted off your skirt, it definitely wasn’t the best clothing choice for hunting but you had little to no time changing into a more comfortable outfit. You thanked whoever was above that this week wasn’t your turn to wash the camp’s clothes. Karen sure had a great load of work ahead of her.

The two of you mounted back up on your horses and continued deeper into the forest, the trees growing denser as the light began to fade. Arthur was patient, showing you how to look for signs of wildlife, teaching you how to move quietly through the underbrush without making yourself known to the animals you were tracking. His calm demeanor, his quiet confidence, made you feel more at ease, and slowly, you found yourself relaxing into the rhythm of the hunt.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting the forest in a soft, amber glow, you spotted something moving in the distance—a wild boar, its dark shape partially hidden by the underbrush as it ate the roots of a bush near a fallen log. You felt a surge of excitement, your heart beating faster as you pointed it out to Arthur.

“There,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you hopped down from your horse. “There’s a boar!”

Arthur followed you down his horse. His eyes followed your gaze as he nodded, his gaze narrowing as he assessed the situation. “That’s a good target. Boar’s got tough skin, but he’s not too fast. You ready to give it another try?”

You nodded, your grip tightening on the rifle as Arthur handed it to you once more. This time, you felt more confident, more focused. Arthur had shown you what to do, had taught you how to read the signs, how to stay calm and patient. You could do this. You needed to do this.

You crouched down behind a bush making sure you had a clear view of the target. Arthur stayed close, his presence a steadying force as you lined up your shot. “Remember,” he said softly, his voice just above a whisper, “breathe slowly, keep your hands steady, and don’t rush it. You’ve got this.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill your lungs as you focused on the boar. It was still rooting around, completely unaware of you and Arthur watching from the shadows. You steadied the rifle, your finger brushing the trigger, and then, with a calmness you hadn’t felt before, you squeezed.

The shot rang out, sharp and clear in the evening air. This time, your aim was true. The boar let out a sharp squeal, its body jerking as the bullet hit its mark. It staggered for a moment, and then it collapsed, its movements ceasing as it fell to the ground.

For a moment, you just stood there, staring in disbelief. You had done it. You had actually done it.

“I did it,” you whispered, a smile slowly spreading across your face as the realization sank in. “Arthur, I did it!” you said turning to face Arthur. You couldn’t believe yourself. You actually hunted down some game. A laughter came up to you, heartily and genuine.

Arthur’s face lit up with a grin, his eyes shining with pride as he clapped you on the back. “Good girl. Nice work. That’s some fine shootin’.”

His praise warmed you more than the fading sunlight ever could, and you felt a surge of joy and accomplishment. But it wasn’t just about the hunt—it was about the way Arthur was looking at you now, with a gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, as if he was seeing you in a new light.

The two of you approached the poor boar, and Arthur knelt beside it, inspecting your handiwork with a nod of approval. “Perfect shot,” he said, glancing up at you from under his hat with a smile. “Damn, you’re a natural.”

Your heart swelled with pride at his words, and you couldn’t help but brightly beam at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that had little to do with the successful hunt and everything to do with the man beside you.

As Arthur worked skinning the animal and preparing the boar to transport it back to camp, you found yourself stealing glances at him. Although he was now covered in blood you couldn’t help but find him even more attractive. You watched the way the fading light played across his features, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw, the curve of his plump lips, the intensity in his eyes that seemed to soften whenever he looked your way. There was something different about the way he was acting around you now, a quiet affection in his gaze, a tenderness in his touch that hadn’t been there before.

Once the boar was ready, the two of you began to head back to camp, the weight of the animal stowed on the back of Boadicea as you carried its pelt. The forest was quiet now, the sun nearly gone, leaving the trees bathed in the soft, dusky indigo light of twilight. As you rode, side by side, you could feel the connection between you and Arthur growing stronger with each step, an unspoken bond that neither of you had to put into words growing evermore.

“Thank you for teaching me, Mister Morgan” you said softly, stopping your horse just a few feet away as the camp came into view, the warm glow of the firelight welcoming you back. The distance giving you both one last moment of privacy. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I didn’t think I’d be any good at it.”

Arthur glanced over at you, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t need to be so formal with me now, you can call me Arthur,” he started. “Besides, you’ve got a good eye,” he said, his voice sincere. “And you listen, which is more than I can say for most people in this godforsaken gang. You did real good out there.”

The praise made your cheeks warm, and you ducked your head slightly, feeling a little shy under his gaze. “I had a good teacher.”

Arthur shook his head at that, hiding his face under the brim of his hat as he mumbled to himself something you didn’t quite catch.

“Maybe we’ll do this again sometime,” he said, his tone casual but with an underlying amusement that betrayed his carefree tone

“I’d like that,” you replied, your voice soft as the two of you approached camp, the sounds of the gang's usual chatter welcoming you back. “I’d like that a lot.”

As you helped Arthur carry the boar to Pearson, who greeted you with his usual gruffness but a nod of approval, you couldn’t help but feel that something had changed between you and Arthur. There was a new understanding, a deeper connection, something that went beyond the simple companionship you had shared before when you occasionally chatted while you worked on the camp’s chores.

As the evening wore on and the camp settled into its usual rhythm, you found yourself glancing over at Arthur, who was seated by the campfire, his gaze occasionally drifting your way. And each time your eyes met, there was a spark—a shared smile, a lingering look—that hinted at something more.

And in that moment, you knew that this was just the beginning. The beginning of something special, something that neither of you could quite put into words, but that you both felt growing with every passing moment you spent together.

[v6quewrlds]

TIRED, ANDREI IOSIVAS.

pairing⠀⁎⠀andrei iosivas x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀1.7k.

summary⠀⁎⠀after a rough game, all andrei needs is you.

author's note⠀⁎⠀requested by an anon <3 warnings⠀⁎⠀18+, smut, handjob, blowjob, subby andrei.

In the bustling stadium, amidst a sea of orange and black, a solitary figure emerged from the shadowed seats. You made your way through the throngs of disappointed fans. Your brown eyes scanned the chaotic scene, searching for something more than just a way out. The air had the scent of sweat, popcorn, and defeat—the Cincinnati Bengals had just lost to the Steelers on their own turf. The roar of the crowd had transformed into a murmur of discontent, the echoes of the game's final moments haunting the concrete halls like a funeral march.

Your heart was heavy, not just for the team you had grown to love, but for the man who had given everything out on that field. Andrei had played his heart out, but the scoreboard was a cold, unyielding judge. You knew he'd be feeling the sting of loss, the weight of his dreams, and the gnawing doubt that came with it. As you approached the players' tunnel, the anticipation grew stronger, the air thick with the musky scent of the game and the anticipation of your reunion.

When you finally saw him, Andrei's shoulders were slumped, his eyes reflecting the sadness of the evening. He looked up and caught your gaze, and for a brief moment, the gloom lifted from his face. The two of you embraced, his sweat-dampened jersey sticking to your skin as you held him tightly. His sigh was deep and pained, the kind that comes from a place much deeper than physical fatigue.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured into your hair, the words muffled by the volume of your meticulous twist-out. “I know you had to watch that all alone.”

“Don't be, baby,” you whispered, stroking his cheek. “You played great, Drei. It wasn't your fault.”

Andrei offered a half-hearted smile, his eyes still clouded. “I'll see you at home?”

You nodded, knowing he needed some space. As the hours ticked by, you waited in your cozy apartment, your thoughts racing with how you could help him through this. By the time he walked through the door, the silence was deafening. You watched as he shuffled to the bedroom, his shoulders still carrying the weight of the loss.

Your eyes followed him, taking in his tall frame, his hair still drying from his shower at the stadium. His gaze was distant, lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts. You knew that look all too well—the one that signaled he was in a dark place. You took a deep breath and sat next to him on the bed.

“I don't know if I can ever be enough,” Andrei mumbled, his voice cracking with emotion. He sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows propped on his knees, staring at the floor.

Your heart ached for him. You knew that underneath his tough exterior was a man who took his craft seriously and losing was something he never took lightly. You took a deep breath and placed your hand on his back, feeling the tension knotting his muscles.

“You are more than enough,” you said firmly, your voice a gentle but unyielding force. “You're so talented, one game doesn't define you.”

“But I could have… should have…” He began to protest, but you stopped him with a soft embrace. You knew his perfectionist nature, his unyielding need to be the best, but you also knew he needed to hear that he was loved, regardless of the outcome on the field.

“You can’t control everything, Andrei. Sometimes, things just don’t go as planned. But that doesn’t mean you’re not enough. It just means you’re human. And as a human, you have the power to learn, to grow, to come back stronger next time.”

Andrei nodded slowly, the weight of your words sinking in. He leaned into you, his head resting on your shoulder, and you could feel the tension slowly seep out of him. His overgrown hair tickled your cheek as you held him closer, your hand brushing through the dark strands. The quiet between you grew heavier, filled with the unspoken understanding that sometimes, love was about just being there, holding space for the other to heal.

Finally, he spoke up, his voice a soft rumble against your skin. “Could you, maybe, help me clear my head?” There was a hint of shyness in his tone, something you rarely heard. “Whenever we… you know, after games like this, I sleep a little better. Like it just takes the edge off, you know?”

You looked at him, your eyes filled with understanding and affection. You nodded, your mind racing with the desire to ease his pain. “Of course, I’ll do anything to make you feel better. What do you need from me, babe?”

Andrei took a deep breath, his gaze still cast downward. “Could you, maybe, take charge this time?” He whispered, his voice barely audible.

Andrei sat on the edge of the bed, his hair falling over his eyes. You could see the hunger in them, the need for your touch. You sank to your knees in between his spread legs, your heart racing with excitement. With a gentle hand, you pushed his hair back and leaned in to kiss him softly, your hand reaching down to cup his cock through his boxers. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your body.

Your hand slid into his underwear, wrapping around his warm, hard length. He gasped, his eyes fluttering closed as you began to stroke him, your movements slow and deliberate.

You took your time, your hand moving in a hypnotic rhythm that grew slightly faster with each passing moment. Andrei's breath grew ragged, his body leaning back into the bed. You could feel his tension slowly draining away, his muscles relaxing under your gentle touch.

“You need more, Drei? Tell me, baby,” you whispered, your voice sending a visible shiver through him. Andrei nodded, his eyes glazing over as you slid his boxers down, revealing his hardened shaft. You took him into your mouth, your soft, wet warmth enveloping him, and his eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure.

Your head bobbed up and down in a steady rhythm, your tongue swirling around his tip, tracing the veins along his length. Andrei’s torso fell back against the bed, his moans turning into whines as you deep-throated him, your throat constricting around his cock. You felt his hips bucking involuntarily, curses spilling from his lips in a mix of pleasure and desperation.

He was always so sweetly shy about asking for this, but you knew it was his way of letting you be the strong one when he needed it. And you were more than happy to oblige. Your mouth moved up and down his length, your tongue dancing along his shaft, your cheeks hollowing with the effort of taking him deep. You could feel his thighs starting to tremble, his breaths coming faster and shallower.

“Oh,” he breathed, his voice soft with pleasure. You knew he was close. You reached up to grip the base of his cock, your hand moving in sync with your mouth, increasing the pressure. You could taste the precum on your tongue, could feel his cock pulse with the promise of his release.

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” Andrei moaned, his eyes half-lidded as he watched your mouth work its magic on him. Your soft, dark brown eyes flicked up to meet his, filled with a determination to bring him to the brink of ecstasy. He felt his body respond as you quickened your pace, your hand and mouth moving in perfect unison.

Your saliva coated his length, making his skin glisten in the dim light of the bedroom. He could feel his orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him. You sensed it too, your strokes becoming more deliberate, your tongue flicking against his frenulum with care.

“Baby…” he breathed, his voice strained, his hips rising off the bed to meet your mouth. You hummed in response, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through his body. And then it hit him, the orgasm crashing over him like a wave, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he came hard, his release spilling onto your tongue.

You didn’t miss a beat, swallowing every drop of his warm cum. You kept your eyes on him, watching the tension drain from his face, his body going lax against the bed. You felt the rigidity in his hips relaxing, his breathing even out. Only then did you pull away, giving his tip one final, lingering kiss before standing up and heading to the bathroom to grab a washcloth.

When you returned, Andrei was lying on his back, his eyes closed. You climbed onto the bed, straddling his waist. He looked up at you, his eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. You gently wiped away the last traces of his release and your saliva from his skin before wringing the cloth out in the sink with warm water.

“Better?” you asked, your voice gentle. He nodded, a lazy smile playing on his lips. You pressed a series of kisses along his jawline, your heart swelling with affection.

“Thank you, Princess,” Andrei murmured, his eyes still closed. “I needed that.”

After Andrei came, he always looked so pliant, so open. You felt a pang of tenderness, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “You're more than enough for me, you know that right?” you whispered.

Andrei's eyes fluttered open, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I know, baby. I know. But it's hard to remember sometimes.” He reached for you, pulling you down into his arms, his body radiating heat. You curled into his embrace, your head resting on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek.

“I love you, so much, baby,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. His arms tightened around you, his hand stroking your back as he finally came down from his high. The scent of him, the warmth of his skin, it all helped to soothe the ache in your heart.

“I love you too,” he murmured, his breathing slowing to match yours. You laid together, wrapped up in each other's embrace, the outside world a distant memory.

[wholoveseggs]

Hi! I really love your work i was wondering if you could do a fic with Elijah and fem reader when he was still human, i really liked the one you did with viking Elijah, could you do it similar but when him and reader first meet and they start to date and they are both virgins and they have sex for the first time. Thank youuu!

Solstice

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Viking!Elijah Mikaelson x Reader} In a small Viking village, love blooms as Elijah steals your heart. But a winter storm prevents your future plans, forcing secrets to surface and your bond to grow stronger than ever.

♡♡ Thank you sweet anon(s) youu know I adore viking elijah!!! Here is a long fluffly, HAPPY story of sweet angel eli falling in love for the first time ♡♡

9k words - Warnings: smutttt, viking theme, a sprinkle of Niklaus, lots of flirting, both reader & Elijah are virgins, nervous and shy Elijah, sooo so sappy and sweet, lots of kisses and longing, amazing parents that we all wish we had (or do have? idku), classic patriarchy viking stuff, outdoor sex, pregnancy, mushrooms && an unfortunate hare ...

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss

As soon as the leaves began to turn, the village became a flurry of activity. The summer months had been kind to the village, and the harvest was bountiful. But there was still much work to be done to prepare for the winter. You did what you could to help your family, as well as the rest of the village.

Today you set out to pick some herbs. It was a chore that you didn't mind, especially on such a beautiful day. Your mother had given you a basket, and you walked through the forest collecting anything that could be used in the healing remedies.

Kneeling down to pick a handful of ripe berries, you stilled at a sudden sound—leaves rustling, a faint snap of twigs. Your hand instinctively reached for your knife, but you forced yourself to remain calm, reminding yourself that large animals were rarely seen near the village, especially during daylight.

To your relief, a hare darted through the brush, nose twitching, large eyes staring back at you as if sizing you up. Smiling, you crouched and reached for a few berries in your basket.

"Hello there," you murmured, extending the food toward the creature, watching its tiny nose sniff the air.

Just as it leaned closer, you heard a soft rustle. An instant later, an arrow shot past, embedding itself in the hare’s side. The animal let out a soft, pitiful sound and tried to flee, but it only managed a few feet before collapsing, blood seeping into the forest floor.

“Oh no…” you whispered, standing abruptly, eyes scanning for the source of the arrow.

Through the trees, a young man emerged, his expression frustrated as he approached the hare, crouching beside it. His blond curls fell over his shoulders, and his blue eyes shone with both impatience and frustration. He muttered a curse under his breath and ended the creature’s suffering with quick precision.

"You must learn patience, Niklaus," another voice said, and a second figure stepped out of the shadows.

Your gaze shifted to this newcomer. His dark hair was tied back loosely, his face more serious, yet his brown eyes held a warmth that softened his features.

"Patience?" Niklaus scoffed, wiping his blade on the grass. "Brother, can you see it was a perfect shot … until the wind changed at the last second."

The dark-haired one chuckled. "Much like how that doe 'vanished into thin air,' or how the 'boar outran you.’" He turned, catching sight of you. For a moment, the easy humor faded from his expression, replaced by curiosity.

"My apologies, we didn't see you there." He gave you a polite bow of his head.

Niklaus stood, his eyes narrowed as he regarded you. "A woman, alone? There are wolves about, you know," he said with a grin.

You felt your cheeks warm at his comment, your eyes darting to the blood on his hands, and the dead hare in his grip.

You lifted your skirts and pulled a long blade from its sheath around your calf. "Not alone," you said, returning his grin.

Niklaus' eyes widened, and his brother let out a soft laugh.

"And now the wolves shall be the ones afraid," the dark-haired one said. "I am Elijah, and this is my brother Niklaus."

"Do you hail from one of the villages downstream?" You asked.

"We do, but our home is much further, on the coast," Elijah explained.

You nodded, then returned the blade to its sheath, and straightened. "What is your business so far from home?"

Elijah gave Klaus a pointed look, before turning back to you. "We are looking to trade, our home lacks some of the necessary supplies to prepare for winter."

"Well, this is a poor season for hunting," you said, pointing to the hare in Klaus' grip.

"Indeed," Elijah agreed, casting a glance at his brother. "Perhaps, if we are lucky, we will come across another."

You looked down at your basket, a thoughtful expression on your face. "My village is just over the hill," you pointed. "The elders may be willing to trade. If you have anything of value."

Elijah glanced at his brother. "Thank you, that would be most kind."

You gave him a small smile, and started down the path. Elijah fell into step beside you, and Niklaus trailed behind, scouting out other possible game.

"Have you lived in the village long?" He asked, glancing over at you.

"My whole life," you told him. "Though, my family came from the north when I was very young."

He nodded, taking in your features. "And are you married?"

"No," you said, a faint blush coming to your cheeks. "How about you?"

"Not yet, no," he told you, giving you a warm smile.

The path led up a steep slope, and after a few minutes, the three of you crested the hill. You could hear the sound of laughter, and children's voices. In the distance, the village spread out across the valley below, smoke curling into the sky from a dozen homes.

"You have a beautiful home," Elijah said, admiring the view.

"Thank you," you said, leading them down the path toward the village.

It wasn't long before someone spotted you, and several children came bounding up to you, asking a million questions.

"I'm sorry, but I must return to my home… but the longhouse is that way," you pointed to a larger building near the center of the village.

"We will find you again soon," Elijah told you, giving you a kind smile.

"I would like that," you admitted, feeling a spark of excitement.

Elijah bowed his head, and his brother waved, before the two of them continued on.

You watched them for a moment, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Though they were gone, a strange sense of lingering excitement remained, mixed with caution. Elijah had stirred something inside you, an interest that you weren't sure how to feel about.

With a shake of your head, you pushed those thoughts aside and continued on. Secretly hoping to see him again.

The longhouse was warm, and filled with the smell of food and the soft hum of conversation. Many people were gathered around, preparing dinner. Some greeted you, and a few even asked for some herbs for their meals.

You could see Niklaus and Elijah sitting with your father and other men. They had obviously introduced themselves, and your father seemed intrigued by them. The brothers sharing the unfortunate hare between them.

You placed the basket of herbs on the table before taking a seat near your mother. She gave you a small smile, her attention focused on her weaving. You listened to the conversations around you, trying not to be obvious as you watched the two newcomers.

"The dark haired one asked about you," your mother said quietly, her gaze never leaving her task. "He thinks you are quite pretty."

Your cheeks warmed, and you glanced over at the table, seeing Niklaus whispering to your father. Your eyes met Elijah's, and his cheeks reddened, quickly looking away from you.

She glanced over at you, her face unreadable. "I think you should invite him for a walk."

You stared at her, wide-eyed. She had never been so willing to let you be alone with a man. "Really?"

"Yes, you are about to meet your eighteenth winter, it is time you start looking for a husband."

Your stomach flipped, and your palms grew sweaty.

"Besides, all the boys from our village are not fit for you."

"I don't know if I'm ready," you muttered, thinking about being alone with a man.

"If it were left to your father, you would never be ready," she shook her head. "You are a beautiful, smart girl. Any man would be lucky to have you as their wife."

Your gaze moved back to Elijah. His handsome features glowing in the firelight. “Do you really think so?"

"Go invite him for a walk," she repeated, nudging you.

"Right now?" You asked, nervously glancing around.

"Before the sun sets would be the wise choice," she replied, returning her attention to her weaving.

You glanced over at the table, Niklaus had disappeared, leaving Elijah alone. Your father was deep in conversation with the other men, and the women were busy gossiping.

"Go," your mother nodded toward Elijah. "Don't worry about your father."

You swallowed, nodding slowly. You were nervous, but eager. You didn't want to let this chance pass.

You stood and walked over to the table, standing awkwardly beside Elijah. He looked up at you, surprised. "Hello, again," he said, his voice deep and smooth.

You could see your father glancing over at you, and you quickly sat down next to Elijah, avoiding his gaze.

"Are you enjoying your time in the village?" You asked.

Elijah gave a nod, and offered a warm smile. "Very much so. Your people are quite welcoming."

"That's good, I'm glad," you said, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

He leaned in a bit closer, his brow furrowed. "Are you well?"

You met his gaze, and nodded. "I am, but, I was wondering if maybe you would like to take a walk with me? If you're not busy that is," you added.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting over to your father. "I fear that would not be wise."

"He'll get over it," you whispered, giving him a small smile.

He considered it for a moment, then returned the smile. "A short walk then."

You stood, and waited for him to join you. As the two of you started for the door, you caught your father's eye, his gaze stern. You ignored him and left the longhouse.

Outside, the air was crisp, the fading sun casting an orange glow across the landscape. A light breeze rustled the trees, and birds chirped.

"You have a lovely village," Elijah said, breaking the silence. "Your people are very kind."

"We've been fortunate," you told him, glancing over at him.

"What are the winters like here?"

"Cold," you laughed. "The snow falls early and stays for many months."

"Our winters are the same," he said, watching as some children ran past.

You fell into silence once more, and after a few moments, your hand brushed his. An unexpected wave of desire rushed through you, and you quickly pulled your hand away, cheeks warming.

He let out an awkward little cough, his cheeks a light shade of pink. He looked so handsome in the soft evening light, the orange and purple hues making his dark eyes sparkle.

You led him to a trail that would take you to a field near a pond. It was a beautiful spot, and quiet, a place that you went to clear your head.

"Is there any particular reason you invited me for a walk?" He asked, looking over at you.

You blushed, looking down at your hands. "My mother seems to think I should find a husband," you explained.

He cleared his throat, and didn't say anything. But his hands were nervously twitching, and you could see his face redden further.

"I'm not suggesting anything," you quickly assured him.

"Of course," he replied, giving a stiff nod.

You stepped off the path, into a clearing, where a large weeping willow grew. You stopped near the tree, and turned to him.

He stepped a bit closer, and held out his hand. You placed your hand in his, and a wave of warmth rushed through you. His fingers closed around yours, and he gently tugged you closer.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you looked up into his dark eyes, noticing the way his breathing quickened. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing along your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine.

"This is not the sort of walk that your mother had in mind, I am sure." He whispered, his face mere inches from yours.

"Perhaps not," you breathed.

You leaned closer, and he pressed his forehead to yours. Your eyes closed, and you let out a soft breath. The scent of leather, and earth, and pine washed over you, and your fingers tightened around his.

He closed the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. His lips were soft and warm, and he tasted sweet, like the honeyed mead the village was fond of. Neither of you knew what you were doing, your lips uncoordinated and clumsy. But his touch was gentle, his hands trembling slightly as they found your waist.

Your hands moved up his arms, coming to rest on his chest. You could feel his heart pounding against your palms. The kiss ended all too soon, and you stared up at him, slightly breathless.

His cheeks were flushed, and his pupils blown wide. His mouth opened and closed a few times, then a shy smile broke across his lips.

"We should be getting back," he whispered.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

He took your hand in his, and guided you back to the path. The walk was mostly silent, both of you still processing what had just happened. But the silence was not uncomfortable, the air between you had changed.

"May I visit you again?" He asked, his voice low and hesitant.

You smiled, and squeezed his hand. "Yes, I would like that."

"Would tomorrow afternoon suit you?"

You nodded, barely able to maintain eye contact, his handsome face giving you butterflies.

"Until tomorrow then," he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

You blushed, and turned to continue on. But his hand tightened around yours, and he pulled you back into his arms, kissing you once more. This kiss was not as gentle as the first. This time it was deep, and passionate, and his hands moved up your back, holding you close.

When the kiss ended, both of you were breathless, and your face was hot. He smiled, and you laughed softly, feeling lightheaded and dizzy.

"Don't tell your father I did that," he whispered, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You giggled and pressed another kiss to his lips. "I won't."

With a reluctant sigh, he released you, and stepped back. You gave him a little wave, and headed back to your home, the warmth of his touch lingering.

It was late when you reached the house, your father was still out, and your mother was asleep. You climbed the ladder to the loft, and lay down, staring up at the ceiling, a silly grin on your face.

Your mother shifted, turning to face you, her eyes still closed. "What happened?" She whispered.

"Nothing, we just talked," you lied.

"Hmm," she murmured, turning onto her side, facing away from you. "He's quite handsome," she added, her voice barely audible.

"I think so," you agreed, closing your eyes.

It was a long time before you could sleep, your thoughts racing, remembering his scent, and the warmth of his hands. You were nervous, and excited. And for the first time in your life, you found yourself looking forward to the winter months.

The next few weeks passed quickly. Elijah came to visit as often as possible. Each day the two of you would steal a few moments together, sometimes walking, sometimes sitting in the forest and talking. But you always managed to find a moment to share a kiss, his touch leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

Elijah and Niklaus were invited to stay for the winter, the two of them joining the daily hunting parties, helping with the preparations for the coming season. In exchange, two men from your village would return to their home and spend the winter there. It was a beneficial agreement for all involved, and the brothers were welcome in the village.

Today, you and Elijah were gathering mushrooms in the forest. Your basket was full, and you sat on a rock, watching him search. He was crouched near the base of a tree, and looked over his shoulder at you, a playful glint in his eye.

"I'm afraid I'm not as fast at finding these as you," he teased.

"I know these forests better than anyone," you replied, standing and walking over to him.

"Do you now?"

You nodded, smiling as you knelt down beside him. You could smell the faint hint of wood smoke and herbs on him, and the scent made your stomach flip.

"And what other talents do you have?" He asked, his tone light, teasing. "Can you also predict the weather? Or tell the future?"

You gave him a playful shove, and he made a dramatic show of toppling over. He pulled you down on top of him, and the two of you rolled across the forest floor. Leaves and sticks tangled in your hair, and dirt stained your clothes. You didn't care, it felt good to be so close to him.

The laughter faded, and the mood changed. Your body pressed against his, his arms holding you tight. His breathing was quick, his gaze intense, making heat coil in the pit of your belly.

"I can tell the future," you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his.

He hummed, closing his eyes. "Oh?"

"Mmm," you nodded, kissing him. "I see one with you."

You felt his manhood stir against your thigh, and a jolt of excitement ran through you. His hand moved lower, coming to rest on your rear, and you gasped when he squeezed it. You wanted more, and you rocked your hips against his, earning a soft groan, his grip on you tightening.

"We should stop," he said, his words at odds with his actions.

"Do we have to?" You asked, nipping his lip.

"Unfortunately, yes," he replied, though his hands remained where they were. "If not, your father will likely kill me."

You pulled back a little, and sighed. "You're probably right."

You rolled off him, and lay on the ground beside him, looking up at the clouds. Your chest rising and falling rapidly.

He turned his head, looking over at you. His lips were pink and swollen, his eyes dark and full of uncertainty. "Did I upset you?"

You met his gaze, and shook your head. "No, I'm just..." you paused, trying to think of how to phrase it. "I'm not used to feeling this way."

"Neither am I," he admitted, rolling onto his side, facing you.

"How did it come to this?" You asked, shaking your head. "You've only been here a short time, and already, I cannot imagine my life without you."

He propped himself up on his elbow, reaching over to pluck a leaf from your hair. "I have no answers," he said. "But I know I cannot bear the thought of losing you."

You sat up, and leaned in to kiss him again. "Will you speak with my father? About us?"

"I will," he nodded, getting to his feet and helping you up. "But perhaps we should wait until after the solstice. The villagers are preparing for the festival, I do not wish to cause a distraction."

"All right," you agreed.

He took your hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I'll see you at the festival?"

"Yes," you smiled. "Until then."

"Until then," he replied, stealing one more kiss before heading back toward the village.

You watched him leave, your heart pounding, and your body aching with a need you had never felt before. Imagining him as your husband, and all that would entail, had you blushing and giddy. Now you could only hope that your father would agree.

The days leading up to the solstice were busy, the entire village preparing for the festivities. A large bonfire was built, and tables were set up. The men and women prepared the food and drink, the children helped gather the firewood. Everyone was excited, and eager to celebrate the shortest day of the year, knowing that the days would only grow longer from there.

Elijah and Niklaus had brought back a rather large elk, which had been butchered, and spiced, and placed on a spit over the fire. The smell was delicious, and people were milling about, chatting and laughing. They were the talk of the village, the strangers who had come in and brought such a great bounty.

Your father had been quite impressed, and the two of them were welcomed among the men, even being allowed to take part in the ceremonies. It warmed your heart to see Elijah getting on so well with your family. You were certain that he could convince your father to let the two of you wed.

"There is my beautiful girl," your father said, walking over and placing an arm around your shoulders. "Your first winter as a woman. It seems like only yesterday, you were still playing with wooden dolls," he sighed, shaking his head.

"Not much has changed," you laughed, nodding toward a group of children, who were dancing and singing.

"True," he agreed, letting out a small sigh. "Soon enough, you will be a mother yourself. Time moves so quickly."

"You could have more," you teased, leaning into his embrace. "A sister would be nice."

He gave a little chuckle, and kissed the top of your head. "Perhaps. But I have the most wonderful daughter, how could any other compare?"

"Thank you, father," you smiled. "Do you really think I'm a woman now?"

"I do," he nodded, looking down at you. "In a few years, you'll be married, and raising a family of your own."

You glanced over at Elijah, and smiled.

"A few years?" You echoed, looking up at your father. "Why so long?"

He let out a sigh, and his brow furrowed. "Your mother and I wish to find the perfect match for you," he explained. "We want to ensure that the man is strong, and smart. A good hunter, and a capable leader. Not too young, not too old. And most importantly, a good man."

You looked back over at Elijah, watching as he spoke with a few men. You were certain that he was the one, but you knew it would be best to not mention him just yet.

"I understand," you replied, glancing up at your father. "I'll keep an eye out."

"Good," he said, giving your shoulders a squeeze. "Now, go dance with your friends, the gods are smiling down on us this night."

"I will," you told him, giving him a quick hug.

As the evening went on, the food was served, and the drinking continued. The bonfire was lit, and everyone began to dance.

Your friends grabbed your hand and pulled you into the circle. The flames danced in the wind, and the music echoed through the village square. Laughter and chatter filled the air, and everyone was happy and cheerful.

Elijah and Niklaus joined in, dancing and drinking. They were a bit clumsy, but they picked up the steps quickly. You felt a little shy, being so close to Elijah, knowing how your body had reacted the last time. But he seemed to be keeping his distance, not wanting to upset your father.

As the night wore on, the children began to drift off, and the adults grew more boisterous. People began pairing off, heading to the shadows, away from prying eyes. You caught Elijah's gaze, and your cheeks heated up, quickly looking away.

The music slowed, and you noticed your father and mother slip away, a knowing look in their eyes. You knew what they were up to, and you couldn't help but giggle.

"What is it?" Elijah asked, coming up behind you.

"They're going to sneak off and do...well, you know," you replied, cheeks burning. "Marriage things," you added, a little breathless.

He laughed, and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into a quick kiss.

You stared at him, shocked, then turned to glance around, but no one was paying any attention.

"You shouldn't have done that," you scolded him, glancing over your shoulder.

"Come, I have something to show you," he said, taking your hand and leading you toward the woods.

"Elijah," you whispered, glancing around nervously.

"It's fine," he assured you, squeezing your hand.

He led you away from the bonfire, toward the edge of the woods. There were still a few people wandering around, but none were paying the two of you any mind.

You followed him into the darkness, and after a few moments, the sounds of the village grew distant. He came to a stop near a large tree, and turned to face you.

"Wait here, close your eyes," he whispered, kissing the tip of your nose.

You did as he asked, closing your eyes, a nervous flutter in your stomach. He stepped away, and you could hear twigs snapping, and the smell of smoke reached your nostrils.

"Elijah?"

"Patience," he chuckled.

You heard the rustle of fabric, and then his warm breath tickled your cheek.

"Open your eyes," he whispered.

You opened your eyes, and let out a gasp. There was a blanket spread on the ground, surrounded by candles, the flames flickering and dancing.

"This is lovely," you breathed.

"I hoped you would like it," he said, leading you over to the blanket and helping you sit down.

"How did you do all this?" You asked, looking around at the candles.

"Niklaus," he explained, sitting beside you. "He thinks I should woo you properly."

"Oh?" You grinned. "Woo me, hmm?"

He blushed, his gaze moving down to the blanket.

You lifted his chin, and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. He responded eagerly, deepening the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his lap.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and shifted to straddle his lap. Giggling softly as his hands moved to your rear.

You could see the glow of the fire through the trees, and hear the faint sounds of the celebration, but you were alone, and free to be together.

He broke the kiss, his dark eyes shining in the candlelight. "I want to make my intentions known," he whispered, brushing his nose against yours. "I wish to marry you, if you will have me."

"Yes," you breathed, nodding eagerly.

"You're certain?" He asked, his expression serious. "It is not too soon?"

"No, I want this," you said, smiling. "I love you."

"And I, you," he whispered, his hand moving up to cup your cheek.

"I wish we could get married tonight," you said, resting your forehead against his.

He hummed in agreement, his thumb stroking your cheek.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the moment. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," he replied, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

"Have you... Uhm..." you stammered, your face heating up. "That is, have you ever...you know...before?"

His cheeks flushed, and his hands fell to his sides. "No, I haven't," he confessed. "Although I would very much like to."

"Oh," you breathed, his words sending a rush of desire through you.

You could feel the bulge in his trousers, and the knowledge that he was aroused only fueled your own excitement. You rolled your hips, and a groan rumbled in his chest.

"Y/N," he said, his voice strained.

"Yes?"

"We should stop," he whispered, his hands gripping your waist.

"Should we?" You asked, rocking your hips again, delighting in the way his breath caught.

"I think so," he nodded, his gaze meeting yours.

You could see the conflict in his eyes, his desire for you warring with his sense of honor.

"I think we should stay," you whispered, leaning closer, brushing your lips against his. "Unless you're afraid of me, and my womanly wiles."

"Afraid?" He scoffed. "Hardly."

"Good," you smiled, kissing him.

His hands tightened around your waist, and he moaned into the kiss, deepening it. You could feel the tension in his body, his restraint wavering.

You pulled back, breathless, and looked into his eyes. You saw the desire there, and the love, and knew you were ready. You pulled on the strings in the front of your dress, and loosened the garment, slipping it off your shoulders and revealing your bare chest.

You wanted to etch the look on his face into your memory forever. The mixture of awe, admiration, and desire. He was trying not to just stare at your chest, his hands twitching at his sides, as if fighting the urge to touch.

You took one of his hands, and brought it to your breast, his palm warm and soft against your skin. His breath hitched, and his pupils dilated, his gaze moving from his hand to your face.

"You are so soft," he whispered, his thumb brushing against the sensitive peak.

You let out a quiet moan, your lips parting, your head falling back. He took advantage, and pressed kisses along your jaw, and down the column of your neck, his other hand sliding up to knead your other breast.

His lips moved lower, and he brushed his mouth against the swell of one of your breasts, and the sensation sent a thrill through you. You had never been touched like this, and you could feel the dampness growing between your thighs.

He took your nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, and the feeling was indescribable. A rush of heat flooded your veins, the cold air suddenly forgotten. Your hands moved into his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark curls.

His other hand cupped the swell of your breast, his fingers plucking and teasing the peak, eliciting little gasps and moans from you. You had never felt such pleasure, the gods were surely smiling down upon the two of you.

"Elijah," you breathed, your hips moving against him, seeking friction.

He let go of your nipple with a wet pop, his gaze moving back to yours. His lips were pink, and swollen, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. He was panting, his chest rising and falling, his hands moving down to rest on your hips.

"My dear," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "I would very much like to lay with you, if you are certain this is what you want."

You nodded, and kissed him, his hands moving up your back and pulling you close.

He lowered you onto the blanket, his body covering yours. His weight felt good, solid and comforting, and you let out a soft sigh. He kissed his way down your neck, pausing to press kisses to your shoulder and chest, pulling a giggle from you.

You reached down and tugged at his tunic, and he pulled back long enough to yank the garment over his head. Your hands moved over his torso, exploring the contours of his muscles, admiring his strength. He was beautiful, and you couldn't help but wonder what the rest of him would look like.

Your cheeks felt warm, your whole body thrumming with desire. Your gaze met his, and you saw a similar mix of lust and nervousness in his eyes.

"What now?" You asked, a little breathless.

He gave a soft chuckle, and leaned down to kiss you, his hands moving over your hips and thighs, pushing up the skirt of your dress. You gasped when his fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your small clothes.

"I've heard from the other men... that they have to... prepare the woman, first," he explained, a slight tremble in his voice.

"Oh," you breathed, a new wave of desire washing over you.

His fingers tugged at the string holding your undergarment on, and he slowly slid the garment down your legs, his eyes fixed on the newly exposed flesh.

"Elijah," you whispered, shifting beneath him.

He tossed your undergarment aside, and ran his hands up the insides of your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You bit your lip, feeling a little self-conscious, but when he leaned down and kissed the patch of curls, all thoughts fled from your mind.

You were certain that the gods had made you for each other. You felt his breath on the most sensitive part of you, and when his tongue brushed against it, a bolt of pleasure shot through you, and you tugged on his hair, trying to pull him closer.

He continued licking and sucking, the sounds making your face flush. He pushed your thighs up and open, exposing more of you to him.

You looked down, watching the way he tentatively tasted you, he was eager and curious, and his attentions were sending a steady rush of heat and pressure to your core.

He found the spot that made you whimper, and began sucking on it, drawing out the pleasure, making you moan and shake. He seemed encouraged by the sound, his movements becoming bolder, more sure.

The heat grew, the pleasure building, and you found yourself grinding against his face, chasing the sensation.

He let out a groan, and the vibration only added to the delicious torment. You felt like you were going to explode, the tension reaching its peak, and when he gently bit down on the sensitive nub, you came undone.

You arched off the ground, stars exploding behind your eyes. Your legs clamped around his head, trapping him in place, but he didn't seem to mind, continuing to lick and suck until the pleasure became too much.

You pulled on his hair, and he lifted his head, his mouth glistening in the firelight. You stared at him, panting and sweaty, wondering how it could have been so much better than the whispers had suggested.

He crawled up your body, his lips capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the flavor heady and intoxicating. He smiled against your lips, and you reached between the two of you, tugging at the laces on his trousers.

"May I?" You asked, the tips of your fingers dipping beneath the waistband.

He nodded, a soft moan escaping him as your hand closed around his shaft. It was warm, hard, and velvety smooth. You stroked him, enjoying the way his face contorted with pleasure, his hips rocking into your touch.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," he breathed. "Your touch is much different than my own."

"I should hope so," you chuckled. "Do you like it?"

"Yes," he groaned.

"Good," you smiled, your hand moving up and down his length, exploring what made him groan and move his hips.

"Enough," he panted, pulling away. "I do not wish to spill myself."

You chuckled and laid back, pulling him down on top of you. He tried to line himself up with your entrance, but he kept missing, his hand shaking. You let out a soft giggle, and took his shaft in your hand, guiding him into position.

"Like this," you whispered.

You felt him press against your entrance, the pressure unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. He leaned down and kissed you, his hips slowly thrusting forward, easing his length inside you.

The stretch burned a little, the feeling of fullness was overwhelming. You clung to him, his arms shaking, his breath hot against your skin. He was trying to be gentle, and you could tell it was taking all his self-control.

You ran a hand up his spine, feeling the tension in his body, the way his muscles quivered. You had never felt closer to anyone, the intimacy was almost too much, the emotion threatening to spill over.

"Are you all right?" He whispered, his gaze meeting yours. "Does it feel good?"

You nodded, "how about you?"

He chuckled, "better than anything I have ever felt."

You grinned, and lifted your hips, letting him know it was all right to move. He did, pulling out almost all the way, then easing back in. You could see the concentration on his face, his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed.

"More," you pleaded, wanting to feel him fully.

He complied, his pace increasing, the feeling of him moving inside you driving away the ache and leaving only pleasure.

"I'm afraid I will not last much longer," he breathed, his lips brushing against your cheek.

"It's all right," you assured him, reaching down in-between the two of you, feeling where you were connected.

It was wet, and warm; the coarse curls of his pelvis tickled your palm. You touched his shaft, stroking him as he thrust into you, and his hips bucked, a low moan escaping him.

"Y/N," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his hips snapping forward.

His body stiffened, and his breath caught, his shaft pulsing inside you, and you could feel the warm flood of his release. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, both of you panting and trembling.

He lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting yours, his cheeks flushed, a hint of a smile on his lips. You leaned up and kissed him, pouring all your love and happiness into it.

He pulled back, resting his forehead against yours.

"Are you all right?" He whispered.

"More than all right," you told him, running a hand through his hair. 

"As am I," he replied, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "We should get cleaned up and return to the celebration before we are missed."

"Or we could stay here," you suggested, smiling mischievously.

"Tempting," he chuckled. "But not wise."

"Fine," you sighed.

He pulled out of you, and you felt a twinge of loss, the cold air reminding you how wet and swollen you still were. He got up and fetched his tunic, cleaning you both up as best he could.

"There," he said, helping you up. "That should do until we can get a proper bath."

"I would very much like to bathe with you," you told him, grinning.

"As would I," he replied, handing you your dress.

You fixed your dress as he snuffed out the candles and collected them in the blanket, sneaking glances at each other, the blush still lingering on your cheeks. Once you were presentable, you took his hand, and followed him back to the celebration.

The sounds of the village grew louder, the voices and music carrying through the trees. He paused, and pulled you into a kiss, his hands resting on your waist. You melted into him, a familiar warmth spreading through you. He pulled away, looking down at you, his expression serious.

"I've known since the first time I saw you," he confessed, his cheeks turning pink. "That this is where I'm meant to be. That you are the one."

"Elijah," you whispered, tears burning in the back of your eyes. "I love you."

"And I love you," he smiled, kissing your forehead. "I will speak with your father tomorrow. There are wedding plans to be made."

"You will?" You squealed, throwing your arms around his neck.

"Of course," he chuckled, hugging you tightly.

He kissed you again, his lips moving slowly, savoring the moment. He reluctantly pulled away, taking your hand.

"Come, we must get back," he whispered, tugging you toward the village.

You followed him, the grin never leaving your face.

Your father would surely be surprised, but Elijah was a good man, a strong warrior, and would be a good husband. Your mother would be delighted, she had always liked Elijah. And, hopefully, that would convince your father to agree.

You couldn't wait to tell everyone the good news. You would finally have the wedding you always dreamed of.

The gods had been smiling down on the both of you, and tonight would be a night you would remember forever.

Snow had fallen in the early hours of the morning after the festival, and it continued for nearly a week. The wind howled, and the village was blanketed in white. It was a gloomy, dark and damp, the wind blowing fiercely, causing the shutters to bang against the wall.

A storm like this would keep everyone inside for at least a month. Fortunately your village was prepared, with plenty of stores and provisions, and the people were content to remain indoors, huddled near the fire.

You wished you were curled up next to Elijah throughout all this, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill in the air. Instead, you were trapped inside with your parents for nearly a month now, trying to keep the gloom at bay.

Your father had only left home once since the solstice, checking in on the villagers and making sure everyone was safe. He returned with good news, the livestock had survived the storm, and the storehouses were well stocked.

You helped your mother prepare food, and kept the hearth burning. The house was warm and cozy, but you couldn't stop the worry from creeping in. You hadn't been feeling well for weeks, food seemed to turn your stomach, and you'd grown irritable, snapping at your parents for no reason.

Your mother had taken notice, and was watching you closely, her eyes narrowing.

"Come sit," she called from her chair, the furs draped over her legs.

"I'm busy," you sighed, adding a few logs to the fire.

"Your father is seeing to the animals," she pointed out, a knowing look in her eye. "Sit," she said firmly, patting the empty seat next to her.

You let out a huff, and plopped down, crossing your arms.

"I can tell something is troubling you," she murmured, reaching out and stroking your hair.

"I just wish to see my friends," you said softly, picking at a loose thread on the cushion. "It's so dull and boring here."

"Ah, yes," she nodded. "And is there one particular friend you would like to see?"

"I suppose," you said, shrugging, feigning disinterest.

"I think there's a young man who is just as eager to see you," she smiled, reaching out and taking your hand. "Do you wish to speak of it?"

"No," you mumbled, not meeting her eye.

She was quiet for a moment, and then cleared her throat. "Are you in love?"

"Mother," you gasped, glancing toward the door, a nervous flutter in your belly.

"I was once a young girl, I know what it feels like," she smiled, squeezing your hand. "You should have seen me, I was hopeless, sighing and daydreaming. Your father had me under a spell," she grinned, a faraway look in her eyes.

"Really?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yes," she giggled, her cheeks turning pink. "We... don't tell him I told you this...," she whispered, leaning in. "We would... sneak off and feast on the fruits… far before planting the tree," she giggled.

"Mother!" You exclaimed, your face flaming.

"I was very much in love," she said, patting your hand. "As are you, it seems."

"I...," you hesitated, the words getting stuck in your throat.

"Tell me, my child," she murmured, giving you a warm smile. "Do you wish to marry him?"

"I... Yes," you nodded, returning her smile. "I love him."

"And does he love you?"

"Yes, he does," you smiled.

Her hand moved to your stomach, and she rubbed slow circles. Her eyes met yours, a knowing look in them.

"Does he know?"

"Know what?" You asked, confused.

"My dear, you've been unwell," she explained. "Has it not occurred to you why?"

"No," you shook your head.

"Your body has changed, I noticed it the other morning when you were dressing. Your breasts are fuller, your waist is a little thicker. And," she stopped, and reached down, taking your hand and guiding it to your stomach. "Your belly is softer."

"I...uhm," you shook your head, panic welling up inside you.

"I'm not saying this to scare you," she soothed. "This is a good thing. The gods have blessed you."

"Oh," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.

"When was the last time you bled?" She asked, tilting her head.

"I...don't know," you admitted. "A moon ago? Before the snow fell."

"Is that around the time you and Elijah were...feasting on the fruits?" She asked, lowering her voice.

You nodded, and felt the tears spill over.

"Don't be afraid," she cooed, gathering you into her arms."I'm not angry, I promise,"

"Father will be," you mumbled, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"Perhaps not," she replied, her voice gentle. "If Elijah is a good man, he will take care of you. You and the baby. And your father will come around."

"You really think so?"

"I do," she assured you. "I will speak with him."

"What if the baby isn't his?" You asked, chewing on your lip.

"You've been with no other men, have you?" She said, her tone growing stern, her eyes hard.

"No," you shook your head.

She paused for a moment then laughed, and squeezed your shoulders. "Then the child is Elijah's."

"But what if father doesn't believe it? What if-,"

"Hush," she said firmly. "It will be alright. Do not worry."

"Are you certain?"

"I am," she smiled, stroking your cheek.

"You're not angry with me?" You asked, feeling a little guilty.

"No, I'm not," she assured you. "But I would prefer the wedding take place sooner rather than later."

Your conversation was interrupted by the sounds of your father returning and more voices joining his.

"Come," your mother whispered, standing and reaching for your hand. "I'll make us some tea."

You nodded, and followed her to the table.

"Good afternoon, my loves," your father greeted you, stomping the snow off his boots.

Niklaus and Elijah followed behind, they had brought food and supplies, the two of them covered in a thick layer of snow.

"It's a good thing these two came along," your father commented, shaking his head. "I might have gotten lost out there."

"It is quite a blizzard," Niklaus chuckled, pulling his cloak off.

"These fine gentlemen are going to stay with us until the storm passes," your father said, glancing at your mother. "The snow has caved in the roof of their hut."

"Well," your mother clapped her hands. "That settles it. Let me get a hot meal on the table."

You watched Elijah as he pulled off his cloak, the fur falling away, revealing his strong arms and shoulders. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and quickly averted your eyes.

"Sweetie, will you show them where the linens are kept? We'll need to make up the beds."

"Of course," you murmured, standing and crossing the room.

"Here," Elijah said, reaching into his pack and pulling out a bundle. "We brought extra furs," he smiled.

"Thank you," you murmured, feeling his gaze on you.

Niklaus helped your father with the firewood and Elijah followed you to the backroom, helping you pull the linens out.

As soon as you were out of sight from the others, he pulled you into his arms, his lips finding yours.

"I've missed you," he breathed, his lips brushing over your skin.

You pressed your finger to his lips, shushing him. He smiled, his teeth nibbling on the digit. You blushed, and pulled your hand away, taking his hand and placing it on your stomach. His brow furrowed, and he looked down.

"I have a surprise," you whispered, biting your lip.

"A surprise?" He grinned, his hand sliding around to your back, pressing you closer.

"Our baby," you breathed, looking up at him, your heart thudding in your chest.

His eyes widened, and he shook his head.

"Are you certain?"

You nodded, and felt the tears begin to spill down your cheeks. You weren't sure if it was relief, or happiness, or fear, but it all came crashing down.

He wiped the tears from your cheeks, a wide smile on his face.

"Don't cry," he soothed, kissing your forehead. "I will take care of you."

"But my father," you sniffled.

He smiled and took your hand, leading you back into the main room. Your father was sitting at the table, while Niklaus stoked the fire and your mother was cooking, their voices filling the room.

She looked at you, and smiled softly. Your father glanced over, and his eyes narrowed at the sight of your hand in Elijah's.

"What's this?" He asked, his voice stern.

"Sir," Elijah started, swallowing nervously. "I know that we have not known each other long, but I have come to care deeply for your daughter. I would like to ask your permission to take her as my wife."

The silence that followed was deafening. Niklaus froze, and slowly stood, watching the scene unfold. The expression on your father's face was completely unreadable, his eyes focused on the two of you.

"Do you know what you're asking me, boy?"

"Yes, sir," he nodded. "I love her, and I will care for her."

Your father leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. His gaze went to Niklaus, who was still standing frozen by the hearth, a deer in the torchlight.

"Is your brother a good man?"

"He is, sir," Niklaus answered, his voice strained.

"Can he provide for her, can he protect her? Can he protect his children?"

"Yes, sir," he nodded.

Your father turned back to Elijah, his eyes narrowing.

"What do you intend to do when the snows have cleared, and the ground thaws?"

"I have found a piece of land not far from here," he explained. "With a river nearby, and plenty of forest. It's close enough to the village that it will not be difficult to travel."

"I see," your father murmured, glancing over at you.

You stared back at him, and tried not to let the hope show on your face.

"My child," he said, his voice soft. "Is this what you want?"

"It is," you nodded.

"I see," he said again, sighing softly. "The gods have spoken. It seems there will be a wedding."

"Sir?" Elijah asked, his voice wavering.

"I'm giving you my blessing," your father smiled.

You let out a happy sob, and threw your arms around Elijah's neck. He lifted you off the floor, his lips finding yours in a joyful kiss. You were dimly aware of the cheering coming from your parents and Niklaus, and you clung to him, the tears spilling down your cheeks.

You could have kissed him forever, but your mother cleared her throat, and you reluctantly pulled away.

 "Come, dinner is ready.” she said, smiling.

Elijah set you down, and gave your hand a squeeze. He led you to the table, and pulled out a chair for you. Niklaus and your parents joined you, and soon the sounds of eating and talking filled the room.

Your mother poured the tea, and you glanced up at Elijah, watching as he ate, his face flushed, his eyes shining. He met your gaze and smiled, a warmth spreading through you.

"Father... I have something else to tell you," you murmured, taking a sip of tea.

"Yes?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You will have a grandchild soon," you whispered, biting your lip.

This time, the silence that followed wasn't deafening, but absolutely terrifying. The expression on your fathers face went from happy to complete shock. Niklaus choked, and began coughing violently, but you suspected he wasn't choking, but simply trying to cover up his laughter. 

Your father's gaze went from you, then to Elijah, who had the good sense to look abashed, before finally settling on your mother, who simply shrugged, and continued to eat.

"So," he finally sighed, rubbing his face. "The wedding should be sooner rather than later."

"Yes, father," you nodded, your voice shaking.

He glanced at you, and reached over, taking your hand.

"You're sure?"

"I am." 

You watched his face, and were relieved to see his eyes fill with joy.

"Well," he grinned. "It seems I'm getting an early wedding gift."

"Really?" You squeaked, not quite believing what you were hearing.

"Yes," he laughed. "My little girl is having a baby. What better reason is there to celebrate?”

"Father," you cried, standing and hugging him.

He embraced you, and you could feel the tension melting away.

"The gods are truly smiling down on us," he chuckled, squeezing you tightly.

"They are," you agreed, giving him a watery smile.

"To new beginnings," your mother declared, raising her glass.

"To new beginnings," everyone echoed, and the conversation flowed, wedding plans being made.

As you listened to the conversations going on around you, and felt the warmth of the fire on your skin, and the heat of Elijah's hand resting on your knee, you couldn't help but feel that everything was going to be okay. You couldn't have asked for a better man to spend your life with.

The winter storm would pass, the snow would melt, and the sun would shine down on the village once more.

Spring was just around the corner.

[forsworned]

ok, but hear me out. Poly!tf141 on undercover mission. Reader is dressed up, think very club type attire or so. Paired think of the audio "favorite" by Isabel Larosa 👀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀˗ˏˋfavorite ft. poly!tf141ˎˊ˗

꒰ঌa/n໒꒱ okokokokokokokok i finally finished anon im sorry it took me so long, i was trying to make sure it made as much sense as possible but its a fucknnn wrapppppp , i hope u like it ;-; reblogs & comments are appreciated!!

꒰warning(s) heavily suggested polyship, alcohol abuse, violence, titty bar???꒱

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀˗ˏˋrequests are openˎˊ˗

Pulsating rhythms of the club thudded against their tightened sternums as they impatiently waited for her appearance. On one side, Kyle and Price sat on hightops, sipping slowly at their top shelf whiskey's. Price sucked his teeth at that. Damn them all to hell for their overpriced liquor.

Kyle chuckled from behind the rim of his glass at his Captain's displeasure.

"Fuckin' tossers. All o'em." Price's mood was quite piqued already. This mission for sure was going to get him diagnosed with hypertension.

"Relax, boss. She can handle it." Kyle's voice is smoother than the fine, fiery amber liquid they were downing. Price could admit that it was damn good whiskey.

"Not talkin' 'bout the duck." He retorted, finishing his glass and pushing it away from him. He teased the end of his stache between his fingers.

Kyle simpered at him. "Oh yeah? 'Suppose y'talkin' 'bout the whiskey then."

Price's icy blues peered up at his Sergeant's honey gaze, a half smirk curled up on his lips now.

"Damn good whiskey."

Kyle and Price both chuckled at that. Clearly they were both on edge and neither of them were willing to admit to that. It wasn't easy knowing that she was compromising all of herself for the sake of a mission while they sat their twiddling their thumbs like a bunch of sods.

"'re y'two gonna keep actin' like a pair of plonkers, or y'gonna do wha' y'were assigned to do 'n' keep watch?" Simon's rasping voice was heard over the comms.

Johnny snickered from his seat at the bar." Ahh, give 'em some slack, L.t.. It ain't easy watchin' oor wifie shake 'er ass in fron' of a bunch of--"

"I can hear you, y'know?" Her voice like a dream (the prettiest girl they've ever seeennn), pulling them out of their squabbling.

"There she is." Johnny's murmured, glancing over at her figure appearing between throngs of men. The bright strobe lights casting shadows over her form, highlighting her curves. Every stride more enchanting than the next as she bounced through the crowd so effortlessly. She balanced two whiskey glasses and a bottle of Glenfiddich on a slim black tray as she approached her two teammates.

Did their eyes deceive them, or was she really wearing that?

"On the house, boys." Her tone is ribbing, playful with a hint of a gentle chide. The curve of her red painted lips, and the feline-like eyeliner that cascaded over her tightlined eyes made her that much alluring. Their eyes traveled down her frame, carefully analyzing the black bodycon dress that fit her like a second skin.

The outfit was undeniably slutty. Black strings wrapping around her chest and over her shoulders. The neckline was low, revealing her cleavage while the length of the skirt just barely brushed against her ass. Their eyes stopping at the thigh-high black, latex boots she was wearing.

How long had she been hiding these outfits from them, they didn't know. And knowing her, she would never tell.

"On th' house, you say?" Kyle's gaze heavy on her. "Says who?"

She tilted her head to the side with an impish grin. "Says me."

Price's mouth seemed to have been full of cotton because he couldn't even manage a word. That satisfied her. "Enjoy, boys."

She sauntered off to the next set of patrons, and Price had to readjust himself for a moment as he shook his head with an incredulous look.

"Trousers gettin' too tight?" Simon jested over the comms. That earned a few chuckles.

"Where'd she get tha' lil thing anyways?" Price attempted to derail Simon's taunting.

Johnny's eyes never left her form from the moment she stepped out on the floor. She was working her magic with all the patrons, speaking the native language while he listened in on how it rolled off her tongue like it was her own as their haughty eyes undressed her—it was enough to make his skin crawl. "No idea, but 's makin' me kinda jealous."

"Ditto." Kyle shook his head as he poured his Captain and himself another drink.

"Le's get this shit over with." Price picked up his glass, clinking it against Kyle's before they both downed it with ease.

And boy was it not fun for any of them. Johnny's job really had to be the comedic relief for the night because the way that their collective blood pressure was raising right now was enough to send them into cardiac arrest.

Simon sat in the control room with his gun in his holster, knife in his left hand as he observed every individual body in the room. The mangled body to his left, slumped on the floor for the night as he flitted through multiple CCTV to track her movements and get an idea on the deal that was about to happen.

The mission? It involved an international weapons deal between the Mexican cartel and an arms manufacturer from Russia. They had to infiltrate the club that the cartel owned and [name]--very, very much to their dismay--was the bait.

Kyle, to no one's surprise, was the first one to break the silence.

"The boys are gettin' restless." Kyle eyed the crowd that seemed to be growing by the minute as more and more people came in for some late night fun. The cartel member's body language indicated that they were getting restless.

Price was already on edge. His fingers were gripping the Mexican Pine wood of the hightop table. Every second that went by felt like an eternity as he watched her shake her hips up against one of the cartel members and laughed as a bottle of vodka was passed around between them.

Simon grunted, watching more individuals come in. "Gonna be a bloodbath."

Johnny stayed quiet, but his brows were furrowed with worry. His baby blues watched her as she took a shot with one of the cartel members in an attempt to be flirty while he pressed a hand against the small of her back. Johnny couldn't hide the way his face contorted in disgust.

"Quit bouncin' y'leg, Johnny." Simon warned. In an instant, Johnny's actions are halted like a guard dog on command. He sucked his teeth.

Price's jaw ticked when he laid his icy glare on her taking another shot and laughed coquettishly while the cartel member's hand went up her skirt. "For Christ's sake."

Kyle gave his Captain a sympathetic grin. It was hard being the only one under control.

"Le's have another." He sighed, pouring them both another drink in a weary attempt to calm their nerves. Well, really Price's nerves.

As the night drew on, the club gained more traction. Her movements becoming more risqué as she allowed the men to grope her and squeeze her.

"Gonna lose my bloody shite here." Price muttered, the way they tried to get under her skirt as she laughed it off, her back pressed up against one of their bodies. She was good. He had to give her that much.

Simon turned his attention away from the screen, taking notice of the slight beads of sweat dripping down Price's temples.

He was sweating now too. To be so comfortable with these bastards as she played them like a fiddle. Price's heart was thudding in his ears. He couldn't breathe.

"Gimme an update on somethin', anythin', Simon." Price was practically pleading at this point. A small edge to his voice as he spoke with neediness, referring to the deal that was suppose to be made tonight.

Simon let out an exasperated huff as he kept his eyes on the group, laughing and sharing drinks.

"Still nothin' yet." Simon grunted, scrolling through several camera angles. A cigarette was pinched between his lips, and he pulled from it as he turned to look over at Price. It had been two hours of Price stewing in his seat with nothing to show for.

"She sure as hell ain't making it easy..." Price mumbled, running a hand over the back of his neck.

Kyle was observing the situation with a smirk. "Sure as hell not..." His mouth kicked up at the corner. She was being very provocative with them, trying to get them off their game.

"She's doin' a'ight for herself, ain't she, boss?" Kyle asked while Price remained stilled, almost intentionally provoking him a bit, which in its own respect was quite cruel to do but he couldn't help himself. The Captain was seething in silence, a small twitch on his mouth being the only indication that he had heard what his Sergeant had said.

Simon leaned his cheek against the cold wall of the control room, watching her play the men like a puppet master. Her words and touches were calculated.

He took another drag from his cigarette, trying to keep his nerves calm as Price felt like he was wasting away on his seat. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips and he silently thanked the cartel for installing such HD quality cameras so that he could at least savor this moment.

Three hours in, and there was no sign of the deal being made. Simon wondered if they all wasted their time being her back up.

"She might a'well be dancin' in a stripper's club," Price grunted, his back still stiff as he remained seated.

Simon bit back a laugh. "T’be fair, it is a titty club."

"Shut the 'ell up, Simon." Price turned over as his head pounded in tandem with his heartbeat. His jaw was clenched tight, blood boiling in his veins. "That does not change the fact that she is bein' taken advantage of."

"Right..." Simon muttered, taking another puff from his cigarette with a side-eyed smirk.

"Jus' wait until we have a debrief for this mission, you cocky bastard." Price grunted. It was an empty threat. Like the way a father would reprimand his naughty kids.

Kyle and Johnny could be heard chuckling over the comms and that seemed to alleviate the tense mood once again.

It wasn't until Simon noticed the shift in body language that sent his senses into overdrive. An instinct that he never ignored as he carefully analyzed one of the members who was leaning against the bar. He turned to the barman, ordered a round of drinks for him and his friends. In the distance, he could see [name's] lithe body swaying gracefully in and around the throngs of men. A slow, confident sway. His attention immediately shifted to the bar, catching glimpses of the body language between the cartel members and another girl they could barely keep their mouths off of.

She looked a lot like their [name]. The same build, the same hair and a similar fit. It made his stomach turn a bit.

This was the part of the mission he hated. It was when things started to get real—when there were a lot more moving pieces and when a slight error could cost her, them and the mission.

One of the members was speaking to the girl, he couldn't hear what his words were but he could read his body language clearly. He was starting to connect the dots when the girl was passed a keycard that was gently pushed into her back pocket.

"We've got movement." Simon warned.

"Where?"

Price and Simon could practically hear one another's voices on the edge of breaking.

"One o'em is passin' a keycard to woman at the bar. Keep watch." Simon commanded.

Kyle and Johnny stayed silent. But their focus remained locked on the pair, keeping eyes on her as the men around her continued to paw at her.

The barman finished pouring the drinks, and then a few other people passed by the cartel member before he leaned in to whisper her location. Simon took note.

The man and the girl began to walk away from the bar, heading towards a back door. Her body reacted defensively for a fleeting moment, recoiling ever so slightly to the unwanted touch. The door was out of the camera's range. Only the door handle could be seen. The man continued to drag her towards it, his grip tightening as he did. Simon got even more of an uneasy feeling as they drew closer.

Simon's eyes darted to another screen where a meeting was starting to take place and [name] had somehow managed to slip past the members. She was currently situated on the other side of the meeting doors, tucked away in a corner that kept her out of sight from them but gave him a clear view of her movement.

Simon noticed that there was two guards slumped over in the rooms leading to where [name] now was. "[name], do not engage. Do you copy?"

"Copy." Her voice crackled over the comms.

Simon couldn't help but think when the hell she got there with her weapon ready in hand, still in her same outfit from earlier. There wasn't much time to think about how or when she had done that.

"When did y'leave?" Kyle inquired, on behalf of them. A smirk could be heard in her voice.

"When no one was lookin', silly."

Johnny's and Price's jaw ticked in amusement at that.

"Slippery minx." Price muttered. "Weren't you s'pposed t'keep an eye 'er, Johnny?"

"I was." Johnny replied confidently. It was evident that he allowed her to do her own thing. It sure as hell beat gawking at her while other men got handsy with her assets.

Simon fixated on back on the pair from earlier, as they moved through multiple rooms, and suddenly she was thrown into the bathroom, landing on the tiles with a cry.

"Fuckin' military slut. You think I don't know who you are?" The cartel member sneered.

The girl recoiled and shook her head not able to find any words. "¡…n-no, señor! ¡N-no soy un chivato!"* She cried out.

(...n-no, mister! I am not a spy!)*

"Bloody hell, they've got the got the wrong lass." Simon grumbled over the comms realizing that there positions were somewhat compromised. It was natural for cartel members to be weary and hypervigilant about moles, but he had to maintain control over the situation.

The man didn't seem to be buying it as he fished out his gun from his holster. Simon could hear the sound of the man's voice rising over him manhandling the girl through the CCTV's audio system.

"I don't know what you are thinking you little whore, but you shouldn't have come to my club if you didn't want to get used! Don't come crying to me when these bastards finish with you!" The man yelled. His voice was so laced with arrogance and pride that Simon was tempted to get off the comms and put a bullet through his head.

By now it was obvious that the man thought she was [name]. The girl cowered before him in fear, not daring to move as she kept repeating that she wasn't a spy. But his eyes were filled with nothing but rage. It seemed to be the end of the line for her.

Simon's heart was in his throat as he watched the man aim his gun at her chest. He held the trigger down before another man walked in with two more guards.

He missed. He missed!

The girl's chest rose with relief, still trembling in fear.

"¡Maldito imbécil! ¡¿Parece una espía?!"* One of them shouts at the man who attempted to murder the girl just moments ago.

(Fucking moron! Does she look a like a spy?!)*

A gun is brought to his head and he's instructed to let go of her or die instead. The man lets go and backs away to allow the one of three guards to escort him off. The two guards that are left glare down at her in pity as they watch her shudder.

"Vete de aquí."* One of them gestured his head to the door.

(Get outta here)*

The girl tries to get to her feet but she collapses with tears streaming down her cheeks. They help her up and lead her out of the door as they shake their heads, muttering about who the fuck is training their guys nowadays.

"Fuckin' hell." Simon muttered to himself as he switched back his focus to the meeting happening in the room. No one had seemed to move from their positions. "'least tell us when y'r on th' move." His voice was filled with exasperation at [name's] cunningness.

"Sorry, Si."

She didn't mean that.

"How many?" Price asked over the comms, pushing away her actions to the back of his mind. He would deal with her later.

Simon could hear the girl cry as her tears mingled with the music from the club that drifted in and out of the bathroom. The girl was visibly distraught from her near death experience. Simon's lip was curled at the sight.

"Six." Simon replied as he watched the two guards lead her out of the restroom.

"Nine." Her voice interjected. "Those guys that took care of that--little squabble, are coming in right now." It made her heart wrench that she compromised another innocent woman, but with her out of harms way it was easier to focus on the mission once again.

"Sharp eye, hen." Johnny complimented her.

"Thank ya, Johnny." Her voice practically sang.

Minutes dragged by and Simon's eyes were dancing between [name] and the door that the cartel members all seemed to be facing, like they were waiting for the arms dealer to walk through at any given second.

"Any moment now." Simon muttered, keeping his eyes on the entrance for someone to enter, antsy for the deal to begin.

The door was pushed open and a man dressed in a crisp black suit with greased back silver hair and a thin, angular frame entered, along with another cartel member who held his weapon with his finger on the trigger. The man's eyes scanned the room as they approached the other cartel members, who remained relaxed. Simon let out a sharp breath, hoping that they had arrived on time to foil the deal.

"Tango has entered the building." Simon muttered into the comms.

A collective sigh of relief could be heard over their earpieces, but not from Price. His grip tightened on the bar stool as the seconds dragged on. It was hard to contain his breathing when his adrenaline spiked that high but he was managing.

Simon's voice was even and cool. He had trained for this moment. "Standby f'r engagement. Weapons free at m'signal."

"Copy." Price replied.

The transaction seemed ready to go down smoothly as the Russian man slid his briefcase towards the cartel members, who in turn slid over their weapons.

Simon's muscles began to tense, bracing himself for the inevitable gunfire. He was ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Price's hand went to the butt of his gun, checking that it was secure in its holster as he waited for the signal to move in.

The men made their exchange, and the deal looked like it was going to go down without a hitch. But something didn't feel quite right.

Just when it seemed like things were going to go swimmingly, one of the cartel members raised his weapon and fired at the man in the suit. The man dove for cover behind the bar as a bullet shattered the glass door behind him. Chaos erupted as the entire room exploded in gunfire.

Bullets ricocheting off the walls, commands being yelled over the noise the clamor could be heard from both sides as the cartel was scrambling out of sight. [name] took that as her ticket to take care of the Russian arms dealer, but she was gently pinned to the wall.

A familiary honeyed voice in her ear. "An' where do y'think y'r goin', ducky?"

Johnny, Price and Simon move in with ease and efficiency as they neutralized the threats with no remorse. It more than personal at this point, as she ogled the way Simon used his lucky blade against the throat of one man, Johnny breaking the arm of another and Price taking his sweet time over the man that he watched so vehemently put his hands up your skirt. There seemed to be a common theme here.

"Someone call it in." Price let out a exasperated sigh as he shot the last guy straight in the skull without even giving him a second glance. He carded his calloused fingers through sweat saturated locks and his eyes fell on her.

His Sergeant's arms were enveloped around her lovingly as they eagerly tabbed their teammates individual vendettas.

"Done, sir?" Kyle probed playfully as he eyed his Captain and then the other two men. Simon flicked off the blood on his blade on the ground before using the now cartel member's suit to clean of the rest and stuffed it back in its holster, while Johnny's casually rolled his neck from side to side, cracking his neck like he just finished sparring.

The corners of Price's mouth turned up into an incredulous grin as he licked his lips and riveted on [name]. "Y'pull anotha stunt like tha' again, ducky--" He breathed out and shook his head as he took in her puckish grin. "ah fuck it. I've got no fire left 'n me after tonight."

He scratched his temple with the rear end of his handgun. "Y'call it in, Johnny?"

"Done tha' already, Cap." Johnny's tongue was peaking out of his lips as he pressed them in a thin line to keep himself from laughing, but the way the corner of his lips were kicking up gave it away.

"Good man." Price clapped the Scot's shoulder and soon the soft brouhaha of their men was heard, approaching them as they slammed doors of their vehicles ready to clean up the bodies and take them back to base. Simon and Johnny were more than happy to help them drag off the bodies onto the oncoming stretchers.

Price's bleary eyes glanced over at her form for a fleeting second before he headed toward the truck, but not before he pinched the exposed skin of her ass cheek causing her to yelp.

She pouted at him in passing to which he gave her a cheeky grin, gently instigating a smirk from her. Kyle's lips are on her cheek, his subtle stubble scratching her soft skin as she feels his breath against her ear.

"Y'r really in for it this time, ducky."

[momojedi]

Could I have #88 and #97 with Captain Rex, pretty please...??

JUST MARRIED PAIRING: Captain Rex x GN! Reader

#88 | “Don’t panic but I think we might have accidentally gotten married…” #97 | “I want you and I know you want me too.”

GENRE: Fluff WARNING: none A/N: Since I got prompted #88 by an anon who asked for no one in particular, I mixed up your request with theirs. Thanks for requesting!

MASTERLIST | MOMOJEDI'S 300 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION

"Mhi solus tome,

Mhi solus dar’tome.

Mhi me’dinui an,

Mhi ba’juri verde."

Intense concentration furrows my brow as I massage my temples, striving to translate the unfamiliar words. "For fuck's sake," I mutter, frustration punctuating each syllable as I kick a nearby pebble with surprising strength, eliciting a muffled groan and the metallic clang of beskar as it ricochets off a distant helmet.

Two weeks may not seem long, especially when operating undercover among a terrorist faction whilst the galaxy is engulfed in war. It would probably be advisable to keep a cool head and avoid making a big deal out of insignificant subjects—such as unfamiliar phrases. However, when those words escape the lips of your longtime crush, delivered with an unexpected fervor while locking passionate eyes with you in a language foreign to your ears...

Well, needless to say, I've devoted more time to overthinking it than I care to admit.

When General Skywalker tasked us with shadowing Death Watch until the Jedi Council reached more intel, I hadn't given it much thought... admittedly, he hadn't specified that by "us" he didn't mean Ahsoka and me, as usual, but rather the captain of the 501st and myself—the very someone I've harboured feelings for since the day we met.

Nevertheless, I maintained my composure, played my part, and stayed under the radar, much like Rex, until Death Watch proposed an elaborate ceremony—a ceremony whose name I could barely pronounce, let alone understand its significance. Before any suspicion could arise, Rex quickly agreed in my place, and now here I am, entangled in some eerie ritual with a military captain whose gaze seemed entranced, so intense was his focus.

"If I had my datapad right now...," I hiss under my breath, casting blame on whoever decided I should leave my sole translation device behind. Likely Skywalker.

The crunch of gravel under heavy boots interrupts my daydreaming. I spin around sharply, only to find the very man haunting my mind approaching. "I figured I'd find you here," Rex hums as he settles beside me. "Yeah," I reply with a dry laugh, brushing the dust off my hands. "Sorry, I suppose I just needed... alone time. After everything yesterday, you know?" Rex's eyes widen almost comically, and he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. "Oh... yeah."

The ensuing silence gnaws at my nerves, prompting me to pop the question after another agonising five minutes. "Hey, about that... what did those words mean, anyway?" "I'm not sure what you're referring to," Rex responds, avoiding my gaze. I gulp. He can't have forgotten, can he? "Come on, Rex... It seemed significant." After a moment's hesitation, Rex sighs, running a hand over his buzzcut before raising his head to face me, though still evading it. "I..." "Yes?" "Alright, fine. [Name], don't panic, but... we might have accidentally... gotten married."

...

"WHAT?"

"Shh!" Rex quiets me with a gentle hand over my mouth, his eyes darting cautiously around us before he releases me. I shake my head slowly, puzzled. "Sorry, but what?" "The, um, the words... they were Mandalorian wedding vows," he admits, his tone tinged with uncertainty. I can't help but laugh. Married? Us? "You're joking." "Unfortunately not," he replies, a slight smile tugging at his lips, before his expression shifts to sheepishness as he rubs the back of his neck. "Though I do believe you'd make an excellent partner." Suppressing a chuckle, I ignore the warmth creeping into my cheeks.

"Actually, I realized we needed a distraction when I overheard some members gossiping behind our backs. They were growing suspicious, so I thought perhaps they'd relax if we participated in some traditions." Rex sighs, examining a pebble he's picked up. I shoot him a hopeful sidelong glance before quickly looking away, feeling my heart quicken.

Force, this man is captivating.

Silence envelops us once more as we both drift deeper into our own thoughts. When I sense the gravel shifting under his weight, I raise an eyebrow. "It wouldn't bother me, you know?" A lump forms in my throat, causing a series of coughs to escape at his words. "Wh-what?" "Being with you." Suddenly, his warm yet weighty hand finds mine. Sweat prickles at my heated skin as I keep my gaze fixed ahead.

"R-rex, are you suggesting...?" "[Name]," he interrupts, turning to face me. Before I can evade his gaze, he gently lifts my chin, compelling me to meet his eyes. I run my tongue over my dry lips, which his gaze is now fixated on. "I want you. And I know you want me, too." His proximity sends shivers down my spine as goosebumps ripple over my arms and back. His newfound confidence is palpable. "I've noticed the way you look at me, how you stare. I know, [name]," he murmurs against my lips, "what do you think?"

I flush, gripping his wrist as I lock eyes with his warm gaze. "I think you're right." Rex chuckles deeply, resonating like a rumble in his chest. "Good." And before I realize it, his lips meet mine,

Time seems to slip away as I surrender completely to the kiss. Eventually, Rex pulls back, leaving me breathless, and flashes me a mischievous grin.

“So, about that wedding night…”

[dewdropdinosaur]

Only For You

ALASTOR X READER Summary: You are beautiful there is no doubt about that. But Alastor would prefer that you kept that beauty only for him Warnings: NONE. Just sassy narrator as always(I will applaud anyone who figures out who the snarky narrator is of my stories) This was a request for the lovely @anon-of-the-void. Enjoy darling! REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN. See pinned post for rules.

In the heart of Hell, where the shadows danced to the tunes of torment, there resided a figure unlike any other – Alastor, the Radio Demon. He ruled over the airwaves of the infernal realm with his charismatic voice and sinister charm, a being of darkness wrapped in the allure of the old radio era. Having a penchant for old-fashioned charm and a twisted sense of humor, he found himself entangled in an unexpected romance with a fellow sinner….you.  There was a peculiar softness within Alastor, a hidden warmth that few dared to perceive save yourself. It was in the tender glances he shared with his beloved, the unspoken acts of service he provided and yes…even his certain shall we say—possessive nature. 

You were Alastor's almost in every way opposite. Which made it hard for many of the Hotel’s residents to understand how you even got together in the first place or even got along(That dear reader is a story for another time)

You exude confidence and have no qualms about your appearance. Proud of your demonic allure, you revel in showcasing curves and radiant skin. Yet, all of this sexual tension that is exuded was for none other than the Radio Demon himself, and for your own sense of amusement of course. Flaunting oneself for all of Hell only to be uninterested and leaving both men and women alike all hot and bothered was particularly entertaining one could speculate. 

Alastor, however, was not as open-hearted about such boldness from you. His possessive nature stirred within him, a jealousy that simmered beneath his charismatic facade. Oh how the screams of many who had dared look at his darling for a second too long made a horrific melody over his radio tower…You had long since tried to stop him for it was pretty much a futile effort at this point. Despite being the only one privy to what lied beneath your revealing clothing, the red demon still felt the swells of envy within him. He craved attention and that your beautiful soul only be turned in his direction and for him only. When you in the nude simply invited Alastor in the bathroom while showering for a chat. Poker was a common pastime while doing your makeup, to which he would often let you win, or listening to LPs while you both danced around half dressed. 

One fateful evening, as the shadows draped the corridors of Hell, Alastor and you found yourselves amidst a gathering of the Hotel residents and staff. Your laughter rang through the air, form draped in silken garments that accentuated every curve, every line of demonic beauty.  Wearing an outfit that highlighted everything, your fiery eyes sparkled with mischief. Alastor couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and possessiveness, his snarky smile masking the growing jealousy within him. He watched from afar, his ruby eyes ablaze with a mixture of desire and resentment. As the eyes of Hell lingered upon you(mainly Angel and Sir Pentious, the latter unable to help himself, poor gentleman), a surge of possessiveness consumed him. With a snarl disguised as a smirk, he approached your side, wrapping his coat around your shoulders; his voice dripping with honeyed venom.

“Here my dear, you must be cold.” Leaning down to whisper in your ear, he spoke so only she could hear “Darling, must you parade around like a succubus on display?" Alastor quipped, trying to hide his true feelings behind his charismatic persona.

You chuckled, a demonic laugh echoing through the chaotic streets. "Oh, Alastor, dear, why hide what I have? It's a crime to keep such beauty under wraps." Turning to face him, laughter dancing in your eyes. “Must you always be so possessive?” You teased with a voice so close to a melody that stirred the depths of his being.

Alastor's snarky smile faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of insecurity. "I just prefer to keep you all to myself, my dear. No need to share your radiance with the whole underworld."

However, not one to be controlled and quite liking to rile up your partner, you sauntered away from Alastor. With a mischievous glint, after taking off his coat and handing it back to him, you teasingly exposed more of your demonic allure. The other demons ogled in admiration(except Husk who knew better than to get between his so-called boss and his partner….also a story for another time), and Alastor's jealousy reached its peak.

Alastor's smile faltered, his grip reaching out towards your form and  tightening around your waist. "In a realm where darkness reigns supreme, one must guard what is precious," he replied, his words dripping with thinly-veiled jealousy. Little green lights flickered around the hotel as the shadows smirked and moaned, yet you stood there unafraid. 

Determined to claim your attention for himself, Alastor conjured a stylish black coat from thin air and draped it over your bare shoulders. "There, my love, let's keep a bit of your mystery, shall we?"

Laughing heartily and not bothered by the sudden cover-up, you relented. "If it makes you happy, Alastor, I'll indulge your possessiveness." Walking your fingers up Alastor’s chest to adjust and fix his bow tie, you flashed a soft and genuine smile up at your partner. 

"My dear Radio Demon," you whispered, breath warm against his ear, "there is no need for jealousy. My heart belongs to you and you alone."

With those words, Alastor's doubts faded into the abyss, replaced by the warmth of the embrace. In the depths of Hell, amidst the chaos and the shadows, love had found its way into the hearts of demons, a flickering flame in the darkness that refused to be extinguished.

“And besides my love, you know I never much cared for that kind of attention from anyone but you anyway.” 

As you and Alastor  continued your stroll through the Hotel while mingling with guests, Alastor clung to your side; content that he had, at least momentarily, subdued his jealousy. Little did he realize that love in Hell was as unpredictable as the flames that flickered throughout the underworld, and the dynamic between the snarky Radio Demon and his confident partner would continue to evolve in the fiery depths of their unconventional romance.

[drabblesandimagines]

I absolutely love how you write Halsin, can I request a fic with a fem Tav having a nightmare sometime after Orin's kidnapping. The possession scene still haunts me to this day and keep imagining Tav seeing that over n over on top of struggling to rescue him. It ends with him waking and comforting her. Keep up the great work!

Thank you, lovely anon! I hope you enjoy - please let me know! xxx

Nightmares

Your limbs feel heavy, vision somewhat blurred around the edges as you walk past strangely empty tents in the camp on the outskirts of Rivington.

There’s an overpowering smell of rust in the air as you approach the barn, the dirt soon growing damp under your boots and it isn’t long before a squelch accompanies every step.

A sinking feeling in your stomach as a large figure emerged from the shadows.

Halsin – your sweet, caring druid - looms over the lifeless bodies of Gale, Astarion and Shadowheart. They’re splayed out almost atop of one another, arms and legs at unnatural angles, gruesome tears in their flesh, the straw sodden with red that matches the splatters across Halsin’s bare chest.

“What…?”

“Go,” Halsin growls between gritted teeth. There’s a look in his eye you haven’t seen before, his muscles shuddering with exertion as he tries to catch his breath. “Go - now - before I do the same to you.”

“No.” You shake your head, furiously, as if it might change the scene. “This isn’t real. it can’t be. You wouldn’t, Halsin-”

“It’s this city,” he grunts, thumping his chest with his fist as he glares at you. “The corruption, I cannot hold it back any longer. Why did you bring me here? I said-“

His eyes flash gold for a split second before the light engulfs his entire body – fur swiftly taking its place as he transforms and emits a mighty roar.

You take a step back in retreat and immediately trip over something – an arm or a leg – falling and knocking the back of your head upon stone. Above is no longer the ceiling of the drafty barn but what appears to an endless chasm. You sit up, scrambling back on your hands, heart pounding as you recognize your surroundings.

The Temple of Bhaal.

Halsin lies on the altar, his knuckles grazing the floor as his arm hangs off the side. You stumble up to your feet without further thought, not even checking for any Bhaal cultists or Orin herself, only focused on reaching him.

His eyes, once so full of warmth and love, stare blankly skyward - lifeless and bloodshot.

You’re too late.

There’s a scroll clenched in the fist resting upon his still chest. You tug it out with gentle fingers and unfurl it, only for to burn into ash immediately, only allowing you a glimpse of what was written at the top.

Speak with the dead.

Halsin’s body is illuminated in an eerie green glow. Not the greens of nature that he so adored, but something entirely unwordly. His neck cracks as he turns his head to face you, a hollow, foreign voice emitting from his mouth.

“You did not come for me.”

“No, I did. We did. We were just-” Cold fingers encircle your wrist, keeping you in place by the altar.

“No.” He cuts across, emotionless. “You left me here to die – alone.”

“No, Halsin. No, I swear. I don’t know what happened. We were just in camp and-“

“I called out for you.” His fingers squeeze your wrist so hard you swear the bones are about to break. “I called your name over and over and over, until my voice grew hoarse.” He places his other hand at the base of your throat, fingers splayed out over your collarbones. “I called for you, the one who lay with me, claimed to love me… yet still you did not come.”

“Halsin, please, listen-”

“You killed me.” He trails his fingers up your neck, pausing to cup your chin. “And, now, with the Oak Father as my witness, I will reset the balance of nature.”

With one powerful squeeze around your throat, your breath is cut off.

--

Whilst most elves favour four or so hours of trance, Halsin has proved to be quite the heavy sleeper in comparison – most likely due to the time he has spent in his ursine form – though a whimper from your lips is enough to wake him immediately, concerned.

He releases you from his spooned embrace, laid upon the pile of furs upon the ground, in fear that he’d somehow caused you pain, perhaps squeezed a little too tight in his dreams as he sought your warmth.

The furrowed brow, twitching limbs and mumbled, somewhat frantic protests, however, suggest you are in the throes of a nightmare. The druid swears his heart breaks, knowing it is best that you wake under your own steam rather than him call or shake you.

Mercifully, he does not have to wait long. You sit bolt upright with a desperate, gasping breath, drenched in a cold sweat, eyes flitting furiously side to side as you try and work out where you are now.

Your heart is pounding dangerously loud in your ears, so much so you can’t hear how hard you’re trying to gulp down mouthfuls of air, but it’s as if it stagnates at the top of your lungs, never truly getting deep enough.

Tears burn at your eyes at the effort and Halsin cannot hold himself back any longer. He places a large hand against the small of your back, hoping his gentle touch would help ground you.

You flinch at the contact, eyes widening as you finally see him in the dim light of the tent. There is a momentary flicker of fear across your face that Halsin prays to Silvanus that he will never see again.

It’s a short, gasp of a breath in and out and the colour now drained entirely from your cheeks that drives him to act. He pulls you onto his lap in a smooth motion, pressing your back snug up against his chest, ignoring another flinch as he places a palm between your collarbones.

“Forgive me, my heart,” he bends his head to speak directly into your ear, too aware of how hard your heart is beating and wanting to be sure you’ll hear – he can feel the dull thud against his own chest. “I need you to breathe with me.”

His body feels warm. You twitch, trying to turn to face him, check his face over for injuries, feel his heart beat beneath your fingertips, but he has you nestled perfectly between his thighs, keeping you still.

“I have you, petal. I promise you are safe.” His breath dances across your neck. “Close your eyes, focus on my touch and breathe as deep as you can. Please.”

Dark spots are dancing around your vision now, so it’s easy to close your eyes. Halsin is breathing deliberately slowly - exaggerating his inhales and exhales so your body shifts with each of his breaths in the hopes that you’ll mimic the movement.

It is trial and error - more than a few resulting in short, sharp gasps and spluttering breaths – but, slowly and surely, your heart beat slows and your breaths grow more productive.

The scent of moss, wood smoke, various herbs and flowers permeate through the panic and you finally recognize where you are in – in your dwelling in the commune.

It has been four months since the fall of the Nether Brain.

You twist in his lap again, desperate to see his face, to check if his eyes are still lifeless. Halsin permits it this time and it is with a sigh of relief that you see your druid whole and alive.

“My love?” His tone is so cautious that you break into a sob.

Halsin pulls you back against his bare chest in an instant, maneuvering you into a more comfortable position with ease as you cry. He does not make to hush you, or ask you what is wrong, only rocks you back and forth in his arms, pressing periodic kisses to your crown as he does.

Even when your sobs eventually cease into teary, pathetic hiccups, he does not press for details, remaining in silence until you build up the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, unsure if he has even heard.

Halsin presses a final kiss to your crown. “There is nothing to apologise for, petal.”

You look up at him, shaking your head. “No, there is. I was too late. T-the Bhaal Temple. I was too late. You-”

“You were having a nightmare. Please”, he lifts a hand to your cheek, stroking away a stray tear with his thumb, “do not torment yourself with recollection of such dark dreams. All is well – we are both safe.”

His other hand leaves your side for a moment, grabbing something you can’t see. You make to protest – it’s not safe, it’ll never be safe, Bhaal still exists, what if it was a message, or a threat? – but it dies on your tongue as he holds up a small bouquet of dried flowers under your nose, the scent calming you almost instantly.

“Humour me a moment, do you recognize the scents?”

“Mm-hm.” You take them from his hand, twirling them between your thumb and forefinger. “Lavender, roses, daisies…”

“Very good. I feared I had been somewhat distracting during our lessons.”

Lessons – that coaxes a soft, breathy laugh from you. Long, leisurely walks around the lands surrounding the commune, all with the intention of Halsin imparting his knowledge of the natural world had often turned into anything but.

Of course, he had always started off with pure intentions, he’d even keep his hands behind his back in an attempt to give focus, but all that seemed to break it was you bending down to inspect a sapling, or take in the perfume of a flower he’d pointed towards and then somehow you’d find yourself pinned against a nearby trunk or tackled oh so gently down into a flower bed, hot open-mouthed kisses pressed across your throat and collarbone…

“Mm, a little. But not enough that I don’t recall what you’ve taught me,” you look down at the dried bouquet. “For I do know that these are all known for their calming properties.”

“Indeed.” He chuckles. “I find placed under the pillow works wonders for troubled sleep, as well as keeping bad dreams at bay.”

You look up at him then, brow furrowed. “You have trouble sleeping?”

“I did – not for a while now. I find that having you nestled in my arms, my heart, is more soothing than any of the Oak Father’s creations.”

You feel the warmth prickle across your cheeks – Halsin’s compliments never fail to leave you a little flustered. He chuckles again as you drop your eyes back into your lap, a tell he has come to know well during your time together. He tilts your chin back up and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Do you think you can go back to sleep again, petal? Dawn is still a way off.”

Tomorrow will be another long day. Though the commune continues to fall into place more and more each day, there is always so much to be done.

“I can try.” You concede.

“Here,” he plucks the dried bouquet from your hand and slips it inside your pillow, giving it a firm pat to make sure it remained comfortable. “With the hopes that it makes your dreams as sweet as you are.”

Halsin coaxes you to lie down wordlessly, spooning you against his chest and draping an arm around your waist with a light squeeze.

“Comfortable?”

You inhale deeply, the bouquet of dried flowers seeping out from the pillow, the warmth of Halsin behind you, the way his hand begins to rub gently up and down your side.

“Mm.” You mumble, closing your eyes. “I love you, Halsin.”

Halsin smiles as he feels the tension leave your body fully at last – he hated seeing you in any sort of distress, whether it be minor or major.

“I love you too, my heart.” He bends his head down and starts to kiss your neck slowly and softly -  a favourite spot of both his and yours for a few moments before he retreats.

“Now, sleep, petal. Regain your energy so that I can show you precisely how much I love you in the morning, hm?”

He is unsure you have heard for sleep seems to have claimed you once more...

..but that doesn't mean he won't keep his word when dawn breaks.

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[hyperactively-me]

Okay but king ghost if his queen was kidnapped or held for ransom?? I just want some protective ghost in my life

the way i had this idea planned for a while already, but anon, our brainwaves are connecting. i’ve gotten literally countless requests for this same idea. if you sent in a request similar to this, i’m so sorry, i wasn’t ignoring you, i've just had this planned for a while! (word count: 5.8k)

king!ghost x reader -- taken

warnings: kidnapping, physical fighting, physical injuries/blood/bruises, semi-vague descriptions of torture, torture tactics, throw up, restraints, heavy angst, i guess a happy ending? maybe??? idk 😭, ummmm idk what else... please please please let me know if there's anything i've missed. this is a dark chapter! check your media consumption based off the warnings!

It was a quiet night. Eerily quiet. The sounds of the summer insects ceased, the hot air still, unmoving. You were in bed, trying to sleep. You had no clue what time it was, all you knew is that you were hot and exhausted.

You roll onto your side, huffing as you throw the covers off your body. You close your eyes again, trying to will yourself to sleep.

A moment later, you hear a creak coming from the far side of the room where the doors to the balcony are. 

You immediately sit up, scanning the room.

“Hello?” you call out, your voice wavering as you slip out of bed. You immediately grab your knife from the drawer of your bedside table, walking around the side of your bed to stare at your slightly ajar balcony door. 

Your heart drops in your chest, but before you can say anything, a hand holding a rag clamps around your mouth. Soap was right outside your door. If you could just— Your scream is muffled as you try to fight off the intruder, swinging your knife back and hitting flesh, trying to stomp on their foot, kick them, anything. The intruder lets out a strangled cry from your stab, pulling your head back farther. You know you’ve made contact when you feel blood trickle down your hand. Serves them right for trying to kidnap you. The intruder wraps their arm around your torso, yanking you back as they shove the rag over your nose, forcing you to inhale the fumes. 

Your movements become more sloppy as the fumes enter your nostrils, your eyes fluttering as you fight with everything in you to stay awake. Your knife clatters on the ground as you become limp. 

“That’s it, go to sleep,” a man’s voice whispers in your ear, sending a cold chill throughout your body. And with that, you succumb to unconsciousness.

. . .

You wake up in a cold, damp cell. You go to rub your eyes, but are stopped by the clanking of metal chains. You look down, and your hands are bound together by heavy, metal manacles. 

“What the—” you say, pulling at the restraints multiple times to no avail, the iron bolted into the wall to prevent you from running. “No, no, no no no—” you cry out, flailing as you try to free yourself from the cuffs. Your heart is racing in your chest, how could this happen? The overwhelming urge to cry washes over you, but you bite your lip to stop yourself.

Your body shivers at the low temperature of the cell, the stone keeping the cold air stale in your cell. You’re still in what you wore to bed which was…not much. You push yourself to standing, walking up to the bars of the cell, trying your best to peek out into the hallway. 

The hallway is dimly lit, revealing the cold, unforgiving walls of what appears to be an underground dungeon of some sort. The air is cool, and the distant sound of footsteps echoes through the corridors. Panic tightens its grip on you as you assess your surroundings.

“Hey! Is anyone there?” you shout, your voice bouncing off the stone walls. There's no response, just the eerie silence of the place. You take a deep breath, fighting against the rising sense of despair.

As you peer down the hallway, you catch a glimpse of movement. Footsteps approach, and your heart races anew. A figure emerges from the shadows, wearing a uniform that tells you all you need to know. It’s a uniform from the Southern Kingdom. You back away from the bars, pressing your back up against the wall behind you. 

“Your majesty,” the figure says, their voice devoid of any emotion. “You won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

Your mind races with questions, but the figure remains stoic, indifferent to you cowering in the corner. The reality of your situation sets in, and a mix of fear and frustration swirls within you.

“Who are you? Why am I here?” you demand, desperation lacing your words.

The person ignores your questions, producing a set of keys to unlock the cell door. The heavy door creaks open, revealing a corridor lined with more cells. The person steps inside the cell, much to your dismay. Your breathing picks up as he steps towards you, afraid of retaliation. Instead, he makes his way towards the wall where your manacles are attached. With a key, he releases the chain from the wall and takes it in his grip. Shortening the length of the chain, he yanks on it, causing you to stumble forward. 

“Walk,” he commands, basically dragging you behind him out of your cell. You contemplate pulling against him, but not before you spot the sword on his hip. Without further thought, you lunge forward, pushing the man to the ground in front of you as you reach for his sword with your bound hands. 

The man grunts as he hits the cold, stone floor. Seizing the opportunity, you manage to grab the hilt of his sword with your restrained hands, the metal feeling cold against your skin. Adrenaline surges through you as you pull the sword free from its scabbard.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you point the weapon at the man. “Who are you? Why am I here?” you demand again, your voice trembling with fear and anger.

The man on the floor looks up at you, a hint of surprise crossing his face. Despite the advantage of the sword in your hands, he doesn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. The nonchalant look on his face makes you even angrier, and you don’t hesitate pressing the tip of the sword against his shoulder. “You won’t find answers by waving that around,” he states calmly.

Before you can react, the man kicks you out from under your feet, causing you to drop the sword as your hands instinctively go to catch yourself – that is, catch yourself the best cuffed hands can. 

You hit the ground hard, the impact jarring through your body. Groaning, you roll onto your side, the cold stones digging into your skin, surely leaving a bruise where you fell. The man swiftly rises to his feet, his expression unchanged.

“Come along, now,” he says as he yanks the chains, completely unbothered. 

You struggle to your feet, the manacles limiting your movements. Glaring at the man, you reluctantly follow as he leads you through the labyrinthine corridors of the underground dungeon. The man, seemingly unfazed, leads you through the dark, winding corridors of the underground dungeon. The chill in the air makes you shiver, both from the cold and the anxiety that tightens your chest.

As you walk, you try to gather your thoughts. How did you end up in the hands of the Southern Kingdom? How did the man breach the castle walls and enter your bedroom? How long have you been gone? Where are you? Where is Simon? Johnny? The questions swirl in your mind, but the stoic silence of your captor offers no answers.

The dimly lit passageways seem endless, twisting and turning without rhyme or reason. Eventually, you arrive at a heavy, iron door guarded by two Southern Kingdom soldiers. They exchange a nod with your captor, who proceeds to unlock the door. It creaks open, revealing a dimly lit room.

The room is adorned with flickering torches, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. A wooden table sits in the center, surrounded by a few mismatched chairs. You notice there’s a guard standing watch in the corner of the room, and two other people sitting in chairs, most likely waiting for your arrival. The air is thick with tension as you’re pushed into one of the chairs.

“Watch it,” you growl, slightly folding into yourself in the chair. 

The figure steps back, motioning to the other two people in the room. One of them is wearing a mask that conceals their features, leaving only their cold, calculating eyes visible. You try to read any emotion in their eyes, but they remain expressionless. 

“Who are you, and why am I here?” you demand for the third time, your voice wavering between defiance and desperation. You look between the three people, anger bubbling up within you. 

The man who brought you here remains silent for a moment, studying you with an unsettling intensity. Finally, he speaks, his words measured and devoid of any warmth. “You wouldn’t have gone with us willingly, so I am sorry you have to be here this way.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

The figure’s eyes narrow at your display of defiance. “Your insolence won't change your circumstances.” 

You move to stand up from the chair, but you’re pushed back down by the guard lingering in the room. “We’d appreciate it if you didn’t resist.”

You stare at him, the glare still plainly visible on your face. He seems satisfied enough with your cooperation. 

“Now, you’re here because your kingdom has assets and resources we need. Your husband, the great King Ghost, won’t give up easily, but we have leverage now, don’t we?” 

You should’ve known.

A chill runs down your spine. You clench your fists, frustration and fear fueling your determination.

“Tell me what you want,” you demand, your voice firm despite the tension in the room.

The figure leans forward, resting their hands on the table, their face just inches from yours. “Your cooperation, your majesty. Tell us what you know, and we won’t hurt you.” 

Your blood runs cold at that. Hurt you? Now that caught your attention. 

You raise an eyebrow. “So, what? You plan to use me as a bargaining chip to force Ghost’s hand?”

“Yes. You’re one of his only weaknesses,” says the man who hasn’t spoken until now. “Ever since you sent your reinforcements, our army has been experiencing some… setbacks. We were going to come to this as a last resort, but the time came to use you in our strategy.”

He’s rolling up his sleeves with care, pulling some intimidating tools out of the drawer of the table. 

He notices you eyeing the tools warily. “Oh, don’t worry. We won’t be using these unless you really won’t listen.”

“And, just a brief mention before we start the questioning, you should really do more thorough background checks on your staff. You were given over to us by one of your own. Within the palace, might I add.” 

With a swift motion, the man wearing the mask pulls it off their head, revealing a face you didn’t expect. It's someone you recognize, someone from your own court—an advisor you thought was loyal, someone who had been with you especially over the past few weeks. 

“Edmund?” you gasp, disbelief and betrayal coloring your voice. “How could you?”

Edmund avoids your gaze, his eyes fixed on the table. “It was never personal, your majesty. The Southern Kingdom made an offer, and I couldn’t refuse.”

You seethe with anger, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “Greater good? Kidnapping me in the middle of the night? Betraying me? What greater good could possibly justify this?”

He shrugs. “Money.” 

With that, Edmund slinks out of the room. 

The word echoes through the room, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Money. The one thing that could corrupt even the seemingly loyal. Edmund’s betrayal stings deeper than any blade, and you struggle to comprehend how someone you trusted could sell you out.

“Cooperate, and you won’t have to endure unnecessary pain,” one of the men states coldly, motioning to the tools.

Your eyes narrow at the proposition. “And if I refuse?”

A hand slaps your cheek, the sharp sound echoing through the room. “Refusing won't make this any easier for you.”

Your cheek throbs from the slap, but you meet his gaze defiantly. You won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. You can’t. 

The man with the tools takes a step forward, his gaze fixed on you like a predator closing in on its prey. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours.”

You glance at the guard, a mixture of anger and disappointment in your eyes.

“Now, let’s start with something simple. Kastron’s silver supply. Where is it located?” he demands, his patience wearing thin. “Start talking, little princess.”

. . . 

You’re not sure how long it’s been since you were dragged into this interrogation room, but all you know is that your body positively aches. You were treated relentlessly, punched to your gut and slapped at the expense of one of your captor’s short tempers. Thankfully they haven’t used the tools on you, but you can’t help but be weary of them. Your body slumps in the chair, pain radiating from your abdomen. The cold, harsh reality of your situation weighs heavily on your shoulders. Sweat beads on your forehead, a mixture of fear and physical exertion.

The interrogators stand around you, unsatisfied with the information you've provided so far. The room feels suffocating, the air thick with tension and the acrid scent of burning torches.

“Last chance,” he sneers, the coldness in his eyes sending shivers down your spine.

You grit your teeth, your jaw aching from the force of their blows. The loyalty to your kingdom surges within you. You won't betray your people, no matter the cost.

“I won’t... betray... Kastron,” you manage to spit out, defiance in your eyes.

The interrogator scowls, and without warning, delivers another brutal blow to your stomach. The pain is unbearable, and you gasp for breath.

“Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” the man with the tools taunts, a sadistic grin on his face.

As the interrogators prepare for another round of questioning, the heavy door to the room swings open. A new figure enters, their silhouette backlit by the torchlight. The men exchange glances, a hint of surprise in their eyes.

“Alright, that is enough for today,” a commanding voice echoes through the room.

The figure steps forward, revealing a man, dressed in military attire. His eyes are stern and hold no compassion.

“Release her,” he orders, her voice brooking no argument.

The interrogators, albeit reluctantly, step back. The guard unlocks your restraints, and you slump forward, breathing heavily.

The man turns to the interrogators, his expression stern. “That’s enough, you may go.”

The two men scowl but don’t argue. They exit the room, leaving you alone with the mysterious man.

He turns to you, his gaze assessing. “You’ve endured more than necessary. My apologies.”

“You’re not sorry. Go straight to hell,” you spit. 

The man’s stern expression falters for a moment, but he quickly regains his composure. “I understand your anger, but I’m here to explain to you what’s going on. I’m General Shepherd. I lead the Southern Kingdom’s military.”

You’re silent. You recognize the name from a few brief mentions around the castle whilst receiving intel about the war, but you’ve never seen him before.

“We’re not here to hurt you—” 

You glare at him, still seething with anger and distrust. “Do you hear yourself? What the fuck are you talking about, when I’ve been kidnapped and tortured? Why should I hear anything you have to say?” 

Shepherd grabs your jaw harshly, fingers squeezing your cheeks. You claw at his wrist gripping your face, but he doesn’t let go. 

“If you would listen to what I’m telling you, then you wouldn’t be sitting in this room. Don’t wear my patience thin, your majesty.” 

His words are sharp, and you can feel the intensity in his grip on your jaw. Shepherd releases you, allowing you to lean back into the chair. You shoot him a venomous look, but he seems unfazed.

“Your husband, King Ghost, has been a thorn in our side for far too long. Quite the nuisance. The war between our kingdoms has dragged on, costing our side quite a lot. We need a resolution, and we need it soon,” Shepherd explains, his gaze locking onto yours.

“So, what? You think kidnapping me and torturing me is going to make Ghost surrender?” you scoff, annoyance evident in your voice. “He won’t surrender, if that’s what you want. He’s going to fight back harder, and you’re going to wish you never had me here.” 

“Still, it’s a means to an end. A desperate attempt to force his hand,” Shepherd replies, frustration in his voice. “We have leverage now, and we plan to use it to bring about a swift end to Kastron’s military. We’re not heartless, your majesty. We aim to minimize bloodshed.”

You can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Minimize bloodshed? By kidnapping me and using me as a bargaining tool? Very noble and humanitarian of you.”

Shepherd narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t respond to your sarcasm. “Your husband won’t let harm come to you. He'll do whatever it takes to secure your safety.”

“He’s not going to surrender,” you mutter under your breath. He’s going to do much, much worse than anyone could ever imagine. 

“He will. This war has dragged on for too long. We need a resolution, and we need it now,” Shepherd emphasizes, his tone stern. 

Your mind races, considering the weight of the situation. You hate Shepherd for this, subjecting you to a cruel game that you never wanted to be part of in the first place. It wasn’t even Kastron that started this war, it was the Southern Kingdom. The hypocrisy of the Southern Kingdom and unjust treatment of your own kingdom has driven you up the wall. You think about your people, your kingdom, and the lives at stake.

Your gaze pierces through Shepherd’s cold exterior.

Shepherd sighs, as if he anticipated your skepticism. “You don’t have to trust me. But you should consider the bigger picture. Your cooperation can save lives, including your own.”

A conflicted expression crosses your face. The idea of cooperating with your captors goes against every instinct, but the desire for an end to the war lingers in the back of your mind. You weigh your options, knowing that every decision carries significant consequences.

“What do you expect from me?” you ask, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Shepherd studies you for a moment before responding, “Information. Insight into Kastron's military strategies, resources, weaknesses. Anything that can expedite the end of the war and give Kastron over to us.”

You laugh humorlessly. “See, that’s exactly what I don’t want.” 

Shepherd’s gaze remains unwavering. “Your wants are not the priority here. The fate of your kingdom is on your shoulders. If you truly care about your people and your husband, you’ll consider the bigger picture.”

Your jaw clenches, frustration boiling within you. You know Shepherd is partially right, but the resentment toward the Southern Kingdom clouds your judgment. You take a deep breath, attempting to push aside your anger.

“What guarantee do I have that you won’t just use me and murder me when it’s convenient?” you challenge, searching for any sign of honesty in Shepherd’s eyes.

He leans in, his expression serious. “My word. Betraying the terms of our agreement would not serve the interests of either of our kingdoms.”

Agreement, you scoff inside your head. As if I had any choice in the first place. 

You find his words hard to believe. The events leading up to this point have shattered your trust in anyone associated with the Southern Kingdom. However, you can’t deny the urgency of the situation.

You decide to not say anything. Shepherd nods, seemingly satisfied with your response. “All we ask is that you provide us with information. I’ll give you time to think this over.” 

Shepherd motions for you to stand, and you do so with a glare. Your body protests, every movement sending pain coursing through you. He leads you out of the room, the guards following closely behind. The dimly lit corridors of the underground dungeon stretch ahead, and you realize that you’re not being taken to the same cell you were initially in. 

Eventually, you arrive at a somewhat more comfortable room. It's still a cell, cold iron bars keeping you prisoner, but there's a cot and a small table. 

Shepherd removes the manacles from your wrists, allowing you to rub your raw skin. 

“I’m going to leave these off. Don’t get smart.” 

The heavy door clanks shut behind you, finally leaving you alone with your thoughts. A guard stands watch outside your cell, giving you no privacy. 

The reality of your situation settles in, and you can't help but feel powerlessness. The fate of Kastron rests, in part, on your shoulders. You sit on the cot, your mind racing with questions and uncertainties. 

As you ponder the road ahead of you, a small opening in the door slides open, and a guard hands you a meager meal. The gesture is cold, impersonal, but you accept it nonetheless. The guard retreats, leaving you alone again.

The hours pass slowly in the dimly lit cell. You wrestle with conflicting emotions—anger, fear, determination. The echoes of Shepherd’s words linger in your mind, and you can’t help but have doubts in your mind. Would Simon come rescue you? Or would you have to escape on your own? You don’t even know where you are being kept. Your thoughts flicker to Kastron, what Johnny must be doing right now. Surely they’re looking for you. 

As the torches flicker and the dungeon remains shrouded in darkness, you brace yourself for the challenges that will come with tomorrow. Shepherd needs your cooperation, and you’re not going to give it to him, no matter the cost. The journey ahead is uncertain, but one thing is clear—you will not surrender easily, and the fight for Kastron is far from over.

. . . 

The next two days, you’re dragged back to the same room for interrogation. Again, you refuse to speak, each blow raining down harder on you. Your nose was bloodied, face battered and red, and ribs surely bruised from the blows. You’ve been in a perpetual state of fight or flight, adrenaline and pain racking your body in devastating amounts. You were plain exhausted, body reaching its limit. 

But you didn’t really care. You wanted to keep Kastron and Simon safe, so you stayed silent. Save for your screams of pain. 

On the third night, you found yourself alone in the dungeons. It was unusual, as there was usually a guard in place to make sure you didn’t do anything out of line. 

You move to the iron bars, trying your best to peek both ways before pulling out a stolen fork from one of your meals. The metal of the fork feels strangely empowering in your hands as you work on the lock. The dim light in the dungeon barely illuminates your surroundings, but you're determined to seize any opportunity for escape. The occasional distant sound of footsteps echoes through the corridor, reminding you of the ever-present threat of getting caught. 

As you manipulate the lock with the makeshift tool, you can’t shake off the nagging feeling that this might be a setup. Perhaps Shepherd or someone else in the Southern Kingdom’s monarchy is testing your resolve, observing whether you’d take advantage of a momentary lapse in surveillance. You can’t bring yourself to care that much. 

The lock finally clicks, and the cell door creaks open. You hesitate for a moment, listening intently for any signs of approaching footsteps. The dungeon remains eerily quiet. Slipping the fork into your clothing, you step out cautiously, avoiding the patches of cold, damp floor. Your battered body protests with every movement, but the urgency of your situation fuels your determination. 

You move silently, keenly aware that any noise could betray your escape. The cool air sends shivers down your spine as you head towards the direction you’re taken in for interrogation. It’s a risky venture, and most likely a stupid venture, but you don’t want to be holed up in this godforsaken hell hole for much longer. 

After what feels like an eternity, you reach a heavy, iron door. It's slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of dim light from the other side. Your heart pounds in your chest as you inch it open, revealing a narrow staircase leading upward. The ascent is slow and agonizing, each step a reminder of the physical toll the past days of torture have taken on your body. You wince with each step, taking deep, steadying breaths. As you approach the top, you hear hushed voices and the occasional clank of armor.

Peeking through the crack in the door, you spot a guard stationed at the top of the stairs, seemingly engrossed in conversation with another. Their attention is diverted, providing you with a small window of opportunity.

Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you push the door open just enough to slip through without making a sound. The corridor beyond is dimly lit, and you stick to the shadows, hugging the cold stone wall. Pressing yourself against the wall, you listen carefully to the conversations around you, trying to piece together an escape route. Your gaze falls upon an entryway that has the last hints of the sunset pouring through the crevices. 

You reach the entryway, and a sense of trepidation washes over you. Before you could push open the door and make a run for it, a hand grabs your upper arm. Without hesitation, you clench your fork in your hand and stab the perpetrator with the prongs. 

The guard lets out a pained scream as your makeshift weapon finds its mark. They release their grip on your arm, stumbling back in pain.

“You bitch!” They cry, and a few more guards appear on the scene after hearing their scream. 

Adrenaline courses through your veins as you realize that your window of escape is rapidly closing. Without waiting any further, you burst through the entryway, darting into the fading light of the setting sun.

You bolt as fast as you can across the cobblestones, the sounds of yelling guards and footsteps hot on your tail. Every step makes it feel as though fire is shooting up your body, but you push through. Just as you think you’re about to make a clean getaway into the forest outside the bunker, you’re side tackled to the ground. 

The impact is brutal, and pain shoots through your battered body as you collide with the hard ground. The guards quickly swarm around you, their faces contorted with anger. One of them wrestles the stolen fork from your hand, while the others pin you down, restraining your limbs.

“Bloody rebel,” one of the guards snarls, spittle flying as they speak.

“Get the fuck– off of me!” you scream, trying to swipe and hit at anyone in your reach. 

Your attempt at escape only intensifies their aggression. The guard you wounded with the fork clutches their side, a seething expression of pain etched across their face.

The leader of the guards, a stern-faced man with a scar running across his cheek, steps forward. “Thought you could just waltz out of here, did ya?”

He delivers a swift kick to your ribs, making you howl in pain. The guards show no mercy as they haul you to your feet. You go deadweight in their grasp, making it harder for them to drag you back to your cell. When they manage to pull you halfway back to your cell, you start kicking and screaming again, not wanting to make this easy for them.

“Fuck all of you, let go of me!” you scream, trying to yank your wrists from their grasp. 

“Shut the fuck up,” a guard yells at you, digging their fingernails into your wrist. 

As you're thrown back into your dark, dank cell, the manacles are back on, alongside chains on each ankle. The heavy door clangs shut behind you, and the bitter taste of defeat settles in your mouth. Two guards now stand outside your cell, watching you intently. 

A few minutes go by, and General Shepherd strides into the hallway. His eyes, devoid of warmth, fixate on your battered form.

“Leave us,” his voice commands, and the guards retreat from the dungeon.

He stands just outside the iron bars, his gaze cold and calculating. 

“You’re a persistent one,” he remarks, his tone devoid of empathy.

Despite your battered state, you summon what strength remains within you and glare defiantly at Shepherd. 

You glare at him, defiance burning despite the exhaustion. “Fuck off.”

He doesn’t say anything, which enrages you.

“I said, fuck. Off. Leave me alone!” you yell. Shepherd's stoic expression doesn’t waver. Instead, he observes you with an unsettling calmness that sends shivers down your spine. The silence stretches, and you can feel the weight of his gaze.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and measured. “You have spirit, I'll give you that. But it's time to realize the futility of your resistance. It’s been nearly four days. More than half a week. I don’t have the time or patience to keep you around.” 

“I’ll never bow to the likes of you,” you retort.

Shepherd sighs, almost as if he’s disappointed. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture here. Your defiance only prolongs the suffering. Kastron can have peace, Ghost won’t have to face such difficult decisions. All we need is your cooperation.” 

“I’d rather die,” you spit out, every word laced with venom. “And I don’t think Ghost would appreciate it if I turned up dead. You think he’ll surrender just because you beat me to a pulp? Think again. He’s coming to get me any day now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll show you mercy or pull back the troops. You’ll see. And you’ll be sorry you even looked at Kastron’s borders.” 

His gaze doesn’t falter. “Perhaps. But, death is a choice, too. And it’s not just your life at stake, is it? There’s a kingdom relying on your decisions.”

You clench your fists, the chains rattling with your restrained anger. “I won't betray my people for your false promises.”

Shepherd leans against the cold stone wall, crossing his arms. “Think about it. Reflect on where you are right now. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early. I hope you’ll have come to your senses by then.”

Without waiting for your response, he turns and leaves the dungeon, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. Alone in the cold darkness, you curl up on the cot as best you can given the heavy chains.

. . .

Shepherd keeps his promise, returning in the morning. 

“Well?” he prompts, a hint of impatience in his tone.

You meet his gaze with defiance. “Go. To. Hell.”

His expression remains unreadable. “Very well. You’ve made your choice.”

You’re dragged back to the interrogation room, only this time you’re silent. 

You’re met with the tools set right in front of your chair, and a scary looking person you’ve never seen before. 

As you’re restrained to a chair, your eyes glaze over. 

For once in your life, you’re quiet. No snarky comments, no sharp words. You’re silent.

Because you’re truly afraid.

. . . 

The metallic scent of blood fills the air. You don’t think you’ve ever lost as much blood in your life. 

The room is spinning, and your body feels detached from your consciousness. The pain, once sharp and immediate, has dulled into a throbbing ache that permeates every fiber of your being. The interrogator’s methods have taken a drastic toll, and you’re teetering on the edge of consciousness. 

You think your wrist is sprained, if not broken. You glance down at it, the swollen and bruised flesh causing your stomach to churn. You definitely look worse for wear right now. 

Eventually, they tire of their methods, leaving you slumped in the chair, bloodied and broken. The tools they used on you lie abandoned on a nearby table. Every movement, no matter how slight, sends waves of pain through your form.

As the interrogator steps away, their job seemingly done, a faint groan pushes past your split upper lip. The throbbing in your head matches the rhythm of your heartbeat, each pulse amplifying the pain. Your vision swims, and you struggle to keep your eyes open.

Shepherd approaches, crouching to meet your gaze. 

“I had hoped you would see reason," he says, almost conversationally. “The pain will continue until you cooperate.”

You manage a hoarse chuckle, the sound more bitter than amused. “Sorry I can’t be of use to you.”

He straightens, his gaze unwavering. “I have all the time in the world. You however… I’m not so sure. I suggest you reconsider. Your defiance harms not only you but those you claim to protect.”

With that, Shepherd turns and exits the room, motioning the guards to take you back to your cell. 

The guards, their expressions cold and indifferent, unshackle you from the blood-stained chair. Your body protests as you’re hoisted up, pain shooting through every limb. They guide you out of the interrogation room, each step a painful shuffle. Your vision is blurring, and you lose your footing a few times. As they lead you back to your cell, you catch glimpses of other new prisoners, faces worn and defeated. The stench of dampness and decay fills your nostrils, and you throw up on the floor in front of you. You think some of it has traces of blood. 

The guards show no reaction to your vomit, their faces remaining stoic and indifferent. You stumble forward, the world spinning around you, and your steps become increasingly unsteady.

The door to your cell creaks open, and you’re unceremoniously thrown inside. The manacles and chains are back on, securing you in the darkness. The guards, their duty done, exit without a word, leaving you alone with your pain.

You lie on the floor for who knows how long, focusing on your breathing and attempting to not fall asleep in the fear that you won’t wake up for a long time due to the severity of your injuries. 

In, and out.

In, and out. 

In, and out. 

A few hours pass, and you manage to calm your swirling vision and headache. With a grunt, you pull yourself up to your cot with your good hand, dropping onto the solid mattress with a grunt. 

You’re not sure how much longer you could go on like this. It was all too much. 

As you lay there in the dimness of your cell, a distant noise catches your attention. Footsteps, echoing through the dungeon. At first, you dismiss it as another patrol, but the rhythm and urgency in the steps hinted at something different. A figure emerges in front of your bars, and you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the return of the guards or another round of interrogation. 

To your surprise, a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“Dove?”

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[dreamywriter143]

hey! could u do a neyetam sully x reader where shes kinda shy and she wants to show him something and she leads him to her palulukan or thanator which is her friend

Special

Paring: Neteyam x Reader

Genre: FLUFF, Teeny Tiny Angst, Jealously, CuteNeteyam, ShyReader, Missunderstandings.

Summary: Y/n, Kiri’s best friend is very soften spoken and shy. She caught Neteyam’s eye upon first contact. He starts to worry as he notices her lack of presence recently. And he’ll do whatever he can to figure out why.

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: Hi Anon! Thank you for your request!! I had a lot of fun with this one, I added a TINY bit of jealousy/Angst because the idea of Neteyam getting jealous over a Palulukan is adorable! I hope I did your request justice! Enjoy ❤️❤️

__________________________________________

Neteyam felt worry settle deep within his stomach as his eyes jump from Na’vi to Na’vi during the communal dinner. He desperately searched for a specific female amongst the crowd, only to come up empty. He couldn’t figure out where she was, the girl in question who had been occupying his thoughts regularly as of late.

“Neteyam?” Kiri calls for her brothers attention, carefully taking a bite of her fruit.

She watched her brothers tail twitch stiffly. As if he was on alert. His eyes roamed around the crowd before him, squinting as if to zoom into the crowd. His ears twitch to the sound of her voice as he reluctantly turns to face her, his bowl of fruit left untouched within his grasp.

“Yes?” He says, his voice sounding strained.

“What’s got your tail in a twist? Everything ok?” Kiri asks, chuckling at her brothers tensed up state. Neteyam pouts at her teasing tone, letting out a sigh he had been holding in.

“Have you…..seen Y/n?” Neteyam asks carefully, his words come out slowly as if he was afraid to admit what’s been bothering him for the first half of the dinner. Kiri stifles a laugh, passing it off as a cough.

Y/n was Kiri’s best friend, Kiri’s only friend as many Na’vi children around their age were weary of her. It made it difficult for children to approach her due to her interest in the nature around her, which made her to be an odd Na’vi. But not to Y/n. They both shared a love of nature together, searching out herbs and interacting with the creatures around them in pure awe. They met coincidentally many years ago and have been inseparable ever since.

Normally Neteyam never had the time to focus on his siblings friends. He was too busy with his training and shadowing his father that he didn’t quite know what his siblings did on their feee time. Unless they did something that caused trouble. But other then that, he didn’t know or care of any other friends they had.

Until he met Y/n.

About a year ago when Neteyam had come home early from his solo hunt, he came home to a surprise. A female Na’vi he didn’t recognize, braiding his sisters hair. Even though she was doing the most mundane activity at the moment , she looking so beautiful she literally took his breath away upon eye contact. It didn’t take long for Neteyam to linger around Kiri often, always in hopes of seeing Y/n again.

Y/n was shy and very soft spoken. She rarely met Neteyam’s glances, always opting to look at the uninteresting soil below. The only time he really got to admire her up close was at the communal gatherings. Where she would always sit next to Kiri as they shared a meal. It was at those moments Neteyam’s heart felt full. He was close enough to talk to her, see her smile and hear her laugh. He always looked forward to any event or dinners cause of this.

But for the past week, she hasn’t been showing up as often. She either missed breakfasts, or dinners. It was on and off but she missed enough of them that made Neteyam feel restless. He counted down the days he had without her presence, and it pained him not knowing why she would disappear like that. He rarely had time to spend with his family and his friends outside of his duties. The only leisure time he had were these moments. Where he always felt happy, But now, he was anything but happy.

“Missing her already?” Kiri jokes making Neteyam frown at her teasing.

“I’m being serious Kiri. She’s missed many meals, I’m worried for her…..she’s your friend, why aren’t you worried?” Neteyam questions suspiciously. He immediately catches the way Kiri’s face twitch at his words. A look crossing her face. If his eyes weren’t trained onto her face he would have missed it entirely. She knew something, something she didn’t want him to know.

“O-oh, I don’t know. Maybe she’s feeling a bit unwell? I’ll check up with her later. You focus on eating. Don’t you have a hunt tomorrow?” Kiri desperately evades the topic. Neteyam clenched his teeth. He opens his mouth to question her, ready to grill her for answers but is cut off when Lo’ak sits in between them. Kiri let’s out a sigh of relief as if Lo’ak had saved her from confrontation.

“Guess what I just heard!! Oa’kae is planning on courting someone!” Lo’ak says excitedly, eager to gossip about what he heard from his friends.

~~~~~~~~~

Neteyam groans in anger as he paces around in the family tent. He had come back from the hunt a good while ago. Thankfully the hunt well perfectly fine, no casualties and they had hunted a lot. But Neteyam couldn’t shake the thoughts that had him on edge since last night.

Which is why he waited for Kiri in the family tent. He was ready to pry the answers he knew she had. But she didn’t show, it was as if she knew Neteyam would be waiting for her. Neteyam’s ears twitch hearing footsteps come towards the tent.

His frown deepens when Lo’ak peers in. His eyes stare at Neteyam in question as he glances around.

“What’s wrong? You look angry and I haven’t done anything yet” Lo’ak points out, stepping into the tent. Neteyam huffs out, his shoulders still tensed.

“Where is Kiri?” Neteyam asks, ignoring his question. Lo’ak smirks at his words. Something about Kiri getting in trouble amuses him. He didn’t like being on the receiving end of his fathers or Neteyam’s glares. According to him it’s nice to see someone else get in trouble for a change.

“She is near the Tsahik’s tent” Lo’ak replies eagerly. Waiting for Neteyam to explain why he was looking for her, wanting to know what she had done.

“Is she in trouble? What did she do?”

“She isn’t in trouble. I needed to ask her something” Neteyam sighs out, his fingers pinching his nose in thought.

“Oh I don’t know, she seemed busy. She was talking to Y/-“

Neteyam runs out of the tent before Lo’ak gets to finish his sentence. His legs carry him towards the Tsahik’s tent praying that he didn’t miss her. That he would make it in time to catch the one girl he had been going crazy over the past few days.

Just as Neteyam rounds the corner he comes to an abrupt stop hearing hushed voices. His ears twitch recognizing Y/n’s quiet sweet voice. He tip toes closer so he can hear what was being said.

“Y/n! You have to be more careful. Neteyam was there today. You could have gotten caught!” Kiri hisses. Neteyam frowns at her words.

“I know, I’m sorry Kiri. I just had to make sure he was ok. You know how Rik’ean gets when I’m not there” Y/n replies back. Neteyam’s ears pin down, his heart rate quickening.

Thousands of questions flood his system.

‘Who is Rik’ean…..why was she with him this morning?’

Neteyam felt sick to his stomach. What if it was a potential mate? What if she was already promised and he lost his chance before he could actually take a proper shot?

“It’s fine, just be careful” Kiri reminds her, huffing in relief . Y/n giggles at her friends panicked state. Normally Neteyam’s heart would sore at the beautiful sound of her laughs, but now it felt like a stab to his heart.

“Oh! Guess what!” Y/n adds before the girls part ways. There is a pause before she continues

“Today, he gave me so many kisses!! It was so cute Kiri!!” Y/n squeals in delight.

Neteyam hand juts out, his hand holding himself up against the branch beside him. His breathing came out in gasps as remembers what he heard.

‘He kissed her, and she liked it?’

Neteyam figured he had heard enough. Not wanting to hear his sisters response as he runs away from the tent. Angry tears sting at his eyes as he tried to clear his head.

Kiri makes a face at Y/n’s words.

“Y/n…..we’re talking about a Palulukan here. You sure he just didn’t want to eat your face? What was meant as bite, you misinterpreted it as a kiss?”

Y/n huffs out in annoyance. “No Kiri, he is truly grateful. Trust me!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Neteyam blankly stared down at his food, he couldn’t seem to find it within himself to eat anything. He felt utterly heart broken.

“Are you gonna eat that, bro?” Lo’ak asks, pointing at the juicy piece of meat in his bowl. Neteyam shakes his head as Lo’ak grabs for the piece, guzzling it down with a satisfied hum.

Neteyam glances at Kiri, who was focused on her own food. He didn’t know why but he felt the deep urge to question her on what he had heard today. But chose against it. What else did he need to know? He heard everything he needed to hear, and that’s that.

Neteyam sees something move swiftly within the crowd form his peripheral vision. He snaps his head to that direction seeing Y/n rush out , towards the forest. A new feeling surging throughout his body as he shoves his bowl into Lo’ak’s hands. He stands up ignoring his siblings calls before blindly rushing to where he had seen her disappear.

As Neteyam expertly weaved his way through the trees he sees Y/n’s retreating figure. Speeding up he placed his hand on her shoulder causing her to let out a surprised gasp.

“Y/n” Neteyam calls, catching his breath.

Y/n carefully turns around. He notices how she looked scared, holding a tiny woven bag in her hands. She also looked…beautiful. Her top that matches her loincloth was beautify woven with blue beads, Neteyam’s favourite colour. It was it if it called to him. But he knew, it wasn’t for him.

Neteyam feels his throat close up. He didn’t know why he got up and ran after her. Why he came all this way knowing what he already knew. He gulps back before pulling his hand away from her shoulder.

“You’re going to him” he states causing Y/n’s eyes to widen in fear.

“H-how?” Y/n stutters out, her voice low. Her eyes wonder around his face aimlessly, noticing the anger that radiates off him.

“I overheard you this morning….” Neteyam confesses. He didn’t even feel ashamed, just heartbroken.

“N-net-“

“Y/n, I love you” Neteyam blurts out. The words that stayed locked within his heart bubbling up in a last ditch effort. Y/n blinks rapidly, trying to process what she was hearing.

“I’ve loved you for so long. I kept my distance because of how shy you are. I didn’t want to scare you off. I swear to Eywa, you’ve stolen my heart the moment I saw you”

Y/n’s face turns purple with embarrassment. She has to pinch herself to know she wasn’t dreaming.

“I don’t know how long you’ve been seeing him, and what you’ve done. But none of that matters-“

“W-wait, I think you-“

“-what matters is that my feelings for you will never chang-“

“N-Neteyam-m”

“I will love you forever. I’ll cherish you forever. I swear. Just give me a chan-“

“Neteyam!!!!” Y/n calls loudly, effectively stopping Neteyam’s plea. He pouts at her tone, she had never raised her voice against her before. This was new.

“Neteyam. You’ve got it all wrong…” Y/n says softly. She bites her lips, her eyes searching Neteyam’s to confirm what he said was the truth. Feeling like she had no other choice Y/n sighs out.

“I want to show you something, come with me.”

~~~~~~~~~

“What are we waiting for?” Neteyam asks, his eyes searching around them. He had let Y/n pull him deeper and deeper into the forest. They stopped in front of a rather large tree, waiting for the past few minutes.

“Neteyam, I need you to keep an open mind. And stay calm. Think you can do that?” Y/n asks taking him off guard. This is the most Y/n had spoken to him with eye contact. She usually keeps her head low whenever she speaks to him.

Neteyam smiles at the new change. Now he was able to admire her smile while he listened to her melodic voice.

“I can do that. Why?” There is a pregnant pause as Y/n swallows thickly.

“You’ll see”

Y/n faces the tree letting out a tiny call. It held similarity to the call she used to call her Ikran, but different at the same time. Neteyam hears rustling come from the bush up ahead as his body rises wth goosebumps. His hand reaches for where his knife would be at, coming up empty.

‘Shit, I don’t have a weapon?’

Neteyam was so immersed in Y/n he had forgotten that they were deep in the forest, at night. With no protection.

“Y/n, I don’t th-“ the words die in his mouth as Neteyam sees something walk out of the bushes. It was large, it’s green eyes scanning both Y/n and Neteyam. It’s paws step onto the soil with a thump under its heavy weight.

Instinctively Neteyam pulls Y/n behind her, his heart racing a mile per minute.

“Shit!!!”

It was a Palulukan.

Y/n tries to step back to where she stood but Neteyam wouldn’t allow her.

“Y/n listen carefully. I need you to make a run for it” he says lowly. He is confused why the creature hasn’t attacked already . But he didn’t want to take this moment to wonder why, when he could use this moment to ensure Y/n got out of there safely.

“No, Neteyam. Be calm, this is Rik’ean”

Neteyam’s ears twitch to the sound of the fimiliar name, the name that has been haunting him all day. Neteyam steps aside, his eyes blown wide in fear and surprise.

“W-what?”

Y/n sighs out, stepping towards the creature. Rik’ean cooes as she comes near, bringing the bag towards him. She empties the contents onto the floor, as Rik’ean purrs excitedly at the meat in front of him. She caresses the creatures head as he closes his eyes at the warm touch.

Y/n stands up and turns to Neteyam. Her hand still petting the Palulukan lovingly.

“This is Rik’ean” she announces. Neteyam closes his mouth, which had been hanging through out the entire interaction.

“This is Rik’ean?” Neteyam confirms, pointing a shaken finger towards the Palulukan. Y/n nods before letting go of Rik’ean who immediately begins to swallow down the meat.

“How!!?” Neteyam questions stepping closer. He stays weary of the creature, but seeing how comfortable Y/n was, he felt himself relax.

“A couple of weeks ago I found him injured. I took care of him and nursed him back to health. He disappeared right afterwards so I thought I’d never see him again” Y/n explains. She glances at the creature before turning to Neteyam, who stood a head taller than her.

“But out of bad luck, Kiri and I ran into some nantang’s. We would have gotten hurt, or worse. But Rik’ean saved us that day. He recognized me…..he’s my friend” Y/n says, peering up at Neteyam. The entire time his eyes filled with awe and adoration.

“Please don’t tell anyone, I don’t want anyone to know…” Y/n pleads, in fear of what the clan would think. What Neteyam would think. The expression his face proved he was ok with it, he didn’t look scared or freaked out. Neteyam nods in understanding.

“I won’t, I promise” he assures glancing at the creature. He had long finished his meal, now opting to watch them quietly. His peculiar green eyes watching Neteyam.

“So….what do you think?” Y/n whispers. Half in fear, half in question. Neteyam chuckles , stepping closer to her.

“I think your wonderful….I mean, befriending a Palulukan? That’s an amazing feat! You know my mother was Palulukan Makto. She was fierce in battle and a Palulukan recognized her” Neteyam beamed, his eyes filled with adoration as he refuses to break eyes contact with her.

“You’ve befriended one, out of your kindness. You’ve been recognized…..you are special Y/n” Neteyam whispers, unknowingly leaning closer. His breath fans against her lips enticingly. Y/n smiles wide, her heart soaring at his words.

“And to think you were jealous of him” Y/n teases. Her breath proving how close they were to one another. Neteyam hums in defeat. He was jealous, terribly jealous. To the point he confessed, and not in the cool way he wanted to.

“I’m sorry….can I make it up to you?” Neteyam asks, his eyes glancing down to her awaiting lips. Y/n’s eyes twinkle in happiness.

“You could give me something I’ve wanted for a very long time” Y/n offers, the boost in confidence helping her through.

“Oh? And what would that be?” Neteyam quirks an eyebrow.

“This” Y/n whispers, her hand reaching up to pull him flush against her own. Their lips press against each other for a much needed kiss. Neteyam grabs on waist, keeping her close to him as he closes his eyes at the sensation. Their lips mold against one another feverishly. The feeling of love deep within them. Just as Neteyam nudges his tongue against her lips he pulls away hearing a threatening growl.

Y/n and Neteyam turn to Rik’ean, who is much closer now. His eyes on Neteyam, baring his teeth. Not in a threatening way, but the growl he gave was a warning.

“I think he’s jealous” Y/n teases, catching her breath. Neteyam swoons at the sight of her swollen lips.

“Let him, he deserves it” Neteyam responds, side eyeing the creature out of annoyance. Sure, it was a Palulukan. But did he have to ruin the moment?

“Why?”

“He deserves to feel what I felt” Neteyam replies easily causing Y/n to laugh at his words.

“So…..did you prefer his kisses. Or mine?” Neteyam asks, still firmly holding her against him.

“Hm…I wonder” Y/n teases, her finger tapping her chin in thought. Neteyam smirks, leaning his forehead against hers.

“Guess I’ll have to to convince you, Ma’Y/n”

__________________________________________

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed!! Next will be ‘Precious Tsyeym Pt.1’, I’ll also complete some requests along the way. Let me know what you guys think!!

[roosterr]

i'm in denial about the new CoD campaign... but... but... i wanted to ask if you could possibly do anything - headcanon, drabble, anything you want - about Nik? Pretty please *puppy dog eyes* i need some sweetness!! he's sooo <3 ah...

me too anon :,) but i'm always happy to write for my beautiful wife nikolai

nikolai x gn!reader

wc: 550

ao3

nik doesn't get jealous if someone hits on you. he's your husband; everybody else can look, but he's the only one who can touch.

staying at a base with other units – even temporarily – somehow always proved to be a monumental headache for you. whether it was queuing for the cafeteria and the showers, or just having to deal with the other soldiers, you count the days until you'll be home again.

you drift back down from your thoughts to the sight of a sergeant whose name you don't remember approaching you from the training field. they were done for the day, you supposed, seeing as they were all heading inside by now.

you stay put as he marches closer, where you lean against the wall and watch him with a glint of amusement in your gaze.

he comes to stand next to you, not-so-subtly puffing his chest out as he speaks. "any plans for tonight, lt.?"

"hm?" you hum and raise a brow at him, fighting to keep down the laugh that bubbles up in your chest. you can see where this is going. "nothing special. just spending the night at home."

a grin lights up his face. "how about we go for drinks, then? just you and me, i'll treat you." 

"i'm married, sergeant."

"c'mon, he doesn't have to know," his grin turns into more of a smirk, "i can treat you better than him, just let me show you."

"is that so?" you scoff to hide the laugh that almost escapes, "i don't think my husband would agree."

"he's probably a loser anyway, if you were mine i'd show you off any chance i got." the sergeant comes to stand in front of you, and it takes a great deal of restraint to keep your eyes on him and not the large figure approaching over his shoulder. "i bet he doesn't even know how to please you, does he?"

"wow." you mutter, finally letting the smile pull at your lips as a shadow falls over both of you. "you gonna let him talk about you like that?" 

the sergeant frowns in confusion, "wh–"

"let the boy have dreams, милая." nikolai interrupts, a wide grin on his face as he takes his place at your side. he doesn't spare the sergeant so much as a glance, his deep gaze locked onto yours as he slips an arm around your waist. "he will never have the real thing."

as if the world around you has disappeared, and there is nothing but the two of you, nik cups the back of your head and brings you into an adoring kiss. your fingers find the chain that hangs from his neck, curling around it and tugging him ever closer while the other rests against the planes of his abdomen.

you almost forget that you're not alone, lost in the strong hold of your husband, until the third party pipes up again and breaks the spell.

"c–commander," the sergeant sputters, standing rigid as his wide eyes drop to his boots, "i– uh, i apologise, i didn't–"

you go to pull away, but nikolai keeps you close to him with the hand on your head, smiling mischievously into your lips. he moves back slightly, just enough to speak, his lips still brushing yours as he addresses the sergeant.

"leave us, boy," he rumbles, his gaze never leaving yours even as he waves the sergeant away, "the lieutenant is busy."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I think you should make Farena and Malleus meet again just to humble Leona a lil’ 😜 think you did a birthday thing where that happened and I want more lmao

Anon is referencing this set of interactions (for Leona’s birthday in 2021): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

*rubs hands together* 😈 Time to bust out L*ona's sexy hot brain calls for this... HELP ME I'M SO OJITANPILLED RIGHT NOW

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

"Kingscholar."

"Lizard."

The Botanical Garden's flora shuddered as the two princes--lion and dragon--regarded each other. They stood several paces apart, Malleus upon a small bridge over an artificial waterway, Leona shrouded in the shadows of wide palm leaves. Combined, their auras were overwhelming, filling the air with a crackling tension like that of wild sparks of electricity.

"Leona? Who is..."

A third figure, one half hidden by foliage, peered out at Malleus. His hair was a fiery red-range mane, his eyes a deep brown, skin the color of chestnuts under golden robes threaded with prancing animals. Everything about the man radiated warmth, as though he were the living embodiment of the sun.

Malleus's lip curled. "It seems I'm disturbing your private forum. Forgive me, I will see myself out."

"Wait."

The red-haired man fully emerged. A pair of lion ears and a tail similar to Leona's came into view. He smiled broadly--and Leona visibly cringed.

"You are... my younger brother's friend, aren't you? The one who helped Cheka find his way when he was lost on campus. I remember your face from Leona's birthday party. I don't believe we had a chance to be properly introduced to one another! Leona was shy and steered us away from each other last time." He approached Malleus without hesitation and stuck out his hand. "Falena."

The fae prince tested the name. "You are the acting regent of Sunset Savanna. The elder Kingscholar."

"Haha, that's right! Leona told you about me, did he?"

"Yeah, keep dreaming," Leona snorted.

"... My, it would be rude of me to make my exit now." Placing one foot in front of the other, Malleus smoothly dipping into a bow. "Malleus Draconia."

"Draconia! As in, crown-prince-of-Briar-Valley Draconia?"

It took all of Leona's willpower not to roll his eyes. Anyone with half of a brain cell would instantly be able to clock this depressing guy's telltale horns.

"The very same."

The surprise that flooded Falena's face quickly dried, giving way to merry laughter. "Leona's got friends in such high places!"

A scoff.

"Would you listen to yourself? I keep hearing you repeat friend, friend, friend like a chattering parrot without one shred of evidence to suggest that would be the case." Leona rolled his shoulders and, smirking, languidly lifted a hand to Falena and Malleus. "To put me and the lizard on equal social standing is a little insulting, don't you think? We're on entirely different playing fields. Crown prince of Briar Valley and acting regent of Sunset Savanna... That sounds like a much better fit to me."

He internally ground his teeth.

Smile and bear with it, Leona coxed himself. You can't let this opportunity slip through the cracks. The chance to establish cordial relations with other countries doesn't come delivered to you on a silver platter every day. Get them to make that connection if it's the last thing you do. If you play your pieces right...

"... Hey, how is that irrigation project coming along?" Leona prodded his brother. "Last I heard on the news, there was a protest blocking construction."

Falena frowned--the first time that day. "It could be going better."

"Irrigation..." Malleus brought a finger to his chin. "You're in the process of constructing waterways?"

"Yeah, to channel water directly to crops," Leona snipped. "As one destined to ascend the throne, surely you're familiar with the concept."

"So it is akin to gargoyles."

"Oi, ain't no one here talkin' about gargoyles!"

"On the contrary, Kingscholar. Gargoyles were designed to redirect rainwater from buildings, thus protecting them from wear and tear. Irrigation systems exist to funnel water to desired areas. It is a similar enough concept."

Let him have this one. Keep the conversation moving!

"Most in our country walk a long way to the nearest source of water--a well or something--and draw buckets one by one, then walk back with it. Real inefficient." Leona dragged out a sigh. "Unfortunately, our people deeply cherish living in harmony with nature. They come out in droves to push against our attempts to improve their circumstances. It's a thorn in our sides."

"Now don't say it like that," Falena tutted. "We are the royal family. It falls to us to assuage our people of worry. If we expand slowly and in an environmentally conscious manner... I'm sure we can all come to an understanding."

"You'll have to excuse my brother. He's got a bleeding heart."

The comment rolled off of Malleus's back like rainwater.

"Hm..." He looked to be lost in thought, his lashes lowering. "I see. Implementation is never as easy as simply giving the order to act.

"I have visited Silk City on a trip with classmates. Their waterways are second to none in all of Twisted Wonderland. Though the climate is dry and sweltering, the children of man that reside there have managed to tame those waters and optimized them for trade.

"Such systems do not exist in my home of Briar Valley, so I cannot say I am familiar with them. We, too, as fae, revere Mother Nature. The last thing we would want is to turn our backs on her and destroy her blessings. However, I saw with my own eyes that those Silk City waterways have brought much prosperity to the people. Perhaps it would be prudent if you were to explain this to your countrymen, along with providing a detailed plan of how you do not intend to expand at the cost of ravaging nature."

"Exactly, exactly!!" Falena beamed, his face like the sun coming out after a storm. "You understand me so well, my friend."

"Friend...?" Malleus's eyes went wide. "Me?"

Checkmate.

"Oh, would you look at that," Leona purred sarcastically, "you've gone and earned my dear onii-sama's respect and admiration. How good for you."

"It sounds like we're birds of a feather, Malleus. From one prince to another... I think you've got a shining future ahead of you." Falena clapped his younger brother on the shoulder, earning a glare from him. "Just like Leona here!"

"This isn't about me," he hissed back. "This is between you and the lizard."

Falena blinked. "But weren't you the one to introduce us?"

"That he was," Malleus agreed with a chuckle. "Kingscholar has a talent for bringing together the most unlikely of people. It's something I've noticed about him."

"It's true, he does!!" Falena had his sibling by both shoulders now. And that massive grin--Oh no, Leona thought. He's switching from Useless King mode to Doting Older Brother mode! "Leona's so good with people! I had the chance to meet some of his dorm members earlier today--there's a variety of beastmen in his dorm, all united under him. That's really amazing!"

"Yes, it's impressive. I've heard that, among beastmen, traditions and beliefs are drastically different. It is a unique challenge to bring them together--yet Kingscholar achieves this flawlessly." Now it was Malleus's turn to smirk. "Fae are quite varied as well. It will soon be my responsibility to bring about that same unification. Fufufu... Mayhaps I should look to Kingscholar as an exemplar."

Leona directed his glare at Malleus. This scaly bastard...!

"No thanks. I want no part in that," he replied bluntly. "I should leave the ruling to you kings."

"Leona," Falena protested, "he's correct. If you were to lend your help, set an example... We could--" he stopped, correcting himself. "You could unite so many people. I know you could."

"This again," he spat, those few words coated with venom.

It always came back to that.

The promise of acceptance, respect. Rewards for all his efforts. A prize dangled before him, always snatched away at the last possible second.

"... I've said enough here."

Leona turned on his heel, shoving his hands into his pockets, and began strolling away. Deeper and deeper into the thicket. Ignoring his brother calling after him, the frantic footsteps following.

"Kingscholar."

There was an eruption of green light in Leona's path. When it dissipated, Malleus stood in front of him. He looked visibly displeased.

"Out of my way," Leona growled, attempting to step around him.

Another flash, and Malleus teleported himself in front of his fellow dorm leader once again. "You will not simply walk away from this," he warned.

"I can walk away whenever I like. You're the kings discussing your domains. This doesn't concern me."

"That is not what I meant." Malleus's brows drew together. "You will not simply walk away from family."

"What do you know about family?!" Leona snarled. "Don't act like you have any leg to stand on."

"You shall mourn that you did not cherish them once they are already lost to the abyss." His voice was dark, commanding. "You will hear what your brother has to say."

Leona held his stare--the danger in it, sharp as a blade. He glanced back, spotting Falena with his fiery hair amid the leaves and vines, as mournful as a kitten that had been left out in the rain.

There's no getting out of this. If I bust out my strongest magic here, the entire Botanical Garden is going to be sanded and I'll never hear the end of it from Crewel. Ugh, I've gotta opt for a tactical surrender.

Sending Malleus his most scathing look, he managed one final curse.

"Damn you, lizard."

Maybe he had been the one checkmated today.

[tinydefector]

Glory Hole

Energyfluid AU

Character: Megatron, Rodimus, Whirl, Cyclonus and Drift

Warnings: Smut, Oral, body fluids, cum drinking, fingering

Word count: 2.4k

Request and ask open, read pinned post

Fanfic masterlist

Whirl masterlist

Rodimus masterlist

Cyclonus masterlist

Drift Masterlist

Megatron masterlist

Notes: I got a request for Whirl while I was working on this, and it was for fluid play/Vomit, so I tried to work a bit of that into this. So Anon, I hope you like it.

___________

Raucous laughter and lively conversation fill the bar as assorted mechs enjoy downtime. At the counter, Swerve meticulously polishes and cleans every glass, whistling an upbeat tune. 

Riptide nurses his high-grade, regaling Whirl with tales of his latest daring escapades above the clouds. Across the room, Tailgate and Cyclonus share private words, orbiting ever closer. 

Rodimus holds court amid his crew, gesticulating wildly as he recounts some bravado-filled battle. Beside him, Drift watches with a half-smile, content in quietude. Brainstorm debates theory with a gathering of scientists. 

At a shadowed booth, two dark helms bow close, mysterious as the joor fades around them. Music pulses through lively crowds on the dance floor and stage alike. 

When movement catches many bots optics follows the petite figure's progress, 

The human gives Swerve a wave as they head further down the table with drink in hand. It wasn't hard for them to navigate the Ridge along the wall until they made their way over to one of the dark booths. The one every bot knew as the 'glory hole' booth. They patiently wait on their side of the wall for company. 

Megatron's Piece

His optics observed the tiny creature's approaching the veiled booth curiosity from his own seat. With a low rumble he stands himself not caring for the lingering optics as he makes his way towards the other side of the booth.

The human ends up seated in the small dark booth away from everyone, eyes linger on the rather large glory hole. Eagerly waiting. It was the lost lights' worst kept secret only Ultra Magnus' not knowing about it, or not carrying enough to fix it. So here they stand, eyes glued to the hole, waiting for his potential hook up.

A flick of his servo drew the booth's privacy screens, cloaking all within the shadow's embrace.He vented softly, ready to see how the moment unfolded. Megatron draws a vent as delicate touches tease along his array, sensation unusual yet intriguing. Beneath plating long stilled, his spike stirs, pressurising thick cables as it rises to pressurise the tips of seeking fingers.

Releasing locks with care, he allows his valve cover to withdraw, His optics glow steady invitation through the gloom as spike extends, its broad head emerging into the fragile hand wrapped around his girth. Size alone speaks the vast difference between their frames, yet here within this dark booth size didn't matter anymore.  

lips are against the spike in an instant, suckling and licking lines along the length, hands working down towards megatron's Valve, soft fingers pressing against the nodes. Megatron stifles a groan as an eager mouth engulfs his spike, small tongue flickering over sensitive lines in a maddening dance. The small digits teasing at his valve click urgently against biolights, coaxing them to glow brighter under adept hands. 

Megatron knew he wasn't going to last long nor did he care, it was the release he desperately needed after so long. Pressurising lines pump fresh transfluid to his spike, slick coating the velvet mouth stretched wide to take his girth. His legs shift restlessly, canting hips in silent plea for more contact against the small hands playing him expertly. 

Through the darkness Megatron vents raggedly, surrendering control to the human on the otherside. They eagerly drink down the transfluid, cup placed under to catch what he couldn't down quickly. When they finally pulls away it's with soft pants and pale blue drips down his chin. 

After cleaning themself, the human sits back out on the bar sipping their 'drink' , a mix of Vodka and megatron's Transfluid.

Satiated cables throb dully within Megatron as he watches them so publicly drinking the mix without a care. The sight of blue smeared upon petite lips stirs coding. 

Rodimus' Piece 

Rodimus throws back the last of his high grade with a carefree laugh. Yet as he signals Swerve for a refill, a flash of movement catches his optics. 

Curious, he follows it to a shadowed booth - and pauses as subtle harmonies pluck at his intake. There, curled delicately on the edge, sits the most breathtaking creature. Lithe limbs beg exploration; soft lips cry out to be claimed.

Clearly the small being noticed his approach, moving into one side of the booth. Rodimus cycles a deep vent, arousal stirring beneath plates as memory cores unbolt.

They hum to themself when hearing quick movements on the other side of the glory hole wall. They can hear the light stumbles and giggles from a bot on the other side. shakes their head in amusement. Waiting for the bots' spike to press through the hole. Rodimus vents sharply as his spike presses invitation through the discreet access port. So rarely does he indulge such depravity. 

When small hands curl daringly around his spike, Rodimus throws back his helm with wild static, gripping the berth for balance.  "Primus" he rasps, thick fluid already weeping onto willing palms. His spike throbs powerfully, 

Rodimus guides himself to a slick, waiting mouth. His cry of rapture shakes the walls, Slowly, ever so slowly, he allows his spike to sink blissfully home. Venting ragged prayers, Rodimus braces against the wall, sparing not an inch of the treasure gifted unto him.

How blesséd this chance encounter, Tiny soft moans are felt around Rodimus' spike, as they eagerly try to take more of his spike down their throat. Hands wrapped around his length working it quickly as they hum in their chest. 

Hardened lines pulse heavy between those practised lips and hands, smooth movements wringing rapture after rapture from his very wiring. Rodimus keens and bucks helplessly into that suckling warmth, static clawing his vision to whiteness. 

It has been far too long since he'd been worked to overload. Gripping the wall till plates dent, Rodimus fights the tide only moments more. Then with a final cry he thrusts deep, spilling hot and thick directly down that willing throat. Wave after wave pulses out in pulsing bliss.

They are quick to pull away trying to catch as much in a cup as possible before drinking down as much of the sweet peach tasting transfluid he could. With one last lap at Rodimus' spike they step back letting go of his length. As his spike is freed from that embrace, Rodimus sags against the wall in blissful exhaustion. His sensors feel alight, every circuit singing. He drinks in the mouth watering sounds of his release being savoured, arousal already stirring once more. 

Whirl's Piece

Whirl spots the tiny figure's approach and cants his helm in interest. When realisation strikes, he throws his head back in cackling glee. He makes his way quickly into the booth.  "Well well, if it isn't little Tiny! Coming to play in the adult's corner, are we?" 

They need no further invitation. Reaching out, they run tiny hands across Whirl's plating, feeling transformation seams and scars alike as whirl opens his plating. A shiver runs through the hardened mech. His field flares with barely contained need and novelty-seeking charge. 

When nimble little digits find hidden sensor nodes, drawing shocked pleas from clenched dental plates, they eagerly work their mouth against whirl’s Valve. Lips wrapped around the node and hand runs along the back of Whirl's spike. 

In the murky gloom of the illicit booth, rhythmic clicks and gasps echo raw in swirling charge. Whirl shudders violently, pinned against the grimy wall by the fierce tide crashing through his lines. An alien mouth devours him with greedy, grasping hunger, coaxing pleasure from hidden places. Each suck and nip drags another cry flying free, no shame in this hallowed den of passion. 

His spike throbs nearly untouched save for scrabbling fingers, leaving it swollen and aching. Optic flame pulses wild, claw-tips scoring deep rents as the first crashing wave hits, dragging a shattering howl from his rusty vocalizer. Transfluid spurts forth in scalding pulses to flood that greedy mouth.  

Spent and shaking, Whirl slumps against the wall, venting in great billowing gusts. They grin, licking sweet lips, and dive in for more. “You're a menace whirl, but gods do you taste amazing" they calls out before running his tongue along the base of whirl’s spike lapping up the leftover Transfluid. Collection a mouthful of transfluid before letting it drip from their mouth for Whirls pleasure. 

Whirl howls, spike throbbing wildly at the sight of his release painted across that smug little mouth. His field flares in possessive hunger, desire spiking further at the brazen praise. 

"Menace?" he rasps between pants as that wicked tongue circles his nodes once more. "More like chaos incarnate, you cheeky fleshling." With a snarl, he scoops them up, cramming that teasing mouth firmly around his spike once more. "That's it, lap it all up," he growls, canting sharply to drive home his length in deep, ruthless thrusts. 

 fluids smearing across plump lips as Whirl brutalises their willing throat. He sees the adoration glowing in widened eyes and knows he's found a perfect accomplice for debauchery. "Frag, you're gonna be the death of me," Whirl pants, spike pulsing wildly. With a roar he overloads down that swallowing throat, transfluid flooding its depths.  they pull away coughing and spitting up the pale blue fluid before shooting him a glare.

"But what a way to go!" 

When they finish, the human pats Whirl's plating, finally pulling away and wiping their lips. "Thanks for the drink, handsome! Try not to choke me next time" They calls out, still coughing lightly

Cyclonus' Piece 

As the small organic approaches the booth, Cyclonus observes with neutral curiosity. Strange to see such a fragile thing seek the patrons of this darkened corner knowingly. 

When delicate fingers curl around the edge of the privacy screen, he makes no move to dissuade. Within moments, a sweet scent teases his olfactory sensors - arousal. He moves towards the glory hole. 

Soft hands move against Cyclonus' interface plate through the glory hole. soft giggles leave soft lips before they speaks. "I wasn't expecting your company tonight Cyclonus, what a surprise this is" they hums while waiting for Cyclonus to open his panel and release his spike. 

At the muffled words, Cyclonus' optics shutter halfway in dark pleasure. Still he hesitates - this creature seems so impossibly fragile. His panel hisses open reluctantly, spike pressurising at the first teasing touch upon its tip. When had he last taken interface so tenderly? Memory fails. 

His spike throbs mercilessly against small fingers wrapping slick around its girth. A gruff growl shivers the walls. "Careful, little one." A Hot mouth sliding upon his spike in a swift plunge that has Cyclonus see static. Their lips wrap around Cyclonus' spike moaning loudly around the tip as they sucks against the length. Fingers dance teasingly along the lights of his spike. 

His hips canter up on instinct, thrusts restrained but steady. Each draws forth beautiful music, and when overload finally claims him, Cyclonus keen softly coming undone. 

A violent shudder wrecks his frame as static scrambles his vocalizer. eager lips around his twitching spike. Cyclonus strains against the screen dividing them, spike throbbing mercilessly as it seeks more of that blessed suction. It grants all and more, a dancing tongue to tease every sensitive cable and node, a moan vibrating straight through steel to rattle his struts like nothing else ever has. 

When it hits, it comes from the core of his being to shake the very walls. A guttural howl tears loose as Cyclonus spurts down that velvet throat in pulsing waves, vents and venting in ragged breaths.

They giggle, pulling away, Transfluid running down their front as they lick a strip up Cyclonus' spike. "First time with a human?" they asked softly.

Cyclonus can only manage a wordless grunt in response, still reeling from sensation that was utterly overwhelming. Never has any encounter scrambled his coding so completely as this delicate creature's wicked indulgences. 

Drift's Piece 

At first, Drift hears only muffled laughter and commotion from beyond the dividing wall of his private booth. Peaceable enjoyment of solitude is his simple wish on this night. Yet destiny has a way of tapping one unawares. 

The divider obscures all but shadow and suggestion. So when pale fingers emerge to caress its dark surface, tracing seams of his playing with delicate curiosity, his interest is piqued. Such slender appendages seem too fine-wrought for a mech's touch.   

Leaning close, he detects the faintest scent smoothing away like silk, sweetness like none programmed into his cultural database. Optics dim, fans cycled to mute, it was one of the humans hands. 

The fingers' owner starts faintly at the contact, then settles once more. Drift takes this as consent, they slowly suck Drift's digits though the glory hole, eagerly running their tongue along the steel. After a little they pull back. 

Through the pleasure haze, Drift registers the subtle shift. He withdraws gently from the enticing grip. A few calming vents leave him. His panel releases not in haste, exposing his spike with the same care offered fleshy fingers moments before. 

When the first velvety touch comes, he cannot stifle a shuddering vent. Sensitive sensors map every contour, Blazing optics meet shadowy fingers with perfect thrust; there exists no rush when two worlds commune so intimately. Exploration in its own time 

Small lips eagerly kiss up along his lengths and down it, pulling back and wrapping lips around Drift's spike. Humming at the gentle taste against their tongue. They runs the flat of their tongue over the hood of Drift's spike. 

He cycles his vents raggedly, fighting protocols clamouring for urgent release alone would shatter him. His spike twitches under the sinful mouth, Blissful groans sing softly through the booth as spike meets velvet suction, drawing sweet whimpers spurring him higher. 

"Come on, pretty bot unload for me, bet you taste amazing sweet thing" they call out before taking Drift's back into their mouth eager to make the bot overload. The needy encouragement pushes Drift to the very edge of coherency. Static claws at his vocalizer as he fights to reply, 

Overload hovers mere astro seconds away. His spike throbs wildly against the velvet suction pulling him toward that blissful edge. With final shreds of control, he rasps softly, "May I?" He cries out

His entire form seizes in stasis lock before collapsing heavily against the wall, Fields entwines amid aftershocks. Drift vents slowly as he recovers. 

They eagerly drink down as much of the bots transfluid as possible. "Mmm you taste pretty good sweet bot, not one of the regulars are you?" They calls out while moving back and releasing Drifts spike 

Slowly rebooting protocols pull Drift back to full awareness, stated in both frame and spirit. He powers down his interface array, closing panel with the faintest click. 

Through the darkness, a soft chuckle reaches his audials. "I am not regular. Came in here for some quiet I believe i got more than i anticipated"