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phantasmique · 18 days ago

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Synopsis: You're pregnant by the King of Curses, but as violent as he is, there might just be some gentleness beneath it all.

Warnings: Mentions of cannibalism; a tiny, tiny dash of blink-and-you'll-miss-it spice; murder (it's sukuna).

Part two.

There were many things to consider as a consort to the King of Curses. His proclivity for violence, his cold indifference towards humanity. He's crushed thousands of lives beneath the palms of his hands, spilt blood and sliced flesh beneath his talons simply because the urge had struck him. He's cut down women just like you, for something as simple as breathing too loudly.

It hardly comes as a surprise whenever you wake in the morning, long before the sun has crested past the horizon in shades of gold and lilac, only to learn that another one of your fellow concubines has fallen to your lord's ire. Slain for reasons that you have longed since elected to ignore. They mattered little in grand scheme of things, and they often came down to small, tedious motives: She took too long to respond to one of his questions, she stuttered when she responded to him, she gazed at him for too long without permission.

You've learned long ago not to care. You've snuffed that part of yourself out. Crushed it underfoot as easily as one would do to a troublesome insect. Empathy will not ensure your survival in the King of Curses courts, and you've done well to persist after all of these years.

To nod when expected, to keep your eyes leveled to the floor unless ordered otherwise, to speak only when spoken to even while the urge to berate him burns at the tip of your tongue like something molten. A hot ember in your mouth, but you refuse to spit it out.

You learned how to read him. To see the subtle ticks and expressions that would show on his face, using them as a guide for his fickle moods. You knew your place. You knew how to survive. And as exhausting as it was, it was manageable. All was well, until it wasn't.

❃ "You're pregnant." It was clipped, blunt, detached. Said so candidly, as though he hadn't said something that had your heart plummeting down into the pit of your stomach like a stone. You had looked up at him then, wide eyed and openly gawking from your place posted at his feet with something like a scoff threating to spill past your lips. Your mind had scrambled, crawling for an explanation, longing for an answer.

That isn't possible. Curses aren't capable of reproducing. You know that he was human once, a long time ago, but that bit of his humanity must have long since perished. Right?

Pregnant. That shouldn't be achievable for you to produce a child with a curse. That had been a small shred of peace, a truth that you had clung to. That you had kept close to your chest, knowing that regardless of how many times he'll take you, carving a place in you for his pleasure, that you'd never have to bear his heir.

You do love your lord, in a twisted sort of way. He isn't merciful, or kind in any capacity. The brutal, corrupt entity that he is. But he does provide a safety that you might not otherwise had, a home and leniency towards your village that others have not been afforded; thus, a grace extended to your family.

Still . . . someone like Sukuna as a father. Was he even capable of such a thing?

It's true that your time of the months was late, but that had been easy to excuse. Your monthly blood had been overdue before. Delayed by stress and anxiety. And with Sukuna as a lover, you would not dare to sleep with another man. Not that you'd want to, anyway.

But surely he was lying. That wasn't possible. You couldn't be pregnant. Not by a curse. Not by him.

Your mouth had opened, lips parting to speak. To gasp or to deny his claim you weren't sure, but he had silenced you before you could even attempt to force a word out. Lazily lifting a single hand while all four of his eyes slipped down to settle on you, glaring red and piercing in the dark of the shrine.

"I wasn't a question." His nose twitched just the slightest, as though he's caught the scent of something odd, but you were certain the there was a smile nudging at the corners of his lips. As though some part of him was pleased.

Your voice was snagged. Dead in your throat. You had to draw in a tight, shaky breath to even attempt to form a sentence. "That's not pos-"

"I can smell it on you." He answered. Still lounging on his throne. Undisturbed while your world crumbled. " It's practically wafting from your pores. Make no mistake woman, you're carrying my heir."

❃ You had expected a swift death after that. There was no way that the King of Curses would ever entertain the notion of a lowly human bearing his offspring. Tainting his blood line. But the killing blow never came. It nearly made your unease worse. You aren't ignorant to his diet. His taste for human flesh. For the blood of women and children. It made you feel like a pig for slaughter. Meat being preserved for a feast. You've always been a prisoner here, a slave to his wiles, but now you were an animal, a brood mare. You've only ever had to try and save your own skin. To worry for your own life, but now you weren't afforded the luxury of selfishness. You had an unborn life growing in your belly and it had terrified you.

❃ But instead of shunning you, Lord Sukuna was showering you with a sense of possessiveness that you have never experienced from him before. Sure, you were used to the marks. The blotches of plum and blue and crimson that he would scatter along the flesh of your neck and breasts, the tender pink lines that he would mar along your skin, branding your hips and thighs from his talons. But his greed extended little beyond that. You were free to wander the courtyard with the other courtesans at your side. Small moments of serenity that you were all given in between your duties. Free to gossip, and read, or nap beneath the Sakura and plum trees; admiring the petals as they fall and glide across the currents. Carried off far past the shrine walls.

Sometimes, you'd imagine that those petals were you.

Now those small blessings are a peace that you are no longer extended. Guards now follow your every move. Stalking behind you closely like shadows. Silent, constant, and close. Always looming. Always there by Sukuna's decree to monitor and scrutinize you.

❃ You were no longer ordered to sit along the steps, posted at his feet like a loyal dog. He had you perched on his lap instead. Cradled on his thighs. Constantly gripped by at least one of his hands in some compacity. He had become keen on holding a palm to your stomach whether he fully realized it or not. Keeping it flat on your abdomen as though he was shielding your unborn child from the world, with the massive height of his body pinned along your back. Keeping you clutched to his chest as he was waiting for a threat to try and snatch you from him.

He'd keep you there for hours, seated between his massive thighs while peasants and aristocrats alike would get on their knees at the base of the throne's steps, bowing on their knees and begging for mercy and exemption from his slaughter. All while you were in something that was suspiciously close to an embrace. Not that you would voice such a thing to him. Not even with the safety of carrying his child offering some sort of immunity. Not at the risk of invoking his anger. But with how tightly he kept you secured in his arms, his chin raised over the crown of your head, there was little else to call it. And you loathed how much you were beginning to find comfort in it.

❃ Of course, he'd always find ways to shatter that sense of delicate security, whether or not he truly meant to. Namely when he had a servant executed. All because the young man had paid you too much attention; foolishly asking you if you needed any assistance navigating the gardens given your "delicate condition" as he had put it, offering his hand for you to take in the means to help you in your steps. All it had taken was for his fingertips to brush along yours.

In second he was there. Living, breathing, rosy cheeks and a kind smile. And then red. A crest of blood fanning out from his neck. And those gentle eyes. A brief flicker of life in them, and then dull. Muted like a set of worn marbles.

His severed head met stone with a heavy thud, rolling and rolling softly until its traction was halted by grass and moss. His body followed only moments later. No longer held up by spirit and blood, it gave beneath its own weight; knees buckling to collapse like a felled tree.

Despite the balmy nature of the breeze, gentle and humid, you felt frozen. As though your veins had been rushed with chilled water. You couldn't breathe as you stared at his body, disconnected and lifeless like a child's toy that's been carelessly broken and discarded.

"Pathetic vermin. He should know better than to touch things that don't belong to him." His shadow stretched over you then, eclipsing you from the light as the moon does the sun. His cursed energy prickled over your skin, seeping past the barrier of your garments to brush over your flesh, locking your limbs in place.

"A simple warning would have sufficed," you mumbled. Forcing your words out past the heavy feeling of your tongue. They feel broken and hushed all at once, but you can't stop looking at the way the rich maroon seeps out across the fresh green of the lawn, mixing with the morning dew.

His voice slips out into your ears then, a low rumble, possessive and unyielding. "I don't do second chances."

❃ You could hardly call a being like Sukuna soft. He was all hard edges. Harsh. From his brash, unyielding attitude to the rigid planes of his body. Taut muscles and serrated talons. Violent teeth that were honed to tear through flesh and snap bone, but it was undeniable that something in him had relented. Turned malleable by the sight of the bump peeking out from the layers of your skirts. Not quite tame, but . . . tolerable.

❃ He had requested - ordered - that you sleep with him in his quarters from that point onward. A command that split through the haze in your skull like the snapping of a neck.

Your brain was still cloudy. Fogged over and drawn blank by an intoxicated thrum, limbs lax and exhausted after he had drawn orgasm after orgasm from your body. Tipping you over the edge and under a rush of pleasure with a sadistic kind of delight; a sharp, wolfish smile had been split across his face.

The mere idea of getting up from your place on his bed and shuffling your way back to your sleeping quarters on wobbling legs, smeared with cum and sweat had seemed horrendous, but you knew what was expected of you. It had been muscle memory when you nudged your body up from the bedding, slipping your legs over the edge as you scanned the floor for your tattered jūnihitoe; ripped and torn in his fervor to have you naked. Discarded somewhere carelessly.

Then a hand was gripping you. Holding you tightly by the nape of your neck as one would scruff an untoward cat. It had a cold dose of fear skirting beneath your flesh, shivering down your spine and locking you in place as easily as the grip on your neck.

"You're to sleep here from now on."

It was firm. Final. No room for you to argue. And you didn't.

❃ It's lead you to an unexpected discovery. The King of Curses can purr. You had hardly believed it when you first heard it. A low, repetitive hum that had roused you from your sleep in the night. A guttural noise right beneath your ear, breaking periodically in between the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It had caught you entirely off guard. So much so, that in the moment, you assumed you were imagining it. A hallucination brought on by sleep. But the longer you stayed awake, forcing your eyes to remain open as you lifted your head to stare at the slumbering King of Curses, it was unmistakable - he was purring.

Like a kitten would. A soft, gentle sound that juxtaposed horrendously with an entity like him. It nearly made you laugh, but you had just enough wit and self-restraint to contain the sound before it could bubble up to the surface.

You aren't certain how long you had remained that way. Slightly propping yourself up to admire him in the dark, tracing over his face as the light of the moon poured into the room, painting over his skin in hues of blue and soft white; painted by the night.

His scowl softens in his sleep. The furrow between his brows fading into something placid, that arrogant grin - more of a snarl, really - now neutral. He almost looks harmless in moments like these. No glinting teeth or glaring, burning eyes. It's here that you can imagine that he isn't a possible threat. That he won't place you between his fangs and bite until there's nothing over left except for scraps and shards of bone.

❃ He's kind in his own way. A thought that you never once expected yourself to have. Not in regard to him, at least. But he tries, in his own way, to be gentle. When walking with him in the past, you were always expected to trail after him by a few paces, never at his side, but now he makes an effort to guide you at his side. Keeping a hand secured to the small of your back so that you don't fall behind. Now he he's forgone that all together and has taken to totting you around all together as easily as if you were made of feathers and cushion.

It's become a chore to move. Your sense of balance has been altered for the worse, thrown off by the weight of your belly that longs to tip you forward. And the swelling of your feet does little to help, smarting and uncomfortable. You're a stranger in your own skin. Sluggish, as though you've been packed in tight and tugged down by stones.

He's rushed you before in the past, glaring down at you from over his shoulder without a shred of sympathy. He appeared as though he was possibly considering in finally smiting you down, inconvenienced by your lumbering as you willed yourself to follow after him down the corridor in a sluggish waddle.

"Walk any slower and you'll truly be testing my patience."

On any other occasion you could have brushed it off. Ignored it as simply as the other comments he's made at you before, but your ability to control your temper has become poor as of late. Turned brittle and weak by the changes in your body. It's made your tongue loose and sharp, and without thinking you had snapped:

"My apologies for my current state, my lord, but this is just as much your doing as it is mine. So unless you intent to assist me, I suggest keeping your comments to yourself."

As soon as you blurted it out and registered the sound of your own voice, you fully expected to have you head struck clean from your shoulders. You always imagined that the last thing you ever see would be the carmine flash of his eyes before your vision went dark.

His eyes are indeed on you. Still observing you from over his shoulder. They narrow, thinning down into a familiar scowl, and you're certain that this is the end of line for you. It's fallen silent. The world drawn to a hush as you count down the seconds till your death. It's involuntary when your hands drift down to cover your stomach, fingernails clinging at the silk as though it might possibly protect your child.

But the killing blow never comes.

"You're a testy thing today. I'll ignore it - just this once." The rumble of his voice is the only warning you get before he's shifting on his feet to face you. A pair of hands fasten around your hips, a single strong arm slipping around to support your spine as you're suddenly lifted from the ground to be held to his chest. It happens so suddenly that it nearly disorients you. A complaint rises up from your chest, but as soon as you register the relief that melts over your feet at the absence of carrying your weight, it has you falling silent. Settling to sit complacent, and at ease in his hold.

❃ He's come to tolerate your defiance. No doubt pardoning you because of the heir you carry. But there were many instances where he would not relent, no matter how stubbornly you tried to remain in your opinions. Namely in regard to the denial of indulging in a very particular craving.

Initially you had thought nothing of it when Masami had tripped. Somehow stumbling on her skirts and collapsing down onto her knees in a nasty fall. You had rushed to her as quickly as you could, some of the other girls following in suit to crowd around her.

She had raised her hands then, facing them up towards her face so that she could inspect the skinned flesh there. Inflamed pink and riddled with small red abrasions that marred the heels of her palms.

Small wounds in the grand scheme of things. Something that you yourself have obtained throughout the years, but not once has the sight of it achieved such a response. You're certain that you could smell the blood beading past the parting of the skin. It wasn't a scent that you've learned to associate with blood, all pungent and iron. This was pleasant. It was rich, enticing, melting along the summer air like something buttered and warm. It made your mouth water. Suddenly your stomach was too hollow. Famished.

Your focus narrowed down, and you couldn't help but to admire how the sunlight glinted delicately along the red. Glittering faintly like flecks of gold on the seeds of a pomegranate. You wondered then, what it would taste like to run your tongue along her palm. To have the blood spread into your mouth.

It wasn't until someone said your name, loud and sharp, that snapped out of your daze. Jerking in place as though you had been stung. It wasn't until you met Masami's stare, her eyes wide and a little panicked that you realized that you had been staring. Focused intently on her wounded hands with the same hunger of a dog eyeing a slab of meat.

Sukuna had found out, of course. He had eyes and ears everywhere, shadows tucked into every corner; and no matter how quietly one might whisper in the amongst themselves, he always manages to hear.

He had shocked you honestly, when he had taken to approaching you about the topic rather than opting have Uraume slip human flesh into your meals. Still, you had refused. This was something that you could not possibly get yourself to budge on. The thought of it made you nauseous, it had your stomach turning despite the hunger pinching at your gut.

Reduced to a complete stranger in your body as the child in your womb altered it into something unrecognizable. Riddling it with twisted urges that made you want to run away from yourself. Haunting you with a hunger that would keep you awake at night, fantasizing about a craving that should make you fall ill. That should have you trembling with dread, and yet your mouth would only water at the thought.

The stare that he had leveled you with unamused. Arresting as it fixed you in place and forced you to still. As motionless as a statue as he looked down his nose at you, all four of his eyes latched onto your form in glints of searing red; a glint of fangs showing past his curled lips.

"Do not forget that it is my child you're carrying. Denying your hunger is only prolonging the inevitable. You'll cave eventually."

And he was correct. He typically dines alone, but since your pregnancy he's taken to having you accompany him for his meals. He had respected your demand that you were only served human food. Though you never missed the almost arrogant way that he would observe you as you plucked rice into your mouth. Like he was relishing in yourself induced suffering. Like he was waiting for you to break. The curiosity in his eyes always present, but like a challenge you tried you hardest not pay attention to the scent of cooked flesh permeating around the dinner table.

Try as you might it wasn't long until you had all but stolen a cut of meat from his meal, cooked rare and bleeding. And like some sort of ravenous animal, you had scoffed it down, clutching it with trembling fingers that shoved it in your mouth quicker than you could fully chew. Unable to pay your guilt, or the delighted expression on his face any mind as the famished pit in your gut finally felt something close to relief.

❃ As much as you love your child, there are times where it's already begun to display too many shared characteristics with their father. Namely the ability to disturb you and ruin your sleep. They get restless in the night; like clockwork, tossing and turning in your belly and battering the inside of your stomach with a near constant stream of kicks.

They weren't even born yet, and already they seemed to be throwing a tantrum. Pitching a fit as though they were demanding to be released.

It would force you awake, keeping your eyes wide open while sleep stung at them, weighing them down with the temptation to slip closed. But as soon as you would begin to nod off, it's as though the baby in your womb knew, and they'd make sure to punish you with a harsh nudge of their little foot. It's a wonder how something so small can deliver such a harsh strike. Enough to have you wincing; the air hissing sharply through your teeth while you glare up ceiling like you might find salvation in the shadows settled there.

"Are you determined to interrupt my sleep, woman? Why do you keep whining and huffing?"

As enticing as you usually find the sound of his voice, the sudden sound of it rumbling across the quiet is only grating. Your annoyance flaring, worn thin by the bout of kicking that's being delivered to the tender stretch of your stomach.

It had your voice cracking out with equal irritation. Unrestrained in your ire. "That's because your child won't stop kicking at me."

You can't stop yourself from turning your head over to glare at him, meeting his scowl, finding the intense red of his eyes in the dark.

"How annoying." He grumbles, face pinching into a peeved grimace. It makes you tempted to try and climb up from the bedding and leave his quarters all together. Perhaps you could take a walk around the estate until the baby settles. Sometimes if you speak to it, or hum lowly in those old lullabies your own mother had sang to you as a child, they calm down. Soothed by the sound of your voice.

It's as though Sukuna can sense your intent, and in a blur, he's gripping you by the torso to tug you up to his chest in a grip that's uncharacteristically gentle. Nestling you against his body as though you could possibly break.

He's done it before and yet it always manages to shock you into silence. To have you fall quiet and motionless lest you break whatever spell has fallen over him.

It makes you wonder if this is what it would feel like to be a rabbit drawn in to slumber with a wolf. Nestled against its fur, expecting a flash of snarling, drooling teeth, but only finding comfort and warmth instead.

"Troublesome, aren't you?"

There's the desire to retort. To give some sort of scathing remark in defense of yourself. To remind him that the child in your belly is very much his doing just as much as it is yours. Then one of his hands is slipping across the swell of your stomach, smoothing over the skin in a gesture that should be too soft for a man like him.

Using the same hands that are covered in blood from slaying thousands, sorcerers, men, women, and children, to cradle where your child rests. It clicks then that he isn't talking to you.

You dare to glance up at him, and it quickly confirms that his attentions are pinned down on your stomach. The expression on his face is tired, exasperated, but you swear that you can see something almost tender melting at the irritation there.

You wince when the baby lands another kick just beneath your belly button, directly where Sukuna's palm sits, as though they can feel the pressure of it.

"Restless, are you?" He muses, caressing his thumb along the bump. "There's plenty of time for all of that later. There will be many a sorcerer for you to torment once you're older, but for now it's time to rest. Let your mother sleep."

It's so conversational, the way he speaks to them. Talking as though they might possibly answer, and with how strange a being like Sukuna is, you truly wouldn't be surprised if he revealed to you that he could communicate with your unborn child in some manner.

You can feel the baby shifting, some part of its body brushing against your stomach as it moves. And act of defiance possibly, and you half expect to receive the sting of another kick, but it never comes.

You're practically holding your breath as you await another strike, yet there's nothing. Only calm. Only the dim sound of your steady breathing and the soothing hush that's fallen over the dark of the room.

Finally, there's peace. The warmth of Sukuna's body seeping into your back like the steam of a hot bath and just as easily it has your limbs unwinding. The weight of sleep engulfing your body, causing your eyes to fall heavy, the lure to slip shut falling over you like the comfort of a blanket.

His voice purrs out then, low and hushed, thrumming along your shoulders while he whispers a delicate command.

"Sleep."

But that time, you're certain he was speaking to you.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fanfic #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #sukuna jjk #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you

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doomxdriven · 2 years ago

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based on the information jin received about the jokaisho via the spying done by maki ichinose, and some other helpful information he received from a certain other individual, he knows very well that;

he can use the jokaisho he absorbed to empower himself, i.e use it as a totally separate power source for his abilities on top of his own reiryoku and occasional reishi absorption, provided he doesn't overdo it (which he knows can be fatal)

he knows that he can use the jokaisho he absorbed to eventually detonate the other one's that are still buried all over the seireitei once his has fully matured (a process that in my canon takes a little over a decade)

he also has a detailed map showing where exactly all the other jokaisho are buried within the seireitei.

what jin doesn't know about the jokaisho, however, what someone has purposefully failed to inform him of, is that if he does theoretically try to detonate any of the other jokaisho in the seireitei, he will also detonate the one he absorbed, which would wipe him out along with everything else. jin might also have been misled about just how much those resulting explosions will destroy,too (hint way more than just the seireitei).

jin is slated to eventually learn about this important bit of information, but only right at the end, right before he's about to carry out his envisioned retribution on the shinigami (literally as he's about to try and blow the seireitei up).

in the heat of the moment, there's no telling what jin may or may not do with that knowledge, but unlike what happens in the actual bount arc (where jin says fuck it ig me you them we all dying lmao), i like to imagine that some of his subordinates and, maybe some others, talk him down from going nuclear.

#headcanons: jin #//i'm cooking with the bount shit again you bet #//but also yeah imagine it jin's there. final showdown. gets ready to set everything off but here comes some of his peeps #//maki. koga. my gf's muse autumn. maybe others.they just learned the truth behind the whole jokai crest function and they #//b lined over to tell jin because holy fuck???#//definitely some back and forth. the people there definitely have to talk jin out of literally destroying EVERYTHING plus himself #//but i think they could do it #//instead of in the actual bount arc where jin is just wholly resigned to ending himself lmfao #//now what comes after that? good question #//that's to be determined at a later date SHJFGGJHDSGHJ

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 9 days ago

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he set my house on fire, you lit my heart ablaze; when the smoke cleared, you stayed, coughing up ash with me.

jh86 x reader: the revenge plot doesn't go as planned (ft. ex-fiance am34).

(warnings: blasphemous filth (it's on the tamer side, i think), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), spit and descriptions of bodies and stuff like that, hair pulling (big fan), lots of talk about toxic relationships and being mean and using people and sad moments (we can thank this fictional am34 for that), oh, and slight bullying of tz11). idk just please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: round two? you liked this one a lot the first time around. i hope it's just as good as you remember. much love to you and your snakes).

since you were a young girl, you had known that your greatest motivation, your deepest truth, perhaps your fatal flaw, was just how deeply you felt.

when you were little, that meant tears came easily, anger festered like weeds in a prized garden, and happiness felt like flying.

it also meant you could read others' emotions almost as clearly as your own.

it made you different, it made you a good friend, it made you the person you were. for much of your life, you had made peace with the fact that your well of emotions went deeper than others. you had loved that part of yourself, even.

but the night you broke off your engagement to auston matthews, you wanted nothing more than for everything you were feeling to disappear, to evaporate into the air as if it had never been.

"you couldn't've at least tried to hide it from me?" you had said, willing your fragile voice not to break.

and he had sat at the kitchen counter, that massive body on the stool that you had carefully selected for the house that you shared, that you thought you would share forever. and he had sighed, sounded almost annoyed. "would that have made it better, angel?"

his indifference coated your bones like lead paint. that name, once one you felt would call you out of a coma, would lead you out of hell like a northern star, now felt like nothing but a condescending, patronizing taunt. silly, stupid angel, the god might as well have said, how could you think you could ever be enough?

understanding settled like ash on your eyelashes. "you think i'll forgive you," you said, little more than a whisper. "you think i won't leave."

he scoffed at that, then. at you. "and go where?" he asked, sounding almost genuine. "where do you have to go?"

how superficially he knew you, it seemed, at that moment. how had you not seen this before?

"you honestly think i could ever look at you the same?" you asked.

he shrugged, his shoulders so imposing, stature so suddenly frightening. a body you knew better than your own, suddenly foreign. a ghost. "maybe differently, but still looking," he said, "your eyes have only ever followed me, angel."

and maybe he was right, but you were done proving him so.

"send my things to my parents' place," you said, cold, devoid of anything. emotion welled up in you like a flood, but you froze it before it could crest through your mouth, come out like some mythical fire-breathing dragon. you slipped off your ring, placed it on the counter.

you didn't feel lighter without it, though. you felt so devastatingly heavy, like cinder blocks were tied to your ankles, like liquid stone filled your head.

"are you kidding?" he asked. to your silence, careful pause, he tilted his head, shook it once. "you're just gonna quit?"

your hands were shaking. you could feel rage rattle through your body, shake your bones. you clenched your fist so tightly you wondered if blood would drip from your palms, stain the light hardwood floor that you had spent so long deciding on. "how dare you," you said, begging your quivering lip to still.

his smirk was cruel. "not like it matters," he mused. "you've never been able to quit me."

you had seen him mean. on the ice, sometimes to journalists, sometimes to fans, sometimes to you, even. but this was past mean. this was past elementary bullying, past joking insults that don't land. he was trying to call your bluff, trying to push you into forgiveness, trying to hurt you.

"watch me," you said, your voice made of ancient rock.

"are you mad because she's hotter than you?" he asked, his brow contorted in false concern. "is that it?"

despite yourself, a small smile pulled at your mouth. a smile that made your eyes glitter. a smile that should have scared him. a warning.

"she is beautiful," you conceded, because she was. what good would it do you to deny that? you approached him, then, in his personal space for what you believed would be the last time. he turned to you, your eyes meeting in a clash, like sword on sword. cruel, brutal arrogance and pure, pretty wrath. you held the side of his face in one palm, the other hand resting on his shoulder. "but when a beautiful person hits on me, auston, i say no."

his eyes flickered down to your mouth, simmering with lust. you laughed at this, at him, raw and true, let pity soak your tone like acid. "i'm not mad at her, auston," you admitted truthfully. "i'm not even mad at you." you patted his cheek, perhaps a little harder than you needed to. "i'm just so disappointed."

that had been weeks ago. you had moved back to the states, so embarrassed on the plane at how you couldn't stop the tears from flowing, until finally you were back with your parents in new jersey. they had welcomed you so warmly, so easily. it had taken a few weeks for the tears to finally slow, for the utter devastation to fade, for your red eyes to brighten again.

at first, it had been hard to remember anything but how his embrace felt like home, how tightly he hugged you after games, how his eyes shone when he laughed, how he had teared up when you had accepted his proposal, how he had gushed about picking the right ring.

but as the sadness faded, as it festered into something much more serious, you remembered less of the fairytale moments, less of his perfect smile, less of the "pretty girl" utterances in his rough bedroom rasp. soon the sadness gave way to steely rage, to an almost bloodthirsty need for revenge. for him to hurt the way he had hurt you.

and no one does bloodthirsty like a group of university-age girls. after catching up with your childhood friends, and getting them caught up on your situation, you looked at your confidants with eager eyes. "what do i do?"

your best friend from high school spoke first, banging her fist on the table. "burn his house down?" she offered. "steal his dog?"

her friend from college put a gentle hand over her fist, "i think for now we try to avoid the federal crimes," she said, then turned to you. "when my ex cheated on me, i got with the lead singer of his favorite band." her eyes shimmered. "and then bought his dream car and wrapped it pink."

you giggled in delight. "oh, you're good."

your childhood friend nodded. "pyschological warfare." she looked at you. "who's his idol?"

you thought for a moment, tapped your fingers on the table. "i don't know if idol is what i should be going for," you thought out loud.

"who's someone who would make him uncomfortable? insecure?"

"his dad!" your friend said, making you shake in a laugh.

"his biggest insecurity is the spotlight leaving and not coming back," you told them. you had known that for a long time.

"being forgotten?" your friend asked.

"being replaced," you said, your eyes widening with understanding. "with someone better. more promising." you shared a look with your friends, felt anger solidify into a plan. into hope.

"you look like you have someone in mind."

a memory flashed across your mind like a shooting star, engulfed in flame.

"how was the game, aus?" you had asked when he got home, stirring the pot of soup on the stove.

you heard some kind of grumble as he dropped his things in the mudroom, made his way into the kitchen.

"what's wrong?" you asked when you met his eyes, sensing something wrong like smoke in the air.

"just this young kid," he muttered. "'s nothing, really."

and you knew then that it wasn't just nothing, because he never tried to hide things from you, to diminish his feelings, unless it was really bothering him.

you turned the stove off, approached him, wrapped your arms around his middle and hugged him tight. "who's this new kid?" you asked, muffled by his chest.

his arms pulled your closer, tighter. this had always been where you felt warmest, safest. "some h name," he muttered. "hicks? hughes, maybe?"

you smiled into his chest, knowing him, and knowing he would never have forgotten the name of this kid. knowing auston matthews never forgets people who make him feel like anything other than the world's brightest star.

"whoever he is, probably just had the game of his life," you had said, your voice a comforting lullaby. you had pressed yourself up on your tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "nothing to worry about, yeah?"

he had smiled back at you, but something dark had swirled behind his gaze. something like knowing, like ominous understanding, like an empire, falling. "already forgotten, angel," he had said, but you knew, even then, that he was lying.

the memory fizzed and dissolved like baking soda in vinegar.

you looked at your friends and smiled. "what do you guys know about jack hughes?"

from there it was surprisingly easy to shift from a tangent line outside jack hughes's circle to someone inside of it. you were patient, too, careful not to rush. you wouldn't settle for anything less than perfect, after all, refused to enact any plan that wouldn't end in exactly the revenge you sought.

one of the other wags from toronto, whom you had grown close to, insisted on helping, giving you the numbers of some friends close to the devils.

"i'm honestly so, so proud of you for leaving," she had told you over the phone, her voice nothing but genuine, knowing. "all of us, we all knew you were way too good for him."

"did you?" you asked, maybe a little shocked. having been so completely deceived, so absolutely blind, for so long, it was interesting that others had not been as deluded as you. to hear their perspective, to see what you had not been able to before.

"sweetheart," she said, gently, "everyone who meets you can see that you're good. that you deserve someone good." there was a pause. "and everyone also sees that he was never that."

you let her words settle like glitter on a childhood craft. "thank you," you said. "i miss you."

"we miss you so much. see you soon?"

you agreed, thanked her for her help.

"i hope he's good," were her closing words. "maybe better, at least."

having started classes with your old friends, intent on finishing the degree you had so quickly and thoughtless abandoned for auston, you had ample time to plot.

"feels like we're in a spy movie, or something," your friend had said excitedly.

"we'll be your guys in the chair," the other chimed in. "here the whole way."

the rest of the initial plan came easily, with the help of the people who were on your side, which you quickly learned was a group made up of more people than you thought.

very soon, it was time for step one, and you were in front of your mirror, having just finished getting ready, your friends by your side.

you took a deep breath. "what if this isn't a good idea?" you whispered.

they squeezed at your hands. "no going back now, okay? we'll be there the whole time."

"what if he's not interested?"

"look at yourself," one of them said, "don't be stupid."

"what is he thinks i'm a crazy stalker?"

your oldest friend shrugged, her eyes full of mischief. "what if you are?"

so you found yourself at a dingy, run down bar, the lights low. according to your contacts, this was where the team and their friends came after home games.

when was the last time you had come to a bar looking for something? for someone? it felt distantly familiar, but so strange, like hearing a language you spoke as a child but that hadn't graced your tongue in decades.

you had been with auston for years, after all, having met him when you were 19, him 23. a whirlwind, a tornado, a perfect tempest of pink dust and white teeth. a proposal two years later, a break off a year further.

you were 22 now, and had never felt further from your nineteen-year-old self. a foolish child, a delicate doll, a phantom cloaked in a desperate desire for acceptance, for love.

you didn't know how to flirt in this new body, new being. you didn't even really know to how flirt with anyone but auston - it had been so long since you wanted anyone else. and you didn't even really want jack, at this point. you just wanted justice.

a cluster of motion and noise behind you ripped you from your thoughts. you didn't turn, though, just stirred your drink, let the liquid settle again until you could see yourself in the reflection. until you could make out your eyes, until you could plead with your mouth to tell you what to say.

a game, the beautiful girl mouthed to you, a secret code, it's only a game.

your hazy eyes caught on a pool table in the corner of the bar, vacant, the lamp above it flickering. you smiled to yourself, made your way over, picked out a cue, ran your fingers along the edge of it.

you took a sip of your drink before setting it down, lining yourself up to break. with a swift, even motion, a pleasant cracking noise rung out, colorful balls moving in different directions.

you scrunched up your nose, having sunk none initially, gracefully lining up to go again when you felt a few figures approach.

the first one who spoke, the one right next to you, was not someone you recognized. you didn't even think he was on the team, but he had the build of a hockey player, probably a quick center.

"need a private lesson, there, sugar?" he asked sleazily, his voice the arrogant drawl of a child, almost endearing in its steadiness. he leaned on the table as you looked up at him, straightened, tilted your head to rest against the cue.

"awful kind of you, coach of the year," you teased before nodding to the other person who had joined you, looming across the table like a shadow. "gonna help me beat your friend?"

your new coach scoffed, ran a hand through his long, unruly hair. "trust me, sugar," he said, "you don't need any help beating him."

you locked eyes with the figure across the table, whom you had only seen before on a screen, the one you had heard about in the arms of your ex-fiance. here he was, the soft contours of his face shimmering in the dim light. the mythical and heroic jack hughes, the shaker of the unshakeable auston matthews.

he was shorter than you expected. "not much of a competitor, is he?" you asked the man next to you, talking about jack as if he wasn't right there. as if you hadn't been looking at him the entire time. "doesn't like to play?"

you tilted your head, dared him with your eyes to prove you wrong. the familiar fire of flirtation, of the chase you hadn't engaged with in years flared when he took a step out of the shadows, letting you see him clearly and up close.

during your research, you had seen pictures of him, but they didn't do him even a semblance of justice. he was gorgeous in a fairytale prince sort of way, like he might save the day with a true love's kiss at any moment. his eyes were a striking blue, his nose almost dainty, his jaw angular. your gaze caught on his full mouth before finally landing on his eyes again. he had the kind of complexion and expression you could tell lit up when he smiled. your stomach twisted at the thought. a game, you repeated in your mind. only a game.

"i'll play," he said simply, his voice goofy in a way you weren't used to. not sleazy, like his friend, who was currently behind you while you bent forward, lining up the cue. it wasn't the classic baritone you were used to hearing in auston, but something more cautious, something sweeter.

the game progressed, each of you sinking shots with the tell-tale soft thud. it was his long-haired friend, the one who kept calling you sugar like you were some southern belle, who was much closer to you, who was adjusting your hips and arm placement before each turn, who was flirting with you so openly, his breath hot on your neck, his gaze open and obvious.

even then, a quick exchange of glances with jack felt much more intimate than any innuendo-filled comment and fumbling touch from his friend. whenever jack would sink a ball, his eyes would flutter up to meet yours in a fleeting catch of flame, of promise, of knowing.

with only a few balls still on the green felt of the table, his careful voice broke you from your trance. "what are we playing for?" he asked, eyes alight.

the look you shared was teasing, probing, yet deadly serious. this is everything, the look said. are you ready to give everything?

"how about this?" you began, your tone light and smoky. "if you win, you get my number." his full mouth quirked upwards in the slightest of smirks. "and if i win, i give it to him," you finished, nodding towards his sugar-spewing friend.

jack looked at his friend. "good with you, z?" he asked.

his friend, z, you guessed, let a cocky smirk drape across his face like velvet curtains. "more than good," he said, "as we're gonna win."

with the stakes agreed upon, the game continued until only the eight ball remained. you lined yourself up, your ever-so-involved coach just next to you as you called your pocket.

"have a game, sugar, here we go."

you ignored his friend's voice, lining your cue up perfectly, the smooth wood resting delicately between your fingers, the angle of your arm and neck smooth and sensual. everything about your preparation lent itself to a winning strike, everyone at the table knew it. you could feel it in z's early celebration, see it in the slight quiver of jack's hand.

bent over the table, in the final seconds before your strike, you peered up at jack through dark lashes, all dim light and foggy promise. you gave him a sly smirk as you followed through, the black and white ball missing the pocket by an inch, hitting the side of the table with a soft sound.

jack narrowed his eyes at you with a curious sort of look before quickly calling his pocket and immediately sinking the ball.

his friend sucked on his teeth before throwing up his hands in defeat. "christ, sugar, didn't take you for a choke artist," he said. "unless you're into that." he shot you a wink before heading off to grab a drink.

for the first time, it was just you and jack. you leaned on your cue, let your gaze fall over him lazily, in the same way you knew he was doing to you. he was close now, close enough that you could see how blue his eyes were, how long his lashes, how high and soft his features, how his hair was just a little too long on the sides.

"you let me win," he said, a gentle observation, not anything accusatory.

you smiled. "prove it," you said, to which a matching smile graced his own face.

"must be my lucky night, then," he said as he handed you his phone and you typed your number in.

you laughed. "i don't know," you mused, "you seem like a guy who's used to getting what he wants." and he did seem like that - who could say no to those pretty eyes?

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, a motion you tracked. "'m a guy used to earning what he wants," he corrected, and you hummed. a distinction that auston had never made, even though he worked hard, sure. but he was a natural. what would it be like to be with someone to whom everything didn't come just so, so, easily?

"like to work for it, hm?" you teased.

his gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before returning to your eyes.

you stepped forward, pushed and poked at the imaginary line between the two of you. you looked up at him, gently swiped at his cheekbone with your thumb, felt heat rumble between the two of you, something volcanic. "don't work yourself too hard, yeah?"

without a second glance, you placed your cue against the table, grabbed your bag and made for the door.

on your way out, you overhead the conversation that had erupted in your exit.

"i was the one talking to her the whole time," that long-island-ish drawl said.

"if you think she was into you for even a second, you're an idiot," jack replied.

you swore the door was chuckling as it shut behind you.

everything had gone exactly as you'd hoped, exactly as you'd known it would, so you weren't at all surprised to receive a text the next day asking if you were around that night to get a drink.

so you found yourself at a different bar, this one a bit more upscale, quickly spotting jack as he waited for you outside. you blew out a breath as you approached, as a smile made his face glow. it was still so new to find someone else beautiful. when would you get used to his imperfect teeth, his oceanic eyes, his feminine nose, this greek sculpture opposed to autson's roman one?

you blinked. "hi," you said, suddenly feeling lame.

his mouth quirked. "hey." he opened the door for you, nodded. "after you."

"i'm gonna warn you," you started as you ducked past him and into the building. "i haven't been on a date in a while."

he shoved his hands in his pockets, a juvenile habit that made you blush. "find that hard to believe," he said, his tone playful. "pretty girl like yourself."

you scrunched up your nose at that. pretty girl. auston had called you that so many times, but for the first time you actually thought about its meaning. something flipped in your stomach at jack calling you pretty, but it was the girl part that had you pausing for a moment.

you were a girl, pretty much, you were jack's age, but you hadn't felt like one in so long. maybe it was being with someone a little older, but you felt almost ancient, so tired, so drained. but here you were, on a date, every bit the pretty girl he had deemed you.

you just laughed, taking a seat at the counter, smoothing out your dress against your legs. "real sweet talker, are you?" you joked, turning to him and meeting his eyes.

his mouth quirked like he knew something you didn't. "somethin' like that," he said.

the night went by fast, conversation flowing easily, no sign of pressure or anything of the like. you asked about his career, what he did that day, his family, his friends. he made you laugh, and it came so easily, so fluidly. he asked you about what you liked to do, what you were studying in school, how you were enjoying jersey.

surprisingly, you found yourself wanting to be completely honest with him, even though you couldn't be. you found yourself wanting to tell him everything, to answer any question he asked, to never leave him wishing or wanting even for a second.

you got hung up on the curve of his upper lip, on the slope of his shoulders under his button down, on his girlish laugh, his firefly of a smile.

the night was over too soon. too soon, you had the sinking feeling that you were in over your head, that perhaps you had chosen the wrong person for your revenge plot. you wanted to hurt auston, after all, but not yourself. certainly not this shimmery spark of a boy in front of you.

he walked you out, both of you pausing outside the bar, under the dull streetlight, a theatre spotlight for your praiseworthy performance.

you turned to look at him, and him at you, sinking into each others' gazes like quicksand, the air thick with expectation.

"i don't kiss on the first date," you blurted out, talking to his lips, talking to yourself.

he smiled, his shoulders rumbling in a laugh. "'s okay," he breathed, "like to work for it, remember, baby?"

you shook your head as your cheeks erupted in a delighted rosy flush. "goodnight, jack," you said, your voice every bit the giveaway. he returned the sentiment with a knowing grin.

the next day, you invited your girls over to watch him play. as you all settled on the couch, a homemade cocktail in your hand, you couldn't help but hide your face when the camera lingered on his profile during the anthem.

one of your friends gave a mock-salute. "god bless america," she said, shaking her head as you threw a pillow at her.

"alright," you chastised.

"what?" she asked, raising a brow, "just appreciating the wonderful offerings of our country."

your other friend shook her head. "you don't usually go for guys like him, eh?" she asked. "i mean, ever since we were in middle school you always went for the guys with biceps bigger than my face." she held her hands in front of her face for visualization.

"'s not like he's tiny," you said, almost embarrassed.

"no, no," she amended, "but he's no auston. he's just, i don't know, pretty."

you smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. auston was so masculine in every way, and jack was softer, somehow, pretty in a way you didn't usually go for.

pretty in a way that made you smile at your phone when he texted you the next day, asking if he could cook you dinner later that week.

you were blushing to yourself, the morning of, after he had texted you asking if you had any dietary restrictions.

and you didn't, but wasn't it just the sweetest, most thoughtful thing to ask? would you have even thought to ask?

i want you to be comfortable, his text said, i want you to laugh with your mouth full in my kitchen.

careful, angel, a deep voice called from the back of your mind, from the inside of your teeth. this is about me, remember?

your fingers twitched with the reminder as you stood on his front stoop, waiting for jack to answer the bell. the air had a brisk twinge of a chill to it, a chill that had your nose turning pink and your feet stiffening in your boots.

but he answered the door, and the breath you blew out rose between the two of you like a misty curtain, one you resented, because it distorted your view of him, even just so.

the mist settled, and his smile was left in its wake.

a smile that silenced all the gossiping voices in your head, left the throne of their malevolent king vacant, abandoned.

"you're here," he breathed, almost like he couldn't believe it, like he couldn't believe you.

"and it's your fault," you teased, scrunching up your nose.

he shook his head, laughed at some joke in his mind, stepped aside. "you must be freezing, baby, come in."

the butterflies in your chest soared as he helped you shoulder off your coat, his fingers leaving just a ghost of a touch on your wrist, the back of your neck, leaving scorched skin behind. you shivered, took in his graceful figure hanging your coat up on a hook by the door, let a smile come easily to your face when he turned back to you.

"what?" he said, grinning.

you let out a half-laugh. "nothing," you said, looking around as you kicked your shoes off. anything to avoid the white-hot light of his undivided attention. "i like your place."

and you did like it, truly, it was just so unexpected. homely, not cluttered, but definitely not the modern, futuristic, almost barren aesthetic you can come to associate with successful hockey players.

he flashed you a shy smile as he led you into the kitchen, bowing his head, making his hair fall into his face, almost bashful. "it likes you too," he told you, swinging his hand up to hit the top of the doorframe like a basketball-obsessed middle-schooler. you bit your lip to stop your grin.

what a pleasure it was to get to know all the most intricate and intimate manners of someone new.

"everything's almost done, now," he said, quickly turning off the stovetop and peering through the glass of the oven.

his tone was much more at ease then when you had talked to him before. he was at home here, and you could tell. he wore home like a hand-me-down sweater, too big in the shoulders and worn in the elbows, but lovely and familiar in all of its comfort.

you sat atop a stool at his counter, nervously rubbing the sole of one foot into the top of the other. "thanks for cooking, jack," you said, "you really didn't have to do anything fancy, or anything." suddenly, sitting here in this space, surrounded by the evidence of his effort, you felt guilt settle deeply into your body. unworthiness, perhaps, of the smell of food in the air, of the drink he had poured for you so gently, of the smile he kept throwing your way.

that voice in your head huffed. look at all this, he said, look at the burden you are.

and you were feeling it, so heavily, until jack took a sip of his own drink and waved you off, furrowing his brow as if confused. "'s how a date works, right, baby?" he said. he tilted his head, teasing, "tellin' me no one's ever pulled out all the stops for you?"

and you laughed, shook your head, because you supposed it was, supposed no one really had.

you got to know each other even better over the meal he had cooked, surprising you once again with how easy everything felt between you.

"tell me what you did today," he might say, his voice soft, muffled from chewing.

and you might tell him about your classes, how midterms were coming up, how you were nervous but felt pretty good about most of them.

maybe then you would ask about practice that morning, to which he would tell you some story about his teammates, how they were giving it to him all morning.

"why?" you might ask, to which he would look up at you with that bashful flush.

"'cause they knew you were coming over tonight," he admitted, pushing broccoli around his plate. "kept saying how i was probably gonna make you a box of kraft or something."

you laughed, a genuine rumble from deep in your chest, tilting your head back. when you looked back at him, he was looking at you with something like wonder.

and maybe later, you would ask what his favorite part of his house was, and he would say it was his wall of framed pictures, which would make you melt a little bit, your heart a puddle of feeling.

too soon, you were setting down your fork and knife, crossing and uncrossing your legs in restlessness.

"did you like it?" he would ask, his voice so full of hope it could have killed you.

so full of hope that you reached across the counter to hold his hand in yours, if only for a moment, to squeeze his fingers in meaningful emphasis.

your touch caught him by surprise, hesitant for a moment before locking eyes with you, simmering, then squeezing your hand back in his warm, callused grip.

a grip that said i'm no natural, but i'll work for it. for you.

"it was perfect," you said honestly, because it was. "but please, please let me do the dishes," you pleaded, looking at him through your lashes, just wanting to do something to help.

it would feel so wrong to be doted on for the whole night while giving nothing in return. at the very least, it would feel foreign.

he shook his head playfully, but relented. "you can help," he conceded, "but 'm not letting a pretty girl clean up my mess by herself."

you scoffed with a smile, squeezed his hand a final time before pushing yourself off of your stool, gathering all the plates and glasses in a single go.

"where'd you learn how to do that?" he asked, genuinely, as he followed you to the sink.

you carefully set everything down in a graceful swoop, let your lips quirk upwards in nostalgia. "once a waitress, always a waitress," you explained, referring to your short-lived stint at a busy restaurant in toronto before auston insisted on you staying home.

and at the time, even a little now, it was a sweet gesture, one you had taken as him wanting you to relax, wanting you to have the freedom to do whatever you wanted with your days.

you just secretly wished he had considered that what you wanted to do with your days was working, going to school, doing something for yourself.

jack leaned on the edge of the counter, his lopsided grin like an electric jolt to your heart. "what, did they show you the door 'cause you were making all the tips?" he teased, nevertheless making you blush as you washed the plates with soap. "not fair for everyone else, 's that it?"

you gasped in dramatic accusation, flicking sudsy water from your fingers his direction. "how dare you?" you exclaimed before turning away from him in a huff, feigning sadness. "'s not like i can control this face."

his mouth widened in shock, then took on a scheme-filled smile as soon as the water hit him, a short laugh escaping him. "you didn't," he said, dipping his hand in the soap and flinging some at you.

you squealed, holding your hands up to shield your face as he reached in for more, bubbles filling both of his palms. "wait, jack, i'm sorry!" you laughed. "i swear, i didn't mean to!"

"liar," he cooed, his gaze sparking like a lighter, you swore you could hear the clicking sound. then he was right in front of you, only a breath apart, so close you swore you could feel the beat on his heart in your own chest.

he reached down and gently held your face in his hands, the soap now all along your jaw and cheeks.

you closed your eyes for a second, sighed in defeat, still so aware of him so close, of his touch, feather-light on you skin.

when they opened again, you both had not moved, frozen in place, perhaps willed by the moment, compelled by the growing sensation of rightness, of being exactly where you were supposed to be. when he spoke, he was speaking to your lips, dragging his gaze back up to your eyes like it weighed something stark.

"do you kiss on the second date?" he breathed, and your breath caught, your heart stuttering at his utter politeness, his thoughtfulness, the idea that he remembered things you had told him.

you bit your tongue, because, if you were being honest, you usually didn't - you took the rule of threes very personally. you liked to take your time, savored that lovely period of what could be. besides, you had learned the hard way what happened when you let people in your life too quickly, too hastily. you knew all too well that giving in to a toothy smile and a sleeve of tattoos only led to shrugs met with tears.

but here, now, with jack's soapy hands on your face, in the space he had so warmly accepted you into, you had the feeling this boy in front of you was going to be an exception. that he would be an exception for many things, perhaps the exception.

as if hearing your internal dialogue loud and clear, he dipped his head down until he was impossibly close, so when he spoke you could feel the words on your lips.

"please let me kiss you, baby," he pleaded, his eyes hooded and heavy, his voice a rasp.

deciding he was an exception indeed, you answered him by pressing up on your toes, meeting his mouth with yours in a kiss that bruised.

and later, you would think about how auston had never been a please let me kiss you man, instead he had been a give me a kiss, angel kind of guy.

after, you would think about how it felt so much more personal, so much more sweet to be asked please, can i instead of being ordered give me, give me, give me, like a demanding, red-faced child.

later, you would think about how the previous kisses in your life paled in comparison to the feeling of jack's lips on yours. how before this moment, you were used to kisses that felt like transactions, like the necessary box being checked before the next step, how they felt like being swallowed.

after, you would swoon over all the details and nuances, but, right now, there was nothing but his lips, his hands, the way he melted into you and practically whimpered when you kissed him harder.

kissing him didn't feel like being swallowed, it felt like taking the biggest deep breath of your life after slowly suffocating for years. you forgot you had soap bubbles all over your face, you forgot about auston, you forgot about everything - there was only him, and you, in this moment.

he held your face like you were something precious, moving one hand into your hair as you wrapped your arms around his neck. he tasted like lemon and rosemary, as well as something so deliciously him you could feel yourself become addicted immediately.

his grip in your hair was soft, and when his lips moved against yours it felt like melting snow in the warmth of the morning, pure and sweet and natural and right. kissing him felt like waking up with sunlight streaming through the windows, like laughing while taking your makeup off, like cinnamon and clove and home.

when you pulled away from him, only just slightly, both of you catching your breath heavily, he opened his eyes slowly, almost reluctantly. his eyes were almost glazed over, and you had a feeling yours looked in a similar way, syrupy and hot.

he gently swiped his thumb along your swollen bottom lip as if testing to make sure you were real, not just some shadow, not just a dream.

you traced your nails along his neck, smiled as he brought his hands down to wrap around your middle, resting them on the small of your back.

"god, you're just so fucking pretty, aren't you?" he breathed, like a revelation.

you swore he had your head spinning for days after, days you unfortunately and cruelly had to spend apart due to a week-long road trip for the team.

you told yourself it was a good thing that he was going away for a bit, as it would give you a second to regroup, to revaluate, to familiarize yourself with what your initial goal was for your plan. you reminded yourself over the week apart that jack was a means to an end, that whatever had blossomed between the two you had a finish line, that all of it was meant to make a point, then hopefully leave this whole hockey world behind after the damage had been done.

but then one of your girls would throw on the game, and jack's expressive face would fill the screen, chewing on the fingers of his gloves during warm ups, and your heart would sink at the thought of leaving him behind. and it just about combusted at the idea that you were using him, even though that's exactly what you were doing.

you've only been on two dates with him, only kissed once, you reminded yourself. he's probably seeing other people, anyways, probably with some other girl right now. it's not like you're exclusive. this is probably not a big deal to him.

the thought was comforting but also devastating, a brick in your stomach.

while he was away, midterms came and went. as you walked into your last one, you thought about maybe texting jack after, trying to get together tonight, since he would finally be back.

then your pen hit the paper and time passed in a blur.

you exited the lecture hall in a flurry of relief and pride, happy to have accomplished something so concrete, something that you had truly worked hard on.

walking down the stairs outside of the entrance, your smile stilled, frozen in shock, when you looked up from your feet and saw a familiar, beautiful figure leaning against his car, an excited grin on his face, flowers in his grip as he locked eyes with you, making your breath catch.

"is that jack hughes?" some kid from your class said altogether too loudly to his friend. you had seen that same kid wearing devils gear more than once.

his friend didn't look up from his phone. "who's jack hughes?" he replied.

you couldn't stop your disbelieving laugh, your smile, already making your cheeks sore as you finished descending the stairs, until you were in front of him, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug before you even realized what you were doing.

this was so unlike you, really, letting yourself feel as deeply as you could without filtering it, but anything else would have felt so wrong it could have killed you. especially when he brought his arms around you without even a second's hesitation, held you tight and close, so you could feel the petals of the flowers on the back of your neck.

"you're here," you said, breathlessly, still shocked, into his firm chest.

"had to make it back for your last test," he said into your hair, both of you not wanting to let go.

"how did you know?" you murmured, pulling away from him, only slightly.

he loosened his embrace, pulled away to get a look at you, let his eyes run over you carefully, indulgently. he pushed your hair back from your face, his touch gentle, like you were a relic, something worth treasuring. "you said so, last week," he said simply, like it was obvious.

he said it as if, for years of your life, you had wished and yearned so reverently for auston to remember the little things, like your coffee order, like the dates on which your parents were coming to visit, like your anniversary.

he said it as if it didn't mean the entire world that he had listened, that he had remembered.

you only leaned into his chest, looked up at him with something seriously dangerous in your eyes, something that was not supposed to be there. "'d you bring me flowers, jack?" you asked, a playful note in your tone.

he flushed, so lovely, hid his face behind the bouquet, peeking only one deep blue eye out, as if embarrassed. "too much?" he asked, still shielding his face.

you laughed, squeezed his bicep lightheartedly. "just enough," you assured him, your eyes full of meaning, willing him to lower his shield, let you see the face you had been dreaming of all week. "thank you. i missed you."

you would have told him that a thousand times just to see the way his whole face lit up, like he could never hide how happy your words made him. he wore the late afternoon sunshine like a dream, the dewy rays dripping down his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, slow and golden as honey.

he had this way of making you feel like you were first choice, every time, and it was so foreign that you hadn't known you had been craving it until he had laid it at your feet like an offering. every time he texted you to check in, to ask how your day was, to finalize plans, it would send a flurry of butterflies swarming your chest, a rosy flush to the bridge of your nose.

he was so, so beautiful, inside and out, that you effectively forgot what the whole point of your plan was in the first place. you basically had forgotten about it, that day that he dragged you along with some of his friends to pick out a christmas tree.

"do i know any of these friends?" you had asked on the way up, riding shotgun, reaching over periodically to run your nails along his neck, just below his hairline, your way of saying i'm happy you're here. and he would reach over and rest his hand on your thigh, not possessive, just a reminder of your presence. a reminder that made your insides twist with want, nonetheless, that made your gaze simmer.

one of the things you appreciated so genuinely about jack was that he didn't rush you for even a second, so happy to go at whatever pace made you most comfortable, whatever pace would keep you around the longest. it felt almost wrong that his acceptance of a slow pace made you want to speed things up, made you want to know what he felt like in your hands, what sounds he might make if you teased him, what his voice would sound like in your bed.

he let out a rumble of a laugh at your question, shaking you from your daze. "you'll definitely recognize one of them," he said. "though i don't know if he's fully recovered from your last meeting."

"oh no." you paled. "not him." you winced, thinking about how you had probably bruised his inflated ego. not beyond repair, though, you knew. for guys like that, never beyond repair.

jack traced circles on your thigh with his thumb in affirmation. "don't worry, baby," he said, "told 'm to be on best behavior."

when you arrived, you recognized that boisterous voice immediately.

"so good to see you again, sugar," he drawled, his tone especially toying.

you decided to cut any hard feelings immediately, going up to him and giving him a quick hug in greeting. "i think i owe you a thank you, coach of the year," you said, pulling away with a smile.

luckily, he seemed to forgive quickly, even to appreciate your efforts. "i prefer my thank yous in hot chocolate form," he said, and you promised to fulfill his request later. he gave you his name in exchange for yours.

you spent the afternoon leisurely ambling around the grounds, looking at potential trees, but really just enjoying the company of those around you.

most of the time, you spent laughing, tucked into jack's side, finding warmth in the firm feeling of his hip against your waist.

"what about this one?" trevor asked, holding up an especially short and stout one.

the two of you decided jack would need a taller one to better suit the ceiling proportions in his living room.

walking around, it felt like you were in your own dreamy winter wonderland, in a fog of laughter and warmth and a million other beautiful things.

"you leave again tomorrow?" you asked at one point, unable to hide the slight disappointment in your voice. you peered up at him, your eyes warm, your cheeks rosy from the cold.

he met your gaze and nodded, hugged you tighter into his side. "back in a few days," he said.

you couldn't help but pout just a little. jack's roadtrips felt longer and more lonely than auston's ever had.

jack ran his thumb along your bottom lip. "what's that for, baby?" he asked.

you shrugged. "just gonna miss you, 's all," you told him honestly.

something sweet bubbled up in his gaze, but the moment was effectively interrupted by trevor's voice coming from behind you, now shockingly close.

"oh?" he said, dramatic, "what's this? is that - mistletoe?" he emphasized all of his words with dramatic pauses. you briefly thought that maybe, if he hadn't been all in on hockey, he would have made an excellent theater kid.

you both turned to find trevor standing right behind you, holding an alarmingly large branch of something that resembled mistletoe.

"where did you find that?" jack asked his friend.

"never mind that," trevor said, waving him off.

you elbowed jack lightly. "looking for an excuse not to kiss me, are you?"

he shook his head incredulously, as if you had said something funny. you were about to tease him again, but he didn't give you the chance, immediately taking your face in his hands and angling his head down slightly to meet you in a kiss that seared every bit of chill from the air.

would you ever get used to this? would his lips ever not feel like they belonged on yours? would your heartbeat ever not thrum, like some perfect harmony?

the warmth of his hands on your face, the security of yours against the plane of his chest, all of it, everything - it was so perfect you wanted to stay here, just like this, forever. and the thought didn't even scare you as want began to pool inside of you, hot and heavy.

a mixture of a cough and a laugh had the two of you pulling away from each other. one of jack's other friends who had tagged along let out a low whistle, making you blush deeper.

jack just slung a heavy arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

luckily, trevor's attention had already strayed, as he was now holding the branch over his own head and the head of the other friend. "don't fight it!" he was calling out as the friend broke out into a light gait.

"get away from me, you scumbag," the poor kid called out over his shoulder.

your eyes were stuck on jack's face, still hazy from your kiss. he turned to you, his mouth quirking up. "staring, baby?" he said, low enough for only you to hear.

you nodded, shameless. "want you," you told him plainly, barely recognizing the tone of your own voice.

the fire in his own eyes welled up as you placed your hands flat on his chest. "fuck, now, baby?" he asked, looking around to where his friends chased each other around.

you bit your lip, pleaded him with your eyes. "please, jack," you said, "please take me home."

he took your hand in his immediately, tossed some parting words over his shoulder to his friends, who paused, watched the two of you stumble into jack's car with urgency.

as he started the engine and pulled away, you heard a faint the hell are we supposed to do with this tree?

the car ride back felt longer than it really was, both of you practically buzzing with want. you kept a hand in his hair, his palm planted firmly on the inside of your thigh, close but not close enough.

you let out a sigh of relief when he pulled into the driveway, let him pull you into the house, push you up against the closed door, kiss you again with heat and force and somehow, such softness.

it was the softness that filled you with want. his desire was obvious, especially when he pressed his hips up, hard against you, but that didn't mean he wasn't just so gentle with you, so in tune to what you wanted.

you fisted your hands in his hair, pulled until his posture faltered, until his lips parted further and he moaned into your mouth.

you hooked a leg around his hip to bring him closer, relished the way he began to rock against you.

"fuck, baby," he breathed out, strained, stuttering in places, "don't wanna fuck you against the door."

later, you would think about how auston had never had such a problem. he had never cared where you were, how uncomfortable a position had made you. sometimes you had thought he found his own bed boring.

but jack just pulled you into his room, lightly rocked you back onto the bed, pressed soft kisses down your jaw, your neck, your stomach. you both pushed and pulled clothes aside, looking to give the other as much access as possible.

"so fuckin' pretty," he mumbled against your stomach, making you flush all over.

"please, jack," you whined as he slowly dragged his fingers through your folds, making you shiver.

"what do you need, baby?" he asked, pumping himself a few times, up and down, his voice low and rough.

you sat up for a moment, took hold of his hand, peered up at him through your lashes as you spit into it.

he groaned, ran his hand over his cock, now glistening with your spit. desire glowed in your eyes like fireflies. "tell me," he begged.

you laid back on the bed again, the smell of him everywhere. another time, you would insist on feeling him in your mouth, maybe on feeling his mouth on you, but you knew the both of you were far too desperate for that.

"just need you inside me, baby, please," you said, your eyes raking over his figure above you, all gentle slopes and hard lines together.

"ask me so good, baby, so good for me," he said, a careful rasp. he thumbed your clit, making you jolt, dragging his fingers through you again before bringing them to his mouth. "and so ready, hm?"

you nodded feverishly, your mouth falling open as he finally pushed into you, his groan deep.

you whined, the stretch so surreal as you reached forward to grasp at his forearm, anything to ground you.

staying still in the stretch for a second, you waited for the feeling to weaken, but it didn't, not really.

he dropped his head, his exhale coming out shallow, the muscles in his shoulders constrained.

you tightened your grip on his forearm, let your nails dig into him to pull him back to you.

"fuck, baby, i can't," he bit out, "can't, i swear."

you rolled your hips back and forth, trying to will some movement from him. "please, jack, please move," you begged. "please fuck me, baby."

never one to deny you, he began a slow pace, the friction and depth almost unbearable. one of his hands dug into your hip, so hard you could feel bruising, the other beginning to rub careful circles on your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.

"you're so deep," you choked, "faster, baby, need you faster."

he obliged, picking up the pace of his rhythm, moving his hand faster against your clit, making that wave well up within you, forcing moans from your throat.

"fuck, sound so pretty, baby," he said, a glistening sheen now painted across his brow, his collarbones. "so pretty, squeezing me so perfect."

the muscles of his stomach began to contract as you felt yourself dangerously close.

his rhythm continued, bruising in depth and force, so lovely in softness. you tugged his hand from your hip, placed his fingers on your tongue, desperate for something to do with your mouth. you sucked, pulling a guttural moan from him. "don't stand a chance when you do that, baby, swear," he said, "fuck, don't stand a chance with you, hm?"

you felt yourself smile around his hand, your eyes watering, glazed over.

"gonna make me cum, baby," he whined, his motions becoming jerky, his voice little more than a plea. "cum with me, baby, hm? make me feel so good, yeah?"

you fell over the edge at his words, felt his orgasm follow yours almost immediately, the air warm and sticky around you. he collapsed on top of you, his exhales like liquid on your skin, yours like dreamy sighs as he pulled you to him, held you close as you waited for the rise and fall of your chests to settle.

he drew his fingers lazily around the flesh of your thigh, your hip, you pushed his hair back from his face as you both fought sleep, wanting just a few more seconds in the conscious presence of the other.

everything was so lovely you could barely stand it.

you should have known it wouldn't last long.

a day into jack's time away, you received a text from one of your friends in toronto. it was a picture from auston's instagram with the message just thought you should know. we miss you.

something cracked in your chest at the photo of your ex-fiance and this new girl. it wasn't really jealousy, definitely not desire, no, it was harder to pinpoint.

maybe it was the fact that after four years of being together, and after a whole year of being engaged, auston had never once even thought about posting a picture of the two of you.

and you had always chalked it up to the fact that you didn't have any social media, but now, you realized there was something to be said about letting the world know that you were taken.

and you also knew, now, that that was a statement auston had been unable to make your entire relationship.

a voice in the back of your mind, tone watery with tears, wailed. what makes her so special? it pressed. what makes her so much better than me?

it didn't help that she looked absolutely nothing like you. you wondered passingly if you would have preferred a look-a-like to be staring back at you through your screen. you didn't really know, but you did know that her features were sharp to your soft, your eyes are hair completely different in coloring. her face had you questioning if he had ever really found you beautiful, or if you had been the exception to his regular type. the idea weighed heavily on your shoulders like a cape made of cement.

but you knew, at the end of the day, that it was not about her.

and so you decided that as much as your relationship with jack had become genuine, maybe it was time to bring back the plan, just a little.

it can be two things, you told yourself, jack doesn't need to get hurt.

so when jack arrived back from the road, your relationship now teetered on a tightrope, balancing between two things, two motives like a trapeze artist.

still, you tried your best not to let your desire to rip out the heart of your ex-fiance stand in between you and jack. you could be bloodthirsty and gentle at the same time, you told yourself. two things.

the idea became easier when jack began to ask you to come to his games.

at first, you had been skeptical. auston hadn't wanted you there until maybe a year and half into your relationship. you didn't want to push this, press your luck, make yourself a burden, in fear of him abandoning you.

"are you sure you want me there?" you had asked the first time, a little timid, your face resting on your clasped hands, sitting at his kitchen counter, keeping him company as he made something on the stove.

he had turned to you, head tilted, confused. "of course i do, baby," he had said, calmly and clearly. "i want you everywhere i am."

and that had been the end of that.

so you began to become a regular attendee at his games, getting to know the people of his life more closely, becoming a fixture in his life more solidly.

you let him post a picture of the two of you, so touched that he would even ask. he showed you the post when he was done.

you kissed his shoulder in response. "your eyes are closed, jack," you said, half-laughing at the fact that he had chosen this picture, so flawed in nature.

"hm?" he looked at the picture again, then shrugged. "hadn't noticed. no one's gonna be looking at me, anyways."

you shook your head, disbelieving. he was making it hard for this to be two things. he was making it really, really hard to care if your ex-fiance even saw this post. he was making it really hard to care about your ex-fiance at all.

"i don't believe you, sometimes," you mused aloud.

he twirled a lock of your hair, mesmerized. "how?"

you tilted your head back to allow him easier access. "you're pretty perfect, you know that?" you smiled up at him, blissful. "too perfect."

seeing his face go pink with your praise made you make a mental vow to tell him more often.

and he gave you every opportunity to be surprised by his perfection, over and over.

every kiss was something teenage you would have dreamed about, every time he led you into his bedroom was something current you dreamed about. how he seemed to enjoy every moment no matter what you were doing, even how clearly he communicated with you during your first fight, all of it astounded you.

he made all of your friends jealous, but so happy for you. he met them, one time, when he dropped you off to get coffee with them after class.

he was so respectful with them, asked them genuine questions, but never anything that told you that he wasn't in on you one hundred percent.

when auston met your best friend in toronto, he had dropped your hand that he had been holding.

"didn't tell me she was so pretty, angel," he had said, and you had hoped it was just to show you he was putting in an effort to impress the people that were important to you.

when jack said he had to be going, to get to morning skate, he just kissed your cheek. "use my card, yeah, baby?" he called out, waiting for your nod and smile before he drove away.

how had you stumbled into this? was it possible that it wasn't too good to be true?

jack had asked you to come to toronto when the devils headed up north to play the leafs, because he knew you had lived there, because he had lived there, too, and wanted to show you around. and it had reached a point where refusing him when he offered a piece of himself to you seemed cruelly impossible.

you told yourself that it was just another game, just another day. it helped that you honestly didn't feel any attachment to this rink, even to this city. you had watched jack play plenty, now, and you were determined to treat this game just the same as any other, if not rooting for jack with just a little more urgency, a little more emotion.

you loved how easy he was to cheer for. you loved how you could see how much he loved the game, how he smiled after every good play, how he saw things you could have never seen on the ice. you could practically hear his laugh in the rafters, see his imperfect teeth in the glass. he was everywhere, here, are you loved it.

of course, you noticed that your ex-fiance was here, but it honestly wasn't even that bad. if anything, it was confirmation that you were over him, that what you had with jack was real, that you weren't in for revenge anymore. you weren't in this for auston at all.

until he scored, and his goal song echoed through the arena. you knew that this year, the leafs had decided to try out individual goal songs after players scored, songs that they chose before the season started.

you did not know, however, that auston matthews' goal song was the song that, months ago, was set to be the soundtrack to your first dance.

the crowd was eating it up, of course they were, the juxtaposition of auston's dynamic scoring ability with the old-fashioned crooning of you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you.

the song seemed to reverberate off of the walls, into your head, behind your eyes, where it settled like thick fog. it smelled like champagne, waxy makeup, hairspray. your eyes began to water, which made your throat constrict.

like a dream, maybe a hazy memory, your first dance that never was flashed across your mind. an ornate, almost gauche white dress, the beautiful heels you had been practicing to wear. his pressed suit, slicked back hair, stupid designer socks that used to make you laugh. his hand on your waist, your arms around his neck, the two of you lost in each other, swaying, swirling around the floor to this song, surrounded by loved ones, high on laughter and the future and love.

slowly, the image blinked out of your vision as the song faded and the puck dropped, play starting up again.

it blinked out like a dying star, and then it was exactly that. dead.

because as you trained your eyes back on the ice, never once did they stray from 86 in red. never once did anything like regret or nostalgic desire well up in your heart, because you were not the one who lost. you were not the one with something to prove.

finally, you buried that wedding dress, laid it six feet under, let the soil spoil it, knowing one day you would wear a white dress and it would mean something to both parties involved.

in a breath, the game ended, and jack won, and he was truly all you were thinking about.

waiting for him, though, practically bouncing up and down, you were suddenly pulled into a side hallway by a grip you would recognize anywhere.

you were not surprised to look up and see the calculating eyes of auston matthews looking down at you with some lethal combination of heat and arrogance.

"angel," he said, a greeting that made you grind your teeth.

you pulled your arm away from him, shook him off of you, willed strength and stone into your posture and tone. "cool goal song, asshole," you bit out.

"i missed you too," he cooed, not taking you seriously, even now. his frame seemed so imposing now, looming large, too large for someone you didn't trust.

you rolled your eyes. "if you'll excuse me, i'm waiting for someone." you turned to leave the hallway, go back to the exit where jack would surely be walking out of any minute.

auston grabbed at your wrist, and it burned. "what, you mean that kid?" he scoffed, but didn't let go. "c'mon, angel, you know he's nothing to you." he rubbed a circle into your wrist that once, might have been soothing, but now made you feel sick. "you know you're all for me."

and you could have said so many things. like how that kid was your age, actually, so what did that say about him? like how that kid was twice the man he would ever be. like how this would be the last time you ever saw him, the last time he would ever have your attention.

the opening of a door ripped you from your thoughts as both you and auston glanced up to see jack in the doorframe, his bag slung over his shoulder, his face flushed from the game, tired blue eyes caught on auston's hand around your wrist.

time froze for a millisecond as you felt like you were pulled between worlds. it can be two things, you had told yourself once. it was never two things.

you watched as painful realization settled in jack's eyes as he simply turned away, let the door close behind him.

you ripped your arm from auston's grasp. "you've never taken me seriously," you told him then, looking him square in the face, your tone steady and serious as anything. "but if you believe anything i say, let it be that you are nothing to me, and you never will be again."

for the second time, you were the one to leave, this time running towards something worth saving.

you cursed under your breath, looking around for that head of soft brown hair.

you found him in a different hallway, sitting on the ground, his bag slumped next to him, his back leaning against the wall, his feet flat on the ground.

for a single moment, it was so quiet you swore that your exhales echoed against the walls. he didn't turn to face you, but obviously knew you were there.

"so you're with him, then?" he practically whispered, his tone like a cleaver to your chest, so defeated and blindsided, almost like he was talking to himself.

you slowly made your way over to him, sat down next to him, mirrored his position. side by side, but he felt so far away. "i'm not," you said back to him.

he let out some kind of bitter laugh, a sound you hated, a sound you hoped you would never have to hear again. "so that was you making friends?" he picked at a thread on his dress pants. "just meeting new people, 's that it?"

you turned to face him, then, but he still faced forward, as if looking at you would ruin him. "it's not what you think," you said, softly.

"well, what is it?" he paused, looked at you, then, and he wore his sadness like a suit fit for mourning. "be honest with me, please."

you took a shaky breath, knowing that this, very possibly, might be the last time you would ever be so close to him. knowing that your next words, your explanation, it might drive him away from you forever, before you had even really had the chance to have him.

you savored this breath, this liminal space between the truth and the now.

"i was going to marry him," you said, and the confession felt like letting go of every single vengeful thought you had ever had, like all the spite and disdain in your body had evaporated into dust.

"you were going to marry auston matthews," jack murmured, his face blank, his tone confused.

"yes."

"but you're not anymore?" he asked, looking at you, leaning his cheek onto his knees like an impatient elementary school kid waiting for recess.

you shook your head. "no. he cheated on me."

there was a pause, brutal silence, as his brow furrowed in confusion, his fists clenched briefly before letting go. his gaze fell to his hands for a moment, and when he spoke again it was so cautious, so pointed, that your stomach sank. "and then you just happened to start dating me?" he looked so tired. "same job, same goals, pretty much same life." he let out a breath. "you can't tell me that's a coincidence."

you sighed, prayed to whatever god would listen that honesty would count for something. "no, it wasn't a coincidence." your heart felt like it was lulling itself to sleep. "you were never a coincidence."

he dropped his head between his knees, and hurt vibrated through the air like sound waves. you could feel his hurt in your fingertips, could have melted in down, frozen it, wielded it like a weapon. "tell me something, baby," he pleaded, muffled by his legs. "please."

you knew it was unfair, but you laid a gentle hand on his fingers. "let me tell you all of it, please, jack, and then you don't have to see me again if you don't want to."

he took a breath that you felt in your bones, then in an act of mercy you cherished, gave a soft nod.

so you did. you told him the whole story - how you had been so devastated and hurt that you were blinded by a desire to make auston suffer. how you had chosen jack on purpose, because you knew it would cut the deepest. how you had not simply shown up randomly at that bar, all that time ago, how all of it was part of a plan, down to flirting with his friend, down to that first game of pool.

he didn't push your hand away, actually leaned his leg into your arm as you told him the story. the scary part's over, you wanted to say, you can stop hiding under the covers, now.

and so you told him about how he had hijacked your plan entirely. how you never expected to determine how good your day was based on how often you heard his laugh, how no one could have predicted how often you dreamed of his smile, how days when he was away truly felt like a loss.

"if i had known you, i never would have put you through this," you told him, finally, honestly. "i would have left you alone."

he was quiet for a moment, and then he picked his head up and looked at you, genuinely, thoughtfully. "you never would have used me to get back at your ex-fiance?" he asked, but there was not really any bite in his tone.

you tried your luck, reached up, brushed his damp hair from his forehead. "i did use you," you admitted. "and i don't have an excuse." he looked at you with clear eyes. "it was mean, and cruel, and all i can do is say that i'm so, so sorry and i will never hurt you like that again. i promise, that's the truth."

in the silent moments after you finished speaking, you closed your eyes for a brief moment, waiting for his reaction.

when you opened your eyes, he was looking at you. he opened his legs and knees wide, held open his arms, waiting. "i believe you."

it took no convincing for you to settle into the space he had created for you, to lean back against his chest, feel his heartbeat between your shoulder blades, his arms coming around your sides to clasp in front of your middle.

"you believe me?" you said, almost a whisper. you picked up his hand, held it to your chest, shocked that he was letting you. shocked that he was still here, making space for you.

you let the smell of him engulf you. it felt similar to walking into your mother's closet - the evidence of her living, loving, everywhere around you. the evidence of jack was everywhere, now, all over you, growing like some carnivorous plant over your heart.

"you promised," he said simply, into your hair.

and how spectacular it felt for someone to take you seriously, to take your words at face value, to understand that when you promised something, you meant it.

it felt like words were failing you, so you brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his palm lightly.

he hummed into your hair. "tell me about now," he said, voice steady and patient.

"hm?" you twisted your neck to look him in the eye, leaned back further until the back of your head rested on his chest.

"you told me about before. about him," he said, his eyes swimming with home, with hope. "tell me about us. tell me about now."

you searched for words, wondering how you could convey just how important he was to you, just how deeply you cared.

you could have said that his eyes were the most beautiful ocean you'd ever swam in. you could have said that kissing him felt like swallowing stardust, that listening to him talk about his day was a privilege and honor.

you could have said how you loved his voice after a long day, how he wore his emotions openly, shamelessly, how kind he was to those around him, how he didn't let you leave his house in doubt for even a second about his feelings, how he let laughter come easy, how he was many things but never, ever, indifferent.

you could have said so many things, but sometimes poetry and fancy words are inadequate, just diluting the true meaning, make it taste like watered-down juice, faint and lacking.

you could have said so many things, but you just told him the truth.

"i wake up every morning and i think of you," you said. "every moment you're not with me, i wish you were." you willed every ounce of meaning into your gaze. "you are my first choice, every time, jack. and it's not even close."

there was a silence as he processed what you said, and something like adoration dawned in his gaze like a springtime sunrise.

he tilted his head down, pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that told you he understood.

that no matter how you had gotten here, you were here, now.

"tell me again," he whispered against your mouth, and you smiled into his. that, you could do.

fin.

#nhl #nhl fic #nhl smut #hockey #hockey smut #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #auston matthews #auston matthews x reader #toronto maple leafs #new jersey devils

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astarionslittletreat · 1 year ago

Text

Sunrise

Astarion x female reader/Tav

Rating: Explicit

You must be 18 years or older to interact with this post in any way

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags: smut, slight end game spoilers, Astarion good ending spoilers, mentions of past abuse/abuser, sex, piv sex, oral sex, cuteness, fangs, biting, over-stimulation, bleeding, blood, blood drinking

Summary: Astarion and the reader share an intimate morning together as they contemplate their past, present, and future together.

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It's the early hours of dawn, just before sunrise. The sky was deep purple just an hour ago, but now it’s transforming into shades of indigo and blue. A faint glow threatens to spill over the city walls, to wash away the final vestiges of night. It's been a while since you've greeted the sun like this, not that you never see her at all anymore. After all, if something needs done during the daylight, you take care of it without issue. But that's all business. Just fleeting glances as you move through the crowded streets of Baldur's Gate. This right now, during the quiet hours of dawn, this is pleasure. This is you waking, nude, on the forest floor after your first night with Astarion. This is the sun’s rays warming your bodies before the two of you sneak back into camp. This is Astarion’s eyes glinting in the light, like that shared goblet of Arabella Dry at the Tiefling party.

Your heart yearns for the sun like you yearn for the past. You see your small smile reflected in the window as you continue to watch the sky change. A dozen-dozen heartbeats pass, and then the soft golden honey of the morning sun caresses the rooftops of the city, before spilling down onto the streets below. The heartache in your chest fades to nothing as the sun fully crests the horizon to kiss your face, a mere phantom in comparison to what you have now. The moment is over for you. You’ve had your fill and you begin to feel the fingers of sleep coaxing you to rest.

“Do you miss it, darling?" Astarion calls out to you from your bed, well out of view from the sun. "The daylight that is.”

Untying your silk robe, you let the soft fabric slip from your shoulders to pool at your feet. Both the sun and your lover lovingly gaze at your sun dappled curves. "It's strange," you muse, holding your hand up as if to catch the morning light. "I have so many memories of you in the sun, but no. You're the only thing I ever miss." You take a few moments, eyes squinting through the brightness to watch the people begin to fill the streets before pulling the heavy curtain firmly close. “And besides–” You turn to your love. He’s artfully draped himself, nude, across the plush pillows that adorn your bed. A deliberate attempt at making himself look all the more enticing. “How could the sun ever hope to compete with my dear Astarion’s beauty?”

He beams at your compliment, practically preening at the attention. Reaching out, he proffers his hand for you to take. It fits neatly in his as you let him pull you, gently leading you back to bed, back to him. It's a gallant gesture as your eyes readjust to the darkness of the room. A yawn begins to creep its way up and you only just manage to stifle it as Astarion draws your back to his chest. His pale, strong arms wrap around you as he presses you close, holding you tight. There weren't any cuddles the first night, or in the weeks that followed as you let him feed on you, but back then there wasn't anything real between you at all. Just lies and illusions and unending uncertainty. But somehow, by some miraculous blessing, you were able to earn his trust, just as he earned yours.

“Now you know that’s not what I meant, darling.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Though, please continue to remind me of how beautiful I am. Your words almost make up for how useless mirrors are to me.” You hear the smirk in his tone alongside the underlying truth. Uncertainty. As much as Astarion tries to hide his past pain, to pretend he’s fine and not hurting, you know the scars will never truly leave. Even after death, Cazador still manages to find a way to torture Astarion, and it drives you fucking insane with rage. It takes you a moment to collect your feelings. There’s no room for this in the bedchamber, or in your heart. Anger and sorrow will do nothing but more harm and that’s the last thing you wish to bestow upon Astarion. All he wants–all he needs is an answer to the question he left unasked. It's not difficult for you to understand. He wants to make sure you don’t regret your decision to stay with him–worried that he’s not enough. He’s worried if this is what you truly want. That he’s not trapped you, or worse, that you’re staying with him out of some fucked up feeling of guilt or pity. He won’t admit that he’s terrified of hearing your answer even if he knows in his heart what it’ll be. That’s why he doesn’t ask what he really wants to know. That’s why he wears his mask of smiles as he plays with your hair between his dexterous fingers. He’s content to pretend, but there’s no way you can leave him like this. Just floundering inside his heart while he holds you in his arms. For the briefest moment you’re almost tempted to fall asleep like this. Wrapped in Astarion’s embrace, snuggled peacefully in your bed together, but you know that after all this time, a part of Astarion still seeks your assurance.

“I miss it, the sun, the people, our friends–” Astarion freezes, as still as a statue, and suddenly the room feels cold. His muscles jerk in a way that alludes to him not knowing whether or not to pull away or hold you tighter. Reluctant to let you slip away from him, he’s afraid that this will be the last time he has to hold you. Silly elf. “But it’s not in the way you think, my love. It’s purely nostalgia. I was just reminiscing about our early days. When we first met, when we first had sex, traveling together, and unsure which day was going to be our last." Your mind drifts, gravitating to fonder memories. “The first time we made love. Your grave. I–,” The threat of tears begins to rise in your throat so you cut yourself off. Again, there is no sadness in you. Just the overwhelming feeling of love for Astarion. Of feeling like you’ve found the place you both belong.

"I wouldn’t stop you, darling. I won’t keep you here, all for myself, if that is something you no longer wished for. If you ever–do decide you've had enough of me. Or even if you could no longer stand to spend your waking hours in the cold night. I would understand."

"Astarion!" The incredulity in your tone is a good mockery of Astarion’s own frequent ostentatiousness. He’s gone too far. This line of teasing isn’t any fun and, truthfully, it hurts to imagine leaving after striving so hard to live your life together. After ensuring your love is real, and strong, and brighter than any sunrise you could imagine. You move to chastise him quickly, turning in his arms as best you can to face him. Pressing your palms to his chest, you glower, face set into an angry scowl before you realize. His red eyes are overflowing with sorrow and self-loathing. And all at once, your anger melts into nothing. “My love,” you whisper as you press chaste kisses to the shadows under his eyes, and even though you’re the one being held, you wrap your arms around Astarion’s neck to bring him close. Your bodies move instinctually, the embrace being frequent and familiar as Astarion rests his lips against your neck. You card your fingers through his silky curls. There’s no intention of feeding at the moment, though. It’s just the two of you basking in your gentle love, relaxing into the moment.

“Do you remember, before making it back to Baldur’s Gate together, that godforsaken shadow cursed land we had to traverse?”

“Shit, don’t remind me.” Astarion scoffs, pulling back to look at you. His eyes roll in mirth, fangs flashing from behind his lips. “I know our dear Shadowheart was right at home with all the doom and gloom, and while I too am a fan of darkness and the macabre–I prefer to be the only creature lurking in the night, hunting for their next meal. That entire place was far too crowded for my tastes.”

“Not to mention Raphael, or the horrors of the Cult of the Absolute,” you trivialize in jest.

Astarion leans in close. His soft lips brush over the sensitive skin of your neck as he speaks. “Or that vile drow who sought to use me because of what I am.” The venom in his voice is dampened by the reverence in the kiss he places on your neck. “There is only one person I feed on and I have her right–here.”His hand is in your hair, his breath is hot on your neck, and your heart is suddenly choking you, pounding in your throat. His fangs barely scrape your skin and you know that you only have to say the word–.

“Yes,” you breathe. There’s never any pain. Just a light pressure as Astarion’s fangs sink softly into your flesh, and then a swooping sensation as your blood is being pulled to his lips. The familiar feeling of lightheadedness begins to return. It’s nothing light that first night. No, this is controlled, worshipful even as he savors your blood on his lips and tongue. You don’t need to tell him to stop before your fingers go numb and your heart flutters in protest. He’ll stop long before there’s any danger, no matter how much he may tease otherwise. It’s easy to relax and go limp, trusting Astarion fully as he cradles your body reverently.

Far too soon Astarion stops feeding from you. “Delicious,” his moan makes you shiver. Blood begins to slowly trail from your twin puncture wounds, painting your neck crimson. Astarion isn’t one to waste a precious gift that you offer so freely to him, however. He makes quick work of the mess. Devouring it all until it’s just his tongue on your skin, traveling the length of your neck, chasing the way your body shivers. Overwhelmed from the unique mixture of pleasure and pain that makes your head spin and your body hot. Gods, you love this man. He’s so, he’s just so, so–

“W–wait. Astarion, wait,” you weakly plead for his attention, grabbing at his shoulder. You feel him smile before scraping his teeth on your skin, refusing to stop. The devious vampire did this on purpose and he knows he’s been caught red-handed, or well, rather red-lipped as he continues to playfully bite at you. Astarion just hums into the curve of your neck, refusing to acknowledge that he’s been found out. “Hey!” You laugh defeatedly as Astarion kisses the shell of your ear. “Stop trying to distract me!”

Astarion’s lips find your jaw before traveling over your cheekbones. You close your eyes and he places kisses there as well before finding your mouth. Trying his very best to lure you into parting your lips for him. “I rather think you’re the distracting one, my dear.”

“I’m trying to tell you something and I want you to listen, please.” Glaring, you hold his red gaze in yours and his perfect, bloodstained lips fall into a pout that’s just a little too perfect. Another ploy. Your head is still slightly spinning, but through sheer force of will you begin to collect your thoughts. The need to kiss away his frown, however sly it might be, is strong, but he needs to hear what you have to tell him. “As sad and as miserable as that entire place was–if for some reason that’s where you were, where Astarion decided to be, I would also–”

“You mustn't worry about that, darling. I wouldn’t be caught dead, or rather, undead in a place like that ever again.”

“Hush,” You try to quiet him by pressing your fingers to his lips. A poor decision in hindsight as Astarion instantly kisses them. Running his tongue along your fingertips, trying his hardest to distract you once more. “Stop! Listen–just wait a second. I’m trying to be sweet to you.”

“Oh, I know exactly just how sweet you are.” Astarion’s voice drops as he slips into seducing you. “So much so that I rather think I’d like another bite.”

“Yes, yes. I know. Your “little treat”.” Reclaiming your fingers from Astarion’s greedy mouth, you cup his too handsome face. Willing him to listen to you. “The only thing I wish for in life, in death, in whatever time I’m given, is to be with you. Wherever and however I can. I love you and never once have I regretted my love or wished it away.” You’ll tell him of your love every second of every day if that’s what it takes. If that’s what makes him smile like this, dazzling and warmer than anything the sun has ever graced you with. You stretch your head up and kiss him. You kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. You kiss him until the need for air demands your attention and you break free to refill your lungs.

Astarion rests his forehead to yours, curly locks obscuring his hungry gaze underneath, as he catches his breath. Your chests heave in unison, breathing life into the fiery tension blazing between your bodies. One moment you’re both still, wrapped in each other's embrace, and the next the room spins as Astarion wraps a leg around your hip, rolling you until you lay on your back. He’s straddled your hip, pinning you underneath. His eyes are hungry as he looms over you, his disheveled curls haloing him in the dim light. Astarion drags a hand down your collarbone, delicately tracing the veins under your skin before gently cupping your breast. A flick of his wrist has you gasping as he plays with your nipple. You can’t help but thrust your hips up, seeking the attention that Astarion is teasing. He ignores your silent plea, stilling his hand until you follow suit.

“You’re not playing fair.” You halfheartedly complain, willing your body to calm.

“I never promised that I would, my sweet.” You don’t know what god or goddess you should pray to to thank them for bringing you Astarion, but you’re a devout believer. “Now stay still, or I might bite.” He flashes his fangs at you. It’s not a real threat. He’d never actually bite you without your consent, but the tease still sends shivers down your spine. Coursing through your body until they land, pulsing deeply in your cunt. Astarion leans forward, an illusion of a predator cornering their prey. His soft cock begins to harden as he cups your face in both of his hands. Cradling you as if you’re something breakable, something precious. Astarion swipes his thumb across your cheek as he stares into your eyes–as if it’s the first time he’s seen the sunrise. “I love you.”

Astarion pounces, taking you down with a devastatingly deep kiss. If kisses were ambrosia you’d have been drunk ages ago. And still you want more. You need more of him. His heart, his touch, gods above, you need his cock that’s pressed between your thigh and his abdomen, but Astarion refuses to stop kissing you or to move into a more accessible position. He slides his tongue into your mouth, licking you open until you writhe and squirm with a need that burns so hot it overpowers your senses. But even still, Astarion doesn’t relent. He presses on, moving from your mouth back down to your throat where he begins to suck bruises to your sensitive skin. Out of pure desperation, you grasp at his back until your fingers graze his scars before moving to grip his shoulders. You clutch him to you just as passionately as he kisses you. It takes everything inside of you not to bust and fade away into the Weave as Astarion uses his weight to keep you pinned to the bed. His lips move from your throat and for one solitary second you think he might give you what you need, but no. Instead, he works his way along your jaw, tracing you with his mouth until he finds the place under your ear that drives you wild.

“Fuck–please! Astarion—” His cock, hard and weeping now, rests on your stomach. Pressed between your bodies as Astarion rolls his hips. Clenching, you feel your arousal dripping out to stain the sheets below. You’re wet, so unbearably wet and empty and aching for him to fill you. You’re pleading and your moans do nothing to sway the elf, though you know the bastard hears you. His pointed ears twitch as you cry out for him, but he continues to hold you down. Unwilling to pull back even an inch to separate himself from you. You manage to angle your arm just enough to get a solid handful of his hair, and begin to pull. Slowly but firmly enough that his head raises just enough to make eye contact, and as you do, you feel his cock throb with need. He likes this.

“Oh fu–ck!” Astarion’s shameless cry comes out sticky sweet from his throat, Adam’s apple quivering prominently. He sounds drunk. He looks it too. The expression on his face is close to ecstasy before you accidentally lose your hold on his hair. Too turned on and thoroughly debauched to be able to concentrate on keeping your grip. Not when he shifts his hips to create a delicious friction between your slick pussy and his engorged cock. You chase the feeling, grinding against him as best you can, but to no avail. You’re still pinned beneath him. Hips and thighs locked. Both you and Astarion are reduced to base instincts as his rigid cock slides over your clit once more before contact is lost. This isn’t fucking working. You’re only briefly aware of the pillows being pushed to the floor, shoved away by Astarion to make better room for your head, before his hand reaches down. He shifts and forces your leg over his hip. He’s a man consumed by desire. His need for you.

Astarion hovers over you, his crimson eyes piercing you through your heart as you reach for him, aiming to pull him back down for another taste of his ambrosia lips. Instead he captures your hand in his and pulls it to his bloodstained mouth. He sweeps gentle kisses over your knuckles before intertwining his fingers with yours and pins it to the mattress. His other hand finds your thigh, grasping tightly before guiding your knee to your chest. Opening and exposing your pussy for him to slide his cock against your entrance. “That’s it darling,” he encourages you. Praising you as he slides against you, slowly dragging his cock along your wet slit. The head of his cock catches, and without hesitation, Astarion presses in. It’s blissful and devastating as Astarion finally fucking fills you. Sliding in on one long stroke to fully seat you on his cock. He doesn’t pull out, just gently grinds against you. His smooth skin and throbbing cock caressing you until your breath leaves. Whisked away by your lover, leaving you with blurry vision and a spinning room. “Now, now. We can’t have that.” Astarion rolls his hips, wonderfully grinding against your folds and bringing friction that your clit so desperately desires. The sensation makes you gasp, forcing you to gulp down air, reminding you that you’re here–now. Very much alive and not in heaven, no matter how much it feels like you are.

“Astarion–”

You’re not sure if he’s listening. Flaming eyes and a silent snarl are all that he gives you besides a deep guttural moan as he continues to fuck you. It’s slow and brutal and entirely different from any performance he puts on. This isn’t Astarion trying to pretend to be anything other than the vampire–the man that he is. Desperate and extraordinarily dangerous as he claims you for himself. Your orgasm taunts you. Haunting you from the edges, and you want it so fucking bad, but you also couldn’t care any less. It’s now, it’s this moment, it’s Astarion who holds your attention in his iron grasp. Ruining you with his love. You hear the wet sounds of your pussy as he fucks into you. Pushing more of your arousal out of your cunt with his cock. He lets go of your hand and leans in close, snaking his arm under the small of your back. Using his vampiric strength, Astarion pulls on you, just enough that your hips shift to a new glorious angle. One that has him hitting a spot that makes you go feral underneath him as his pelvis grinds against your clit on every stroke. He keeps his other hand firmly under your knee, pushing your leg into a position that stretches your hips. It all feels so fucking good.

Astarion’s taut, muscular body moves over you. He’s graceful even now as he holds you, fucking you rhythmically. You clench around him, wordlessly asking him for more, and he raises his head. Fangs snapping in the air, muscles tensing in his neck as Astarion tries hopelessly to hold on to his senses. A half-baked idea forms in your dazed brain. You don’t stop to think it through, you can’t. You just act, throwing your arm around Astarion’s neck, pulling him close until you have him right where you want him. You sink your blunt teeth into the side of his neck. Your vampiric imitation pales in comparison to the true thing. Only biting hard enough to bruise his delicate moonlight skin. The moment you bite down on Astarion’s neck, you feel his cock throbbing inside of you. His breath hitches in your ear as you press your tongue against his skin and a soft moan escapes his lips.

“Fuck–” he growls through gritted fangs. Dropping your leg, Astarion moves his hands to the curve of your hips. Holding on tight, and pinning you down as you continue your mock feeding. “Fancy yourself a vampire now, darling?” You bite down harder in agreement and Astarion melts in your arms. Moaning as you claim him as yours in return. “I think not,” he protests, and for a second you think it’s an empty threat. It feels like he’s close, like he’s struggling to keep from falling over the edge. That is until he starts to move again, fucking your pussy like a goddamn promise. “I’m the only blood sucker you’ll find in this bed, darling, and I’m going to eat you right up.” Before you know what’s happened, Astarion has hold of both your legs, knees propped over his strong shoulders. He circles your aching clit with his thumb as he savagely fucks you. Tits bouncing from the force, sliding you up the bed on every thrust. You feel the spit that streaks your lips as you gasp out for him. It’s too intense–too much all at once. You try to hold on, to stop your orgasm from slamming into. Astarion gives you a saccharine smile. "You sound so adorable when you're trying not to come."

You beg.

You curse.

You come.

Gushing on his cock, your body is electrified, and you fall. Blood rushes in your ears so loudly you can’t hear anything. Your senses thrust you into a burning pit of pleasure as Astarion forces you down further. Spiraling until you find yourself caught, supported in Astarion’s arms. An uncomfortable wetness coats your legs and part or Astarion’s stomach but you can’t find the motivation to care because somehow, he’s still moving. He's held on long enough to fuck you through you orgasm. Giving your pussy long, even strokes as he chases his high. His ethereal face is close and so you take him with your lips. Kissing him, licking his fangs, until you feel his cock pulsing, overfilling you until his spend leaks out from around his cock. Adding to the mess.You feel like you’re floating. Exhausted, yes, but happy and ready to sleep. The mess will keep till nightfall when it’s time to wake, but Astarion shows no sign of slowing.

“No, my love. You're doing so well for me, but I’m not done with you yet.” Grabbing a pillow from the floor, Astarion cups your head, lifting it for you to place the cushion underneath before tenderly laying you back down. He slides down your body, lavishing you with attention. Forcing you to stay in the present with him by kissing your dips and curves. Any place he finds on your body he marks it for himself. Kneeling between your legs he softly coaxes you open. His spent cock rests half hard but bobs in excitement as he spreads the lips of your soaked pussy, licking his lips like he's being presented with a feast in his honor. The air from the room feels cold and uncomfortable on your wet entrance, covered in the sticky slick remnants of your lovemaking. It makes you clench involuntarily and more of Astarion leaks out of you. Astarion looks ruined at the sight of you. His perfect features contort into agonized lust before he leans in.

“Wait! No I’m too–” He doesn’t listen. Astarion leans down and wraps his lips around your mound. You can’t help the way your body jerks at the first swipe of his tongue on your oversensitive pussy. He’s cleaning the mess he's made of you. His sharp fangs are hot pinpricks on your skin that further blur the line of pleasure and pain you’re walking down. Another swipe of Astarion’s tongue has you twisting, kicking your legs to pull away. You move higher up on the bed, willing space for your body to recover. “Please, I need a minute. ”

Astarion reaches up, catches your ankle in his firm grasp, and pulls. His strength makes it look easy as he drags you, clutching at the traitorous bed sheets in desperation, to his parted lips. “I said I’d eat you up darling, and frankly, I’m still absolutely famished.” His voice is gravel but yours is fire as he begins to eat his fill of you. This time you’re unable to pull away. He’s wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking your cunt to his mouth so he can eat you like a piece of fruit that drips down his lips and chin. Saccharine sweet and delicious as Astarion consumes you. Fucking you with his tongue. Licking your nectar coated skin and sucking you between his teeth.

You lack any leverage to fight back, to twist away. Your entire lower half is being held up off the bed by the vampire feasting on your pussy. If you sincerely asked for him to let you go, to set you back down you know he would, but you can’t force yourself to say the words. You don’t want to. You want this. Astarion knows you want this as you gasp, muscles clenching while he sucks your clit between his lips. His breath is hot flames that lick along your scorched nerves. “That’s it, love. You can give me one more, can’t you darling.”

Yes, you think, or maybe you agree out loud because you hear Astarion chuckle before kissing his praise into cunt. For a second you’re confused as he pulls back again, wondering why he’s stopped. But then Astarion adjusts his grip on you, making sure your leg is solidly hooked over his shoulder, before he slides two fingers into your pussy. “Ah! P-please,” you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but Astarion gives it to you all the same. Scissoring his fingers, he strokes your cunt. Gently trying to coax out your pleasure, caressing your insides until you sing. his lips find your folds once more. His devastating accuracy brings you over the edge in moments. You’re left gasping, head spinning as the position Astarion holds you in makes it hard to breathe. It takes him a few moments, his lips busy kissing your pussy, his tongue lapping your mess, before he eases you back down into the ruined silk sheets. His mouth finds yours and you taste yourself on his lips, bitter in comparison to how thoroughly sweet he’s being.

You feel dazed–and elated. Your body floats somewhere between the heavens and the earth. Entwined together with Astarion who holds you close, refusing to let you go, but you don’t mind. His skin, though warm, is still much cooler than yours. It feels wonderful as your heartbeat begins to slow, your breathing returning to normal. Turning your head just so brings Astarion’s lips back to yours and the easy kisses you share almost bring tears to your eyes. Blinking them away is easy though as Astarion deepens the kiss, parting your lips so gently you don’t realize what’s happening at first. Not until you feel Astarion shifting his hips to slide his engorged cock along your entrance once more. You part easily for him, sending shivers of over-stimulation mixed with desire through every limb. There is no rush this time. Just a few languid strokes that have you gasping into Astarion’s mouth before he stills. Even while kissing you, you can see the smirk on his face as he allows you to adjust to holding him inside. Laying there together, connected in the deepest sense. Warming each other with limbs and lips entangled. “What the hell has gotten into you?” You don’t really expect an answer from Astarion as he seems to be preoccupied with lavishing attention across your collarbone.

“I’ve decided to reclaim the day for myself. It’s what I’m owed,” he sulks, looking up at you through his pretty eyelashes, but you can hear the sincerity behind his words. Yes. Yes, Astarion is owed the day. The sun. That and so much more, but not all of it is within your power to give. But this–this you can do. His ruby eyes sparkle in the candlelight as they dance along your face. Your answering smile stuns him into silence.

*************************

The sun has long since set as you stifle a yawn. Nostalgia returns once more. It’s been ages since the night meant it was time to rest, but the elf who’s at fault for keeping you up all day looks positively happy. So you let your complaints remain silent as you gaze at your lover. A heavy tomb rests in his lap and a gold chalice clutched in his delicate hand is filled with either wine or blood. You can’t tell from your position across the room. Reluctantly, you glance back down to the delicately looping script on the thick parchment in front of you. The letter is from Gale, back in his tower in Waterdeep. You’ve been trying to read it for the last half hour, but Astarion is just, so distracting. Honestly, anything could distract you from Gale going on about his Tressym, but Astarion seems to be especially good at it. That is until your eyes catch a few words that make you excited.

“Astarion.”

“Yes, darling?” He answers, eyes slow to leave the pages of his book.

“How would you feel about visiting with Gale for a bit?”

Astarion doesn’t try to hide the disinterest on his face at all as he turns his attention back to his reading. “No.”

“It’s just that–wait. No?” His answer takes you completely off guard. “What do you mean no?”

He heaves a sigh into his book. “I suppose if he were to come here that would be fine with me, but I’m far too busy this evening to travel all the way down to the Lower City just to visit with Gale.”

“Busy?” you laugh. “What do you have planned that makes you “too busy” to see a friend?”

“First of all,” he interjects. Head raising until he adopts a pose of self-importance. “‘Friend’ is much too strong of a descriptor for my relationship with that wizard. At most we are merely,” his graceful fingers swirl about until he finds the words he’s searching for, “–former work associates at best.”

“Oh is that so?” you say, smiling up at the hill you know Astarion is about to come down from.

“And besides, what if I get a bit peckish later tonight?” He pouts, coyly looking up at you through his eyelashes. “Neither one of us would like Gale around for that.”

“Well you’re being very greedy tonight, and I can’t say I don’t like it either,” you shoot him a look before unburying the lead. “But Gale isn’t in Baldur’s Gate, love. He’s invited us to his tower in Waterdeep.”

“Why would we travel all the way to Waterdeep just to see Gale fawn over his cat?”

You hold out the thick parchment letter with Gale’s elegant handwriting for him to look over. “Apparently, Gale and Tara have a lead on a cure for your sun sensitivity–” Astarion is out of his seat, book falling heavily to the floor, and by your side in an instant. He snatches the letter from your hand, reading Gale’s words for himself. You put on an air of indifference. “But if you really don’t want to go visit an old ‘work associate’, I understand.”

“Now now now, my love. Let’s not be hasty.” You roll your eyes. “Gale is a dear friend of ours! And I hear that Waterdeep is beautiful this time of year, not as beautiful as I am, of course, but that would be expecting far too much I suppose.” You let Astarion read on, absorbing the message for himself. “Well,” he says as he reaches the end, signed with your friend’s love. “It seems our wizard has been busy. Very busy, if he has a possible solution for you too.”

“I’m not worried about that just yet, but it’s nice to know I might be able to stick around longer than I thought possible.” Astarion caresses your cheek, allowing you space in the same way you provide for him. “I think I’m ready for another adventure though. It’s been a while since anyone’s tried to murder us. What do you think, love?”

He bends down, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I’m ready to have some fun,” he smiles. Fangs and all.

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relaxxattack · 15 days ago

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okay so i don't want to particularly call out these kinds of headcanons as bad. but they highlight a specific fandom trend ive seen for ages so here goes:

the extended zodiac is not alternian canon, nor zodiac.

i know that's brash for a lighthearted official personality quiz. but i've seen this zodiac presented frequently as the End All of trollsigns -- even claims that all trolls MUST derive from these 288. this is a complete misrepresentation of original canon.

first, obviously, the notion that your personality is determined by your caste is literally just what troll racism is, so the canocity of this test claims racism as truth. second of all, the traits are not even accurate to the trolls we DO see in canon- they're pulled from western zodiac.

the zodiac's also determined by lunar sway; nonsense because alternian trolls don't have lunar sway. it's a "moon a sburb player dreams on", and none of these trolls are sburb players. (i also feel like this should go for aspects, though that is a more controversial opinion)

so yeah, the extended zodiac is inaccurate and purely just fandom sburb personality-type nonsense. but does that really make it noncanon? plenty of stuff on alternia is nonsense.

except... homestuck trolls don't believe that signs are a zodiac that determine their personality.

not only is the idea of signs being related to some sort of personality zodiac never once mentioned by a troll, but the signs are frequently tied to other things that have nothing to do with personality. kanaya equivalents trollsigns to signatures, and later vriska explains the concept to john as being similar to a family crest, bemoaning that trolls have to do much more searching for clues or their ancestry than humans do. cronus also refers to his sign as his signature.

virska does use the phrasing that trolls who have the same sign "have a lot in common", but she also does this explicitly in the context of explaining to john how troll ancestry works, as hussie further notes in the commentary of that page that signs are included in physical/genetic characteristics trolls look to for ancestry clues. even hiveswap, which wants you to believe in the zodiac, concludes that signs are specific to troll surnames and that there are signs outside of it. multiple trolls in homestuck have signs that do not appear in the extended zodiac.

the extended zodiac quiz ≠ the alternian sign alphabet.

alternians wouldn't know what aspects or lunar sways are, nor have personalities equivilant to their signs (feferi and meenah are right there). deciding that trollsigns = personality test is a purely human concept that comes from our western zodiac.

but you know what alternians DO have?

THEY HAD THEIR OWN FUCKING CONSTELLATIONS AND ZODIAC. FROM THEIR OWN CREATORS. THIS WHOLE TIME.

where are the headcanons about troll's placements on THAT zodiac?

#this isn't to say you can't USE the quiz for making fantrolls. it's literally a cute official quiz and you can do whatever you want forever.#this is just to say it's really annoying when people shit on (fan)trolls for NOT following the zodiac. THE ORIGINAL COMIC DIDN'T!#homestuck #hiveswap #friendsim #op #hsmeta

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lalunanymph · 7 months ago

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𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐘 — miya osamu

based off this thought i had about atsumu unintentionally hooking his twin up with his future wife skibidi doo bap

I'm g'na kill him when I catch him, Osamu thinks, already coming up with a sure-fire plan to wipe his twin off the face of the earth for humiliating him like this.

And then, I'll go back in time and absorb him from the womb.

Usually, he could take whatever bullshit Tsumu threw his way—but this time, the star setter had gone too far.

Osamu literally feels like he's going to die; hands clammy and mind spinning in circles when he sees your confused expression, his number on a scrap of paper dangling uselessly in between his lax fingers.

"I... I'm sorry, Miya-san. I think you misunderstood..."

Your eyelashes flutter against your cheekbones, pearly white teeth digging into your lower lip as you chew on it in anxiety.

Thank fuck it's almost closing time and none of his regulars are here to see him fumble this badly.

He blinks, retracts his hand, and number with a forced smile, even when he feels like turning around and strangling his brother, who is, of course, dying of silent laughter in the kitchen.

"Ah." He scratches the back of his head, pink dusting apparent on his boyishly handsome face. "I'm sorry for putting you in this position, L/N-san."

Osamu struggles to control his cresting shame, forcing a smile.

"Let me make you a house special as an apology for my forwardness. I'm truly am sorry for putting you in this position."

Before he could turn and retreat back into the kitchen with his tail tuck in between his legs, you call out a high-pitched, "Wait!"

He turns, and doesn't expect your face to warm, eyes darting to the clean counter as you tap your white-painted nails on the lacquered wood.

"Wh-what did the cashier actually tell you, Miya-san?"

"The cashier?"

You nod. "The blonde man. Kinda looks like you. I told him to send the chef my compliments but I think he must've given you a different impression."

Oh. Tsumu.

Osamu tries to grin without baring his teeth too much, and as if knowing his bluff was exposed, Atsumu chokes back his chortles, ducking into the kitchen to hide.

"Ah," Osamu kisses his teeth. He debates not telling you the truth, but since he's already made an ass of himself, he might as well commit to the schtick. "Said to me a babe told him to tell me she thinks I'm hot. S'all."

If it was possible, your face warms even more.

"O-oh. Well... he isn't wrong."

"Yeah, he was really out of line with that—wait, what?"

Osamu backtracks, unsure if he's heard you right.

Your mortification is contagious, especially when you duck your head again and mumble: "He's not wrong, Miya-san." Now, it's your turn to be forward and courageous. "I... I think you're really cute."

The black shirt he has on stretches across his broad pecs, highlighting his muscular build and those deliciously impressive biceps and traps. A simple cap the same color hides his dark hair, and even under the fluorescent lights, no one could deny how much of a looker Miya Osamu is.

Right now, he has a choice: flounder and fumble you, or, take this chance to ask you out.

While he malfunctions with indecision, you remove the burden of choosing from him, reaching forward to grab his number written hastily on a scrap of paper with a small smile.

Still shy, both of you couldn't look the other in the eye, the implications of your actions giving Osamu whiplash.

"O-okay, uh, thanks," his deep, baritone takes on a shade of embarrassment.

In your sundress and pretty smile, you take his breath away as you stand, tucking his number right into your small purse.

"I'll call you then, Miya-san. See you soon."

The second the door closes behind your retreating figure, Atsumu's grating voice pierces through the daze in Osamu's mind like nails running down chalkboard, his face peeking from behind the kitchen door.

"Damn, I can't believe that worked. See Samu? S'wasn't so bad, huh? You finally got a date and I can get you out of this kitch—h-hey Samu—hey! S-Stop—stop chasing me!"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ 🎀 dawn says: haikyuu debut lessgoooo .... rbs and love are very much appreciated <3

©️ intellectual property of lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, claim as your own or change up the sentence structures and characters

#🦢 writes #haikyuu fluff #osamu fluff #haikyu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu #osamu miya #dividers by @/ pommecita

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hotshotsxyz · 1 month ago

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buck, eddie & the great comet of 2024

(buddie) (1.1k words) for and inspired by @moonlightperseus who said, and i quote, "do you think he would break down crying in bucks arms out in the middle of nowhere under the stars". yes. yes i do.

There’s something to be said for wallowing, Eddie thinks. It’s hard to make any new mistakes, for one, and it’s far less labor-intensive than any of the alternatives. So yeah, maybe he’s wallowing a little bit, but it’s not like he needs to be saved from himself.

He says as much to Buck, who immediately rolls his eyes.

“I’m not saving you, I’m kidnapping you,” he says.

“Maybe I don’t want to be kidnapped,” Eddie replies. He settles further into the couch to make his point.

Buck frowns. “I don’t think the kidnap-ee really gets a say in it,” he says. “Anyway, you’re not going to make me go alone, are you?”

“To what?” Eddie asks. “You haven’t even told me where we’re going.”

Buck’s eyes light up like he’s won something. Eddie replays the last few seconds of conversation in his head and groans.

“Come on, do you trust me?” He asks, and it’s not even really a question. Or, if it is, Buck knows the answer just as well as he does.

“Fine,” Eddie sighs. “I’m picking the music, though.”

Buck grins. “Deal.”

Just to fuck with him, Eddie starts their drive with the most depressing song in his library.

Buck snorts as soon as he recognizes it. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“I’m being kidnapped,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I can be mopey.”

“Yeah, but… Trading Yesterday mopey?”

His nose wrinkles and Eddie can’t help but laugh. “Oh yeah, Trading Yesterday, Amber Run— sure you don’t just want to leave me to my misery?”

“Nah, I always want you around,” Buck says, a little too soft, a little too sincere to be anything but the truth.

Eddie’s breath catches in his chest. “Okay,” he says. He tries to ignore how raw it feels as it leaves his tongue.

“Just add some Death Cab for Cutie for me,” Buck teases.

Eddie huffs something close to a laugh and adds Transatlanticism to the queue.

By the time Buck turns onto Angel Crest Highway, Eddie’s given up on trying to work out where they’re going.

“You know, I thought you were joking about the kidnapping,” he says.

“Oh no, I take my kidnapping very seriously,” Buck says, glancing over.

Eddie laughs, and then his stomach growls. “Any chance your plot includes snacks?” He asks.

The corner of Buck’s mouth quirks up. “What kind of kidnapper do you take me for?”

“The kind that’s trying to Stockholm Syndrome me, clearly,” Eddie drawls.

“Is it working?” Buck asks. His eyes are alight with mirth, and not for the first time Eddie finds himself a little distracted by them.

He hums an affirmative. “You’ve got me right where you want me.”

“Alright,” Buck says. “We’re here.”

Here is, seemingly, a random scenic overlook. In the distance, the sun is slowly sinking below the horizon.

“And we’re… watching the sunset?” Eddie guesses.

“Nope,” Buck says. He pauses and tilts his head to the side. “Well actually, yeah, I guess we are. But not just the sunset!”

“So…” Eddie prompts.

Buck rubs at the back of his head. “It’s, uh— do you remember that comet I told you about a few months ago?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and he does. It’d been while they were on shift, a slow one if Eddie remembers correctly. Buck had excitedly shown him a NASA article and said that he was putting it in his calendar for—

For Chris.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes.

“Is— is that okay?” Buck asks.

Eddie closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Yeah,” he says, a little rough. “I just wish…”

“Me too.”

A familiar wave of guilt crashes through Eddie’s chest. It’s just one more thing on a long list of things Chris is missing out on because of him.

“I’m still glad we’re here,” Buck says, taking Eddie’s wrist in his hand.

Eddie feels a little nauseous when he realizes he is too.

Buck packed them an entire dinner to eat while they wait for the comet to become visible on the horizon. If Chris was here, Buck probably would’ve brought a few camp chairs for them to use, but as it is they sit on the floor of the Jeep’s cargo space, legs dangling past the rear bumper. It’s a little chilly in the mountains; Eddie appreciates the long line of warmth that is Buck’s body pressed against his, shoulder to knee.

In hushed tones, Buck tells Eddie everything he knows about Tsuchinshan-ATLAS, which is, apparently, the comet’s name. He describes its origin in the Oort Cloud, and how it survived a seemingly deadly trip around the sun.

“It won’t be back for another eight hundred centuries,” Buck says breathlessly.

Eddie loves him like this. He loves the curiosity that emanates from him in waves, and the way he seems to have absorbed every little fun fact he’s ever read. He loves the way Buck glows when he shares his knowledge with anyone lucky enough to be in his orbit. He loves—

He loves Buck.

And that’s—

It’s—

Oh.

Of course he does.

The comet makes its appearance forty-five minutes after the last rays of the sun dissipate into inky blue.

“There,” Buck says, pulling Eddie toward the guardrail and pointing at a tiny streak of light in the sky.

All at once, Eddie is desperately sad. He’s here and Buck’s here but Chris isn’t, and it’s not supposed to be like that. It’s supposed to be the three of them together. It’s supposed to be Buck and Chris bouncing fun facts off each other, and Eddie watching fondly as the two people he loves most in this world revel in the joy of sharing a new experience. It’s supposed to be their family, their whole family.

Buck turns to him, like he’s somehow sensed the sudden shift in Eddie’s mood. He offers him a small, sad smile.

“I, uh, I reminded Chris about the comet this morning,” he says quietly.

Eddie takes a shaky breath.

“He should be seeing it too, right about now,” Buck continues. “I know it’s not… but—but we’re looking at the same sky.”

An overwhelming mix of sadness-gratitude-guilt-joy-sorrow-love hits Eddie square in the chest. “You…” he whispers.

Buck bites his lip. “I just… I thought you’d want to know,” he says.

Out of nowhere, a sob bursts from Eddie’s chest. In an instant, Buck’s arms are around him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I can’t fix it.”

Eddie tucks his face into Buck’s neck, and for the first time since the night Christopher left, he lets himself cry.

Buck holds him until the comet is far beyond the horizon.

#911 #buddie #buddiefic #911fic #buddie fic #911 fic #i hope you like it abby <3 #fic #abbie writes #and once again i find myself posting at the worst possible time of day lmao

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lynxfrost13 · 10 months ago

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MUDWINGS

Physical traits

Sharing a close common ancestor with seawings, mudwings are a very large flightless breed of dragon that have adapted to the swamps and mountain borders of their lands. The largest tribe in terms of their sheer bulk, mudwings typically have a chunky build, with fat tails and short powerful legs built for endurance, not speed. Mudwings are ambush predators, choosing to wallow in deeper waters to catch their prey or graze on plants. With iron stomachs and their powerful jaws and tongues, mudwings can eat just about anything they find. Their large canines and gum flaps are mostly used for displays of intimidation, as well as their gills.

Mudwing gills only work during their hatchling years in order to allow the babies to hide underwater from predators who would eat the unprotected newborns, who’s scales are incredibly soft. As they grow older, mudwings lose the functional abilities of their gills but in exchange, grow thick flexible scales that protect their faces and bodies, with their underbellies remaining mostly soft. Mudwings’ head ridges grow into horns that are layered and transition into a neck crest. Many mudwings also sport “beard” ridges on their face regardless of gender, and these serve no purpose but are considered attractive.

Mudwings are semi aquatic and can remain underwater for several hours, their soft nose flaps can close to prevent them from breathing water and their massive lungs can hold great deals of air. To help them detect prey in murkier waters, mudwings also have whiskers on their brows and around their noses,the exception to this is newborns, who’s whiskers grow in as they age. As hatchlings they all tend to be a solid dull shade of any color, but brighter accent colors develop in adolescence.

Customs

Mudwings are a festive tribe, holding annual contests pitting sibling groups against each other in various sports, with a focus on having each sib group demonstrate how well they cooperate with each other. Mudwings also have a deep connection to food and mealtimes, their cuisine is heavily made up of stews and soups and large meals that can be shared, such as meat roasts. Mudwings borrow from sandwing culture and use sandwing spices so frequently in their cooking that they’ve become a staple in every mudwing household. The emphasis on sharing a meal with a guest is also extremely important, to not offer a meal to a stranger is considered a hostile action against that stranger by other mudwings. They appreciate foods from all over Pyrrhia and many merchants from other tribes come to the mudwing kingdom to sell treats and food that would not be welcome in other places due to cultural differences.

Mudwings are also incredible storytellers, with much of their history being passed down through oral storytelling, they don’t keep many written records but instead have bards who’s duty is to teach mudwings about their history and entertain them with song. They swear oaths that bind them to a faithful retelling rooted in truth, but they are allowed to make the stories as poetic as they please. Mudwing bards have traveled across Pyrrhia and some even tell the histories of other tribes. Despite their rich tradition, the other tribes tend to dismiss the mudwing approach, since they see bards as unreliable.

#wings of fire #wof #art #my art #dragon #dragon art #mudwing #artists on tumblr #digital art

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oristian · 6 months ago

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ELUCIEN | GWYNRIEL — MAASVERSE SPOILERS

I tend to see posts and videos from a multitude of people who seem to be reluctant to accept foreshadowing in the ACOTAR books—specifically regarding the endgame couples to finish out the overall series. As this post is simply beating a dead horse down, I find that it is very much needed as a specific group of people lack the capacity to understand the books.

Foreshadowing is not meant to be obvious. There are, of course, cases where it is relatively obvious, but only within the parameters of back-to-back scenes. Foreshadowing is meant to be picked up on, but to be fully understand later on in the story when everything comes to fruition. Examples of foreshadowing include color descriptions, specific use of language, emphasis on certain scenes, emphasis surrounding specific objects, et cetera. If something happens obviously and you can read the scene as-is, it is not foreshadowing.

I see many people who ship Elriel claim that there is buildup across the entire series that foreshadows why they will be endgame. As the books do not support that claim, it is outlandish and a spread of misinformation. Allow me to disprove this theory using the books alone:

— 🌸 ACOTAR: Zero interactions between Elain and Azriel as Azriel had not been introduced as a character yet. This book highlighted Feyre surmising that Elain would thrive within the Spring Court, that her sister enjoyed typical emissary work, and instead introduced Lucien as a character.

— 🦢 ACOMAF: This is the first book where Elain and Azriel met, as is this is where many Elriels like to claim that the Elriel build-up begins. However, this book says otherwise. Elain and Azriel’s first meeting is neutral, quiet conversation to ease a tense situation as Nesta/Feyre/Cassian/Rhys were creating an uncomfortable atmosphere and Elain meant to ease it. This book highlighted how in love Azriel was with Mor and how Elain was engaged to Grayson. Many Elriels also claim that the color of Elain’s dress in this first meeting—being cobalt—is indicative of endgame between she and Azriel. However, cobalt is also the signature color of Grayson’s family crest. Their interactions die out after that first meeting and instead focus on Feysand again. The throne room scene in Hybern also showed the beginning of Elucien and their mate bond, while Azriel was on the floor reaching for Mor. (I go more into this on my Tik Tok page: @oristian)

— 🔥 ACOWAR: When Feyre returns to the Night Court after her month in Spring, she finds that Elain has been within a catatonic state for the entirety of that month and has shown no signs of recovering—that is, until Lucien came along. Elain began eating and moving around once he came and after tugging on the mating bond, her visions first started showing. themselves. Everyone likes to credit Azriel for most of this, but all that Azriel did (take her to the garden) was suggested previously by Lucien. Lucien, who was not able to be alone with her due to Nesta and Feyre. Next, everyone tends to say that Azriel “saw” Elain when he named her power. “What we need is …” Contradicts such a thing. Naming a power does not cure someone of their trauma. Lucien is also canonically the first character to take Elain’s visions seriously and went in search of Vassa, ultimately finding Papa Archeron and creating an even deeper connection into the Koschei plot arc with Elain. This is also where we get the iconic half-step on the stair scene.

Elain is now kidnapped by the cauldron portraying itself as Graysen—Elain wanting so badly to be with her previous lover. This is a scene where many Elriels claim that it is supportive of Elriel being endgame. However, it is within character for Azriel to save someone, especially people close to him. Certainly, Elain being appreciative of being saved and kissing him on the cheek is cute, but that is not enough “foreshadowing” for an endgame. Next, Azriel hands her Truth Teller after Elain refused other weapons. Elain is hesitant and only agrees to take it once Feyre chimes in that she will not have to use it. Juxtapose this with Elain immediately giving it back after the battle is over, not saying a word, and instead falling into conversation with Lucien. Lucien, who is canonically the only character to credit her for assisting with ending the King of Hybern.

— 🌨️ ACOFAS: This is the buffer book that was meant to do two things: Establish Nessian as the next couple for the following book, and establish a clear love triangle between Azriel/Elain/Lucien. Elriels use this book to drive the idea of an Elriel endgame. While this book has scenes between Elain and Azriel, there is unfortunately no foreshadowing present enough to support that claim. This novella emphasizes, from a conversation between Rhys and Feyre, that Azriel may be inclined towards Elain due to her having traits that may remind him of his mother (Freud). We also have Solstice where Lucien brings Elain a gift—a gift that fully reflects her interests—Elain brings Azriel a gift, but Azriel does not bring Elain a gift. Azriel even questioning beforehand if he has to get the sisters a gift at all. Elain’s gift being superficial and more of a joke than anything truly meaningful to them as a relationship.

— 🗡️ ACOSF: The book that ended Elriel. We have this book set up as PRE-BONUS CHAPTER | BONUS CHAPTER | POST BONUS CHAPTER. In the pre-bonus chapter, we have a few scenes between Elain and Azriel that is a glance, or a very small interaction. The infamous scene that Elriels like to use to “prove” that his shadows actually like Elain is the scene where Cassian says that Nesta upset Elain and his shadows seemed poised to strike. His shadows reacted to his anger, not to Elain. Next, the Solstice scene where Azriel refused to be within the room due to the mating bond between Elain and Lucien and Nesta seeing that he was interested in Elain—which is never brought up again, however we do get a scene post bonus chapter of Nesta encouraging Gwyn and Azriel by calling him the “new ribbon.”

The bonus chapter ended Elriel officially as endgame. The chapter is told from Azriel’s POV and documents his lustful thoughts of Elain and how he wants a mate, hurt and confused why his brothers had two of the Archeron sisters and the third was given away to another male. Rhysand even asking Azriel what his plans are after seducing Elain and Azriel having none “past the fantasies he pleasures himself to.” This is also a chapter where Elriels like to claim that Elriel is a forbidden romance. ACOWAR Rhys clearly objects to this being the case. (I have a video on my Tik Tok going over this @oristian) The bonus chapter then moves to Azriel finding Gwyn, his shadows not warning him of her presence at the HoW. His shadows are curious about her and dance with her breath. Azriel then finds out that Elain rejected his necklace—the only Solstice gift that he has gotten her, and one he expressed as “nothing extraordinary”—and the next morning finds him re-gifting such to Gwyn. Azriel can picture her eyes lighting up at the gift and he smiles—this is also where mate language is used to describe the spark in his chest at the thought of her and the glow of the thought. “A thing of secret, lovely beauty.” A line that was used twice—one to describe the necklace, and another time to describe the thought of Gwyn.

Post bonus chapter has zero interactions between Elain and Azriel. The interactions between Azriel and Gwyn are charged and witty. Energetic. This is also where we see Azriel’s siphons glowing darker at the thought of the Valkyries in the Great Rite—the first instance that this has happened.

Next, we go into the last two remaining plot arcs: Koschei and Dusk Court. Both ACOSF and HOFAS have set Nesta up as the driver for the Dusk Court arc, with Azriel as the character to follow. With SJM’s Bloomsbury contract slating her to have two more main books with dual POV romantic interests, the Dusk Court arc book would only make sense having Gwyn and Azriel as the FMC and MMC of that arc. The Koschei arc has been carefully crafted for Elain and Lucien to be the FMC and MMC of that book, with both of them being set up for this since ACOWAR. Elain with her visions of Vassa, the lake, and Koschei’s black box, and Lucien being tied to Papa Archeron and Vassa and the mortals. (I have a video on my Tik Tok that goes more in depth with this @oristian)

— SUMMARY: Elain and Azriel do not have multiple books of foreshadowing, a Gwynriel and Elucien endgame is not fanservice, and the remaining two plot arcs do not support an Elriel endgame. If you have any problems with that, take it up with SJM.

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tinydefector · 8 days ago

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Marine Centre 10- merformers Au SMUT

Bluestreak for y'all cause he's the lucky Mer who gets to hit it first.

This was originally 8k words and I got it down to 4k very happy and I hope you all enjoy the first smut for this fic.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: smut, interspecies sex, mating, oral, sex knotting. Language barrier.

Fic Masterlist

_______________________

The soft whistles from Angelfish had been following them for a while as they continued picking up rubbish on the beach. Dale, Quin and the new hires were out doing water testing and they had said they were going to stay back.

The grey blue oceanide wades in the water chirping and calling out to them as he flings rubbish on the sand for them to pick up. He circles around rocks but comes back to the shallow water barely skimming across the sand to be close.

They take the trash he throws, adding it to the bag even as he wobbles at them. "Angelfish no, not playing today, i'll go swimming in the reef later" they call back to him only paying mild attention. Their thoughts were off in the ocean, they hoped Big blue was alright he had been very scares since his ‘accident’ while Angelfish had become rather vocal and been pursuing them.

They yelp as he launches from the water to grab them pulling them into the shallow water with a loud thrill of triumph. "Angel Stop!" They yell struggling against his hold as he pulls them close. Their eyes look up to meet with the big pools of blue against black as he chirps and huffs out a little melody. “Ooeeeeneeooaee” comes from the Oceanide as he caws excitedly as his gambit succeeds.

But at their cry, he recoils in distress, fins drooping in dismay. "Ooeeaeeouueeaa!" he, chirruping anxiously it sounds almost pitiful as he hands cup their face. Another collection of whistles and whines leave him as he looks at them pleadingly

Feebly he trills another song, bumping his crest against their forehead. “Oeeaeeiaiaeeaeeeeeeoeeee." They squirm in his arms before finally settling when. "Angel please don't, I'm not one of your people, big blue understands and is staying away for a reason" they mumble.

"N..o o..o Bl..ue goo, I be wih ow." The words are crash, harsh even compared to his sweet little songs. But they understand enough of it to see what he's trying to state. He nuzzles their face pleadingly, eyes wide and bright.

" I fign.., fe..ed s..ae" he uses his clawed hands as he talks. “Angel Stop, you will hurt your throat” they try to plead for him to settle down. His fins flutters and flare as he gazes upon them. "B…e mm te?"

There is a long silence between them as they just stare at him in shock. "Angel... I can't, I'm not one of you, there are plenty of others of your kind" they explain only for him to pull them closer fins and frills flared in display head moving as if trying to showcase the colours that flare in the scales.

When they don't react to the little dance he huffs softly wet webbed hands cupping their face as he presses his lips to their in a messy and uncoordinated kiss. They gasp as he kisses them, it's out of the blue and such a human gesture, they lean into it softly, in truth it was a terrible kiss, he tasted of fish, seaweed and Salt. But his enthusiasm surprised them.

A pleading keen erupts from his vocals as he holds them close. "Aeeeeaeeuueeuueeeeaoaaooeeaouuaaeeouuooeeieeeeieeeeaaeeeeeeieeoaeeoaee." Angelfish trills eagerly at their softening, nuzzling into their hands with desperate affection. They look up to his eyes as his webbed hands cup their face tenderly. "I can get in trouble, the others I work with don't know you are this sentient, I will get in alot of trouble" they try to argue. But his soft little calls are making it hard to say no to him along with his big almost seal eyes.

He warbles in confusion, gathering their small form close in an embrace, "Oh angel..." they lean into his body resting their head against his shoulder as they hold him. The mer slowly drifts back while holding them. The afternoon light bounces off the waves of the surf as he just cradles them against his frame. He warbles softly, nuzzling their head with his own. Another little melody leaving him as they drift in the waves together.

"You want to sing for me?" They question. Not really understanding the meaning of his little songs but they sound much sweeter than him trying to mimic and use their words. Angelfish trills happily, brightening at their request. Carefully he carries them through the water.

They sit up on him watching how he navigates so swiftly on his back, the small saltwater and freshwater river were the last place they expected him to take them but in truth it was still beautiful. They watch as kingfishers and sea birds perch in the trees. Crabs scurry through sandy mud to find hiding places as the large predator leaserly swims with them sat atop of him.

It's a sheltered cove not the same as connected to the lagoons there's grassy little banks and it almost reminds them of fresh water swimming holes, with large rocks and little waterfalls that lead down into the mouth of the river where grass meets water. It's rather secluded despite how pretty it was.

Gently he settles them amidst the soft grass of the creek's lip, eyes bright and hopeful. His fins flutter showing off colours in display as a melody rises from his chest. Their eyes never leave him as he sings, a cascade of tones and harmonics flowing from his frame in waves.

It is so alike yet different from the songs of Whales and dolphins. As he spins around in the water, seeming to almost dance and he sings. Their legs rest in the water, his body brushing against them every twist and turn he makes in his dance. When its echoes fade, he nuzzles their face pressing himself close to them. the oceanide chitters and warbles happily at them. “ liked?”

His body slowly sinks down as he rests his head on their lap, nuzzling their legs nestled in the tide, fins fluttering softly as their hand comes to brush across them. " mate?" His eyes blaze with longing hope as he looks up at them.

They take a deep sigh before looking at him. "I don't know what to do even if I was too…" they mumble, trailing off. Were they really going to do this?. The oceanides are A completely different species, yes they could talk, and this one was rather eager for their permission. But this was still illegal, they were Sea life, animals. But as they look at Angelfish waiting patiently for their answer.

They were both consenting adults and he was the one trying to propersiton them, but the consequences of others finding out still weighed heavily. They snap out of their thoughts as clawed fingers to move to their clothing, Tugging and pulling trying to indicate what he wanted. He chirrups eagerly at them, his flared fins and frills shimmering as he still tries to impress them.

Fuck it.

Their hands move to the buttons of their shirt helping show him how to remove it. His eyes widen as webbed hands move across their exposed skin. They gasp as his cold webbed hands trace over their body. awe cross his face as he chirps at them. His claws trace aimless patterns, committing each new texture to memory.

A shaky croon erupts from his throat as he gently guilds their hands to his own body. The two tracing patterns and looking over each other's bodies as they try to figure out just how this was going to work.

Their eyes snapping down to him as he flicks his tongue out to run across their stomach before he dips down further. A loud gasp escapes them as he tilts their body back giving himself across to taste what he truly wants, a loud moan leaves them as he plunges his tongue deeper a loud rumble leaves him as he pulls them closer.

Their hands grip his head, guiding him and trying their hardest not to pull or damage his pretty frills. their hips rock into his mouth as he laps at them, hsi sharp teeth make them shutter as goosebumps flush across their skin.

The grey blue oceanide chirps eagerly at their sounds, Gently he urges closer, fins fluttering, and when they feel his teeth retract it leaves them stunned. ‘They have retractable teeth’ the muse over as he continued to drag his tongue over their sensitive skin. It makes them keen and arch into the touch.

Their back arches into the grass as Angelfish spreads their thighs wider, Gently he nuzzles his way back up their body. He gently pecks their face and neck, another small collection of thrills leaves him. Their gaze meets, as he rests himself above them. Claws digging into the grass as he looks down at them head tilted to the side.

They tense up and freeze slightly as he rolls his body against them, his clappers move against their own sex. But when they spread their head shoots down, chin rested on their chest as they watched his slit open. his penis emerges slowly, it's smooth a lighter blue than the rest of his grey blue body.

Their eyes widen as more of it slinks out of the slit. “Holy shit, holy shit” they gasp as the mer grinds against them. He chirps again softly checking over them again. “God I can't believe I'm doing this” they state In a hushed voice.

The Oceanide moves them around slightly, finding his preferred position, one webbed claw holds their hips as he moves closer, the head brushes against their entrance making them tense up. Angelfish coos at them softly as he presses against them again they tip slowly breaching.

They whimper loudly, as he presses deeper, it's a rather smooth glide due to the texture. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as they were expecting it too. A loud purr leaves Angelfish as he slowly rocks into them trills happily,

his back fins flutter wildly as he grinds himself deeper trying to press as far into them as he physically could. They clench at the feeling only to gasp and let their head fall back into the grass. They move slightly trying to find a more comfortable position, one leg hooking over his back.

Soft chitters of appreciation escape him, once happy Angelfish begins to rock back and forth, it's slow, sticky as he pulls his length out partially before slamming it back into them. Loud moans leave them as they grip onto him, fingers digging into his back as they cling onto him with each thrust.

Angelfish let out a loud whine, his body instinctively grinding back against theirs, his tail flicking each time he hilted in them, thrills of delight rattle down his spinal fins. Each thrust feels like they are gasping for air as he drives his spike deeper. The feeling of his scales are strange as he manoeuvres them but in truth they feel sinfully good against their skin.

"Ne…ed yo... waa,t..." his voice sounds so broken yet filled with desire and longing, his words broken as he tries to utter their words again. They dig their heel into the back of the grey blue mer. Eagerly clenching around him.

They cry out as Mers penis flares, a large knot locking them in place at the base as gush of seamen spilling into their smaller frame. Angelfish’s fins and frills extend in display as he thrills loudly, rutting quickly with each spurt that leaves his knotted length. It's uncomfortable after the first few spills, his load leaking out the sides of where they are joined.

They try moving around to become more comfortable but it only makes them whine at how full they are starting to feel. “Angel, fuck move please” they gasp out laying against the grass panting as they look up at Oceanide who seems rather content watching them.

His hands move over them as he checks them, pressing against their stomach only to make them wince. He cooed softly with worry written across his face. "I'm alright, fuck just wasn't expecting that " they whisper while rocking back against him.

He chirps softly as he pulls them closer. Leaning back splashing into the water with them pressed to his chest as he floats. It makes them yelp as they shoot him a dirty look. Pulling his fin which earns a hiss and a look like they had kicked a dog.

“don't do that” they grumble but settle against his body as he cradles them. as they gently drift in the water in lazy circles. Nuzzling their face with care, his thrills and calls mellow down into little chirps and rumbles. “God I'm so fucked if anyone finds out about this” they mumble to themself, eyes fluttering closed as they cuddle the large mer, it would be a problem for tomorrow, they were to drained and they doubt they would be getting away from the cling oceanide any time soon.

“what am I going to do with you Angel?” they mumble before sighing and letting the soft rumbles from his chest lure them into rest.

____________

The soft whistles from Bluestreak had been following the human for a while as they continued picking strange objects off the beach. He wades in the water after them. Trying to get their attention by bringing similar looking stuff he found floating in the ocean. Bluestreak chirps brightly as he trails after the landwalker, fins flared and ablaze as he was hot on their trail. Every so often he surfaces alongside them, presenting another tidbit of flotsam meant to please.

But no amount of trinkets seem able to sway their focus from its task. Undaunted, the excitable mer redoubles his melody, “Soft one, please look at me, I'm trying, I want to prove my worth," He calls out hopeful they would spare him a glance.

He circles hopefully, water swirling around him as he tries to catch their attention.

Bluestreak caws excitedly as he succeeds in grabbing them and pulling them into the shallow water with him, making them forget their carrier of items and as their small hands briefly touch his frame he thrills in delight. But at their cry, he recoils in distress, fins drooping in dismay.

"No no, please don't push me away!" he pleads, chirruping anxiously. "I just want to know you, prove I can give and provide" eyes wide and shining. To have come so close only to fail - the thought is more than his youthful spark can bear. Feebly he trills bumping his crest against theirs. "One chance is all I ask, please let me prove myself."

Their words make him sag softly, feeling dejected at their tone and the words he could understand. "N..o o..o Bl..ue goo, I be wih ow." The words are crash, harsh on his throat as he tries to get across his point. He nuzzles their face pleadingly, eyes wide and bright.

"I want to protect, feed... Always keep you safe I will make a nest... Please, give a chance to provider and protector?" There is a long silence between them as they just stare at him.

When they don't react to the little dance he huffs softly wet webbed hands cupping their face as he presses his lips to their in a messy and uncoordinated kiss. He had seen humans do this before to relay affection and he hoped it would be enough for them to finally understand. eyes taste of strange flavours things he had very tried but he enjoyed it and if it meant they would accept him he would kiss them as many times as they wanted.

"B…e mm te?..." the landers words hurt to express but he wants the get better so they can understand, so he can talk with them. The sad tone in their voice again hurts to hear, they sound so dejected to him, the hadn't said no but they sounded as if they would be in trouble if they did say yes.

"M-mate, please...just try. Let me show you all the ways of the ocean. Our sparks are the same, even if we are shaped differently. Give me a chance," he almost begged eyes wide as he cups their face. nuzzling into their hands with desperate affection. Still his grasp of their strange world remains limited despite all longing.

"Trouble? For touching?" He warbles in confusion, optics rounding wide and bright. The thought of their tender moments sowing them hardship cuts like ice through his spark.

Determined, he gathers their small form close in an embrace.

they lean into his body resting their head against his shoulder as they hold him. Mumbling in their little crash words as he pulls them to slowly drift with him.

He doesn't understand. It's like how the elders told him to stay away from humans. We're they told to stay away from his people?

Bluestreak warbles softly, nuzzling their head with his own as he drifts further with them in his hold. Their gentle touch alone soothes some of his worries. "Nothing simple about you. Elders always said "stay away from you." He keens gently, hoping his melody conveys what words cannot.

The afternoon light bounces off the waves of the surf as he just cradles them against his frame. He warbles softly, nuzzling their head with his own. Another little melody leaving him as they drift in the waves together.

Their question is one he understands though. trilling happily, brightening at their request. Carefully he carries them through the water.

He glides thought the water on his back, making sure they stay sat atop of him. “this is my favourite place, i come here when i want to be away from the others” he coos.

Gently he settles them amidst the soft grass, eyes bright and hopeful.

His fins flutter showing off colours in display as a melody rises from his chest. The soft ones eyes never leave him as he sings, a cascade of tones and harmonics flowing from his frame in waves. He sings his spark out for them. As he spins around in the water, dancing and singing for them.

When he finishes his performance, he nuzzles their face pressing himself close to them. chitters and warbles happily at them. “ liked?”

" I sing and swim just for you!." Eagerly he nuzzles their legs nestled in the tide, fins fluttering softly as their hand comes to brush across his frills. " mate?" His eyes blaze with longing hope as he looks up at them.

His clawed fingers moved to their stange covering, Tugging and pulling trying to figure out how to get it off. “please i want to see you” He chirrups eagerly at them, his flared fins and frills shimmering as he still tries to impress them.

They moment they move to discard the covering he wants to sing loudly, to thrill in triumph. “ we take it slowly Watch and learn, then we mate." His fins flutters wildly as drawing them closer, claws trace aimless patterns across their soft skin, A shaky croon erupts from his throat in plea. "Touch me too, let me show you how? We mate, then swim and sing together." His mind is racing faster than he can talk.

The sweet scent from between their strange legs has his pupils dilating, his mouth is on them before he can even think, they smell so good, ready and in season, everything he could hope for. Their hands grip his head, earning a rumble from him.

their hips rock into his mouth as he laps at them eagerly drinking in the sweet taste of them, when he realises his teeth are brushing their soft skin he retracts them, he doesn't want to hurt his mate, no he didn't want them to bleed.

Their back arches into the grass as he spreads their thighs wider, Gently he nuzzles his way back up their body. He gently pecks their face and neck. They tense up and freeze slightly as he rolls his body against them, his clappers move against their own heat.

“shhh, I promise I'll take care of you” his slit open. Spike emerges slowly, Their eyes widen as more of it slinks out of the slit. they gasp as the mer grinds against them. “it won't hurt I promise” He chirps again softly checking over them again.

Once he finds his preferred position, one webbed claw holds their hips as he moves closer, the head of his spike brushes against their entrance making them tense up. “ no, no don't tense you will hurt yourself” he coos at them softly as he presses against them again the tip slowly breaching into their warmth.

It takes everything in him to not slam home into their tight little frame. They whimper loudly, as he presses deeper, they feel sinfully tight as he moves. A loud purr leaves him as he slowly rocks into them trills happily. “primus you feel amazing, mm my sweet little soft one” he whispers.

His back fins flutter wildly as he grinds himself deeper trying to press as far into them as he physically could. They clench at the feeling only to gasp and let their head fall back into the grass. They move slightly trying to find a more comfortable position, one leg hooking over his back.

"Ne…ed yo... waa,t..." his voice sounds so broken yet filled with desire and longing, his. They dig their heel into the his back. Eagerly clenching around him. Every thrust, every touch was a declaration of his primal need to breed and impregnate them, to claim them as his little mate. Would their pups take after his sweet little lander if they had them?

So many thoughts run through his mind as he holds them in place.

"Such a good mate... so eager for my pups" he coos to them, he knew they couldn't understand but at that moment he didn't care, they felt so good wrapped around his spike and he could feel his knot slowly inflating and locking them together.

They cry out as his Spike flares, a large knot locking them in place at the base as gush of his seed, spilling into their smaller frame. His fins and frills extend in display as he thrills loudly, rutting quickly with each spurt that leaves his knotted length.

He purrs deeply watching as he leaks from the confined space of his little lover, leaning down he presses his crest to their forehead in delight. When they begin to wiggle he pulls them to his chest. His hands move over them as he checks them, pressing against their stomach. “So full, you look lovely like this little mate"he hums in delight only to tense when they wince. He cooed softly with worry written across his face. they whisper while rocking back against him.

“Shhh, you did so well for me, so well, time for us to swim” he whispers to them as he flops back into the water with them cradled against his body. He chirps softly as he pulls them closer. Leaning back splashing into the water with them pressed to his chest as he floats. It makes them yelp as they shoot him a dirty look. Pulling his fin which earns a hiss and a look like they had kicked a dog. “What was that for?” He warbles at them worried he had offended or upset them. His hands are moving across their body again, checking them and praying that they were not hurt.

They grumble but settle against his body as he cradles them. as the two gently drift in the water in lazy circles. He nuzzles their face with care, slowly grooming their crest fluff. “ My pretty little mate” he chirps to them.

_______________________

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#transformers #transformers idw #mtmte #transformers x human #transformers x reader #valveplug #mermaid au #mermen #merman #mermaid #merformers #mermaid transformers #bluestreak x reader #idw bluestreak #tf bluestreak #bluestreak transformers

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diejager · 1 year ago

Note

Hallo! Truly loved the MonsterAU stories! Wonderful, amazing writing!

Would it be possible for you to write: what if human!reader was turned into a chimera?

Akin to this:

Feel free to ignore!

Chimæra

Pairing: Monster 141 x Chimera!reader

Cw: science experiment, human torture, human testing, gore?, blood, canon-typical violence, unethical human experiments, kidnapping, child abuse, malnutrition, child neglect, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.6k (A/N): credit to @bluegiragi’s monster 141 designs.

They were tipped off by an anonymous source that some shady and highly illegal things were being done in a small and remote town near the border of Belarus, their ongoings unknown to both the government and public of their country, but someone had given Laswell a file containing all the horrific tests conducted within the closed walls of the innocuous-looking compound —a laboratory dressed as a simple military base. The folder held snapshots of emails and files sent between scientists and researchers, small indications of what was being done to both humans and monsters, yet withholding important intel about certain things. It disclosed the location, the names and faces of every worker and leading figure in the compound, the number of security and their schedules, and what was done, but not what was truly happening, it left small clues, sublet words here and there with hidden meanings —never clear images, blurry ones as if the person was in a rush.

Despite not having clear indications of the illegal activities, Laswell had enough to have 141 sent to take it down, to bring the dehumanising lab to its ground and burn it down. She didn’t have trouble convincing them, it was telling enough to let them read the condensed files for them to read, to see themselves the monstrosity being done to children and monsters they took, kidnapped from around the world to be left at the deceitful hands of crazed scientists. There wasn’t much to be found outside it, the base wore the facade of a benevolent patron, bearing the crest of kindhearted investors wanting to rebuild rundown houses and reconstruct rough and broken roads and paved streets in the town they took to hide. It worked for the most part, they profited from this by acting without raising any suspicion from anyone, neither the authorities nor the people.

“Christ,” Gaz swore, looking down at the words in the file he received, the teased truth and the dreadful treatments through a thick layer of secrets and subtle wording, the only clear intel was from the straightforward emails sent to and from researchers and the heads of the facility, unabashed and shameless bragging of their success and the narrative to which these subjects could be used. “Why did it take so long?”

A recurrent theme of these was about a certain subject, it was about C34, spoken with such pride and joy about their creation, the work of the new world and the future made within these walls. Most emails were the exchanges between them about C34’s training, the ongoing treatments and every successful mission and exercises, they spoke of C34 as if they were a dog, a rabid mutt they captured and took on the task of domesticating it. It was demeaning, degrading and cruel, to look at another being as something lower, something needing domestication —it went against every rule and law put in place to protect humanity, the many conventions sworn to protect the goodwill and security of the innocents.

“We’ve had our suspicions before,” Laswell sighed, the images of the screen switching with the small click of her control, laser pointing at the images of various weapons cache and illegally procured weapons. “There was a slip up in the shipping, it was dropped here-” she motioned to a circled area in the map, a closeup of a secluded road near the town, “and we were able to retrace it to the facility. We needed more intel about the facility before acting and we needed to know what we're facing here, if we should send a team or send you.”

“What now?” Price tilted his head back, smoke leaving the sides of his frown, a deep and unpleasant one. He couldn’t even look at the intel given with a straight face, the shadowed truth of cruelty and dehumanising acts done by humans. “Figured you send us after seeing this, Laswell?”

Laswell nodded, jumping to another slide, showing blurred images of subject C34, a blurry figure, tall and imposing in every way possible. They stood high, stature seemingly one belonging to a monster or hybrid: on four legs and the wide, familiar shape of wings, everything about C34 cried monster. Perhaps one they captured as a child, taken from their mother and kept in this cell. There were many pictures of this one, blurry and disfigured, but others had smaller shapes, the size of children with various characteristics.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus!” Soap spat, disgust dripping from his tone in waves, unending as were the other’s curses, each holding their level of horror and repugnance. His face was wound tight, brows dipped lowly and lips pursed, he balled his fists, anger rising within him with every image he saw, the deplorable conditions and the care given to the monsters —what could they even expect from this shady company engineering monster and human DNA to fit their preferred narrative, for money, for reputation, for strength. “We ‘ave tae do somethin’ about this, Price!”

Soap - Johnny - had always been the more emotional one, letting his good heart lead his decisions when the situation seemed to fit it. His wolf made him more susceptible to emotional attachment, a pack mentality driven deeply into his mind and heart, he was viciously loyal and wore his heart on his sleeve, uncaring of how he’d be hurt by a betrayal, he simply saw the best in the world, something many couldn’t after a while, but Soap could, Johnny was a good man at heart. That’s why he reacted the most out of everyone, voicing his distaste and hate, his need for revenge and the sanctity of the lives being stolen in the facility.

Soap pushed Price to agree, seeing no reason not to lead the breach, to uncover everything done to innocent lives. His eyes connected to the man hidden in the darkness, his blue eyes gleaming with fierce justice, a contrast to the wraith who lay in silence, abhorrent and seething quietness. Ghost peered at him, head tilted up with white pupils darkened by black eyes, death layering off him with calmness. He gave Soap a curt nod, affirmation for him to continue to voice his mind, to help those in need.

“Seems like it’s been decided, Kate,” Price gave her a lopsided smirk, amber eyes narrowed with what could be read as anger, teeth sinking into the girth of his cigar, ash falling. “When are we going?”

Her lips parted in a proud grin, eyes gleaming with something dark and wrathful. She leaned on the table, head held high and shoulder broad while she flicked off the projector:

“Wheels up at 1500 tomorrow.”

You stared down the man before you, watching him tremble under your cold gaze, steps hesitant to approach you despite being seated, body prone on the hard floor you called a bed. He was new, possibly recently employed and his boss - or his direct manager - played a dirty game with him. It was some kind of rite of passage for every new employee courageous enough to accept their recruitment, all bright-eyed geniuses wanting to build their place on earth with forthgoing discovery, desperate and narcissistic; yet they were so easily tricked into you cage, locked in by cackling and grinning guards and coworkers.

He smelled young, fresh-faced and a bit nervous, most were when they first saw you. You remembered everyone who walked in, the smell of fear and anxiety, the disgusting scent oozing off their bodies, rotten and putrid like a rotting corpse. You would’ve gagged and choked if you weren’t used to it, having grown close to the smell of death, calling the reaper your friend. You weren’t bothered by him, only the cart he was wheeling over, a big and heavy cooler that smelled fresh. He was made to bring you food by his boss, a cruel joke played on every new scientist who was always so eager to meet you before cowering in terror once the lock clicked.

Standing before your third cage, he unlocked the small hatch and, with effort and a loud grunt, pushed the cooler into the hole, big enough for a big cooler but small enough to fit your arm through it. You waited until he stumbled away, distancing him from you before reaching for the container, it was light, weighing little in your palm. They fed you raw meat, sometimes buying the fresh catch of a Belarus hunter, usually an elk or a wild boar, but if they were lucky, a bison or a bear, other times they would have conserved meat shipped from outside the town, bigger cities or outside the border.

Today was an elk, the meat cold and free of rot, it smelled as good as a fresh kill did, bloody and heady. You ripped into it without care, tuning out the loud retch from the scientist as you gorged on your meal, claws tearing it in half and biting into the bloody meat. Blood rolled down your lip, painting your cheeks crimson and staining the cream-coloured rag they considered a shirt. It would be changed after your meal, as it always was. Despite the elk weighing around six hundred kilograms, you finished it quickly, with pointed teeth cutting and pulling flaps of meat and ligament, blood spraying and dirtying the metal ground near the hatch.

It was filling, albeit cold. You cleaned your hands of blood, licking it off like a grooming cat, tongue laving over the sharp edge of your claw and under your blunt fingernails. You peered at him from under your lashes, eyes gleaming in the darkness. You watched - pleased with yourself - him shudder, face growing green with unnerve at your show. You knew he was desperate to leave, to get a breath of fresh air outside of your cell, you understood his fear and wanted him to suffer for helping your owner, the man watching over your training, but you wanted him gone before he emptied his stomach on your floor. So you pushed the cooler out, clawed arm breaching past the hatch to leave it farther from your cage.

He left hastily, legs shaky and face pale.

“I want a bison next time,” you growled, words rolling off your tongue huskily from its rare use.

It looked as inconspicuous through the NVGs as it did in the pictures, a few grey buildings built lowly to hide an immense labyrinth dug into the ground, secret passages crossing unending halls with locked doors and tipped with surveillance cameras to watch over the whole facility. They studied the very walls that made this place a secret fortress, from the body to its heart, like mounting a brigade against a castle, Laswell’s team found the few hidden entrances that connected to the lesser-used passages, winding through many hallways and wide vents, big enough for humans but too tight for monsters the size of C34. Task Force 141 led the mission, infiltrating the base under the darkness of night where they could crawl and slink through shadows to catch what they hunted. They were joined by Marines, all experienced and skillful, wearing scars like a badge of honour. It would either be a quick in and out, or a long and strenuous infiltration.

Price took Gaz and led half of the Marines through the west, breaching the lab from above. They pushed in steadily, relaying information and physical cues to Watcher - Laswell - with a body cam recording everything they saw, the facade they wore above ground, hiding their dark enterprise. Ghost, as usual, has Soap watch his six, following closely behind him with puppy-like loyalty and the other half of the Marines. Team Two’s - Delta - mission started through the underground passage they sniffed out, a long and unwinding hall that went straight through the heart of the facility. Ghost’s team went dark, needing the cover of silence to stay hidden in a highly protected area of the base to run this clandestine mission. They spoke only when needing to, to make calls, to reaffirm intel or to let both Bravo and Watcher know a change, the tech team in the temporary safe house a few miles away from the compound watched through the cams, from the subtle change in the air to a jarring lead to what was happening.

While Price and Gaz worked on creating a distraction, taking a load off team Delta’s shoulders, they could work through the system faster and more efficiently with the fire taken off their backs and front. It was controlled chaos for both teams, creating a mass discordance within the enemy lines: panicked higher-ups at the sudden attack, while they had a small squad of personal soldiers, they were unprepared, taken by surprise by both teams attacking on two fronts; and confused mercenaries, their quiet and boring schedules made them lose the edge of suspicion, of wariness towards what awaited them and the sheltered job with little to no action apart from a few failed escape attempts by the subjects.

“Delta 0-1 moving in,” Ghost mumbled into the coms, his team following him closely, rifle held tightly with the muzzle pointed forward as they crossed the threshold of section C, heading towards the one holding the monster subjects.

They left behind them groups of bodies, slumped over the walls or limp on the ground, blood painting the sterilised and glossy walls, turning the once white hall into a grotesque place, dead bodies covering the length of the corridor like the ones they walked through before, leaving the stench of death that even the Marines could sniff out. It wasn’t clean - they weren’t aiming for it to be clean - but they wouldn’t need it to be clean when the Laswell would send a clean-up team to deal with this, Ghost would steal a bite before they arrived, quenching his hunger for revenge with them.

A few guards stayed to watch over the cells, doors unlocked by a keycard that most guards kept in their back pocket, Ghost would have to take one off a dead body. Under Ghost’s cover, Soap dashed to the other side of the hall, taking a few with him to corner the mercenaries, boxing them into a closed hallway until they all died. Despite a few of the Marines taking shots, bruising the skin under their plate, black and blue blossoming like a bloody flower under the thin layer of skin, they kept their heads high and minds clear, moving forward without a misstep or hesitation. Soap swiped a few cards from the bodies, throwing one to Ghost.

“Delta 0-1 to Watcher, can you hear me?”

“Solid copy, Ghost,” Laswell voice rang out clearly, reaching his ears in seconds.

“We found the cells,” his eyes roved over them, white paint over thick, cement walls to hold whatever they locked into the cells, perhaps the children the saw or the big one, C34.

“Do you have the keycards?”

“Affirm,” Ghost growled slowly, hearing Laswell's confirmation to continue. “Going in.”

He tapped the pad, a loud beep ringing in their ears as the lock’s mechanism creaked to life, unlatching from its metal hold to let them in. Both he and Soap walked in, leaving the others to watch their backs while they surveyed the first room. It was dimly lit as it was bare of any decorations apart from a visible toilet, a small sink and a few metal beds. It looked like any usual cells they came across, made barren and empty of anything useful to prevent the prisoners from escaping or causing a ruckus, but the people they kept in these cells were children. Soap swore under his breath at the sight of children huddled together, seemingly no older than 12, he lowered his rifle. They were backed into a corner, three older kids holding a younger one in their arms, protecting her from them, from whoever meant to harm these children.

They looked malnourished, left to slowly rot in these cement boxes until the scientist found something worthwhile in them, their cheeks sunken in, eyes droopy and swollen with bruises - they were beaten, it made something ugly rear its head inside Ghost dead heart - and lips dried. One was armless, having wings that they used to cover both of their cellmates, naked with only feathers covering their body, this one looked more like a harpy than it did human. The two others had arms, both having the lower half of a mammal, neither of them was sure which four-legged mammal it was, but one had a pair of wings, while the other’s back was bare of anything.

“We’ve found the children.”

You could hear the chaos from your cell, the blaring alarm and the smell of death. The building shook from its foundation, vibration emanating from both the ground floor and the basement, just farther from your hall, the closed and sectioned-off area. They separated you from the defective ones, all your young mistakes they made after achieving success ��you. They tried to recreate it, but it never came out how they wanted it. Maybe it was a mistake on their part or maybe it was the lack of a certain gene in their DNA, a subtle difference that you and the rest had. You didn’t want to know and you didn’t want them to succeed a second time, it was painful, the shift, the tests and the change, the storm of pain, terror and confusion weren’t worth this power.

You could hear the booming sound of gunfire, a loud ricochet of the bullet when the nitrocellulose sparked and sent the bullet outwards, finding its destination in the warm flesh of human guards. You usually enjoyed this kind of chaos if you knew what started it, and laughed when something caused trouble for your captors, but you were cautious of this one. You neither knew who thought to disturb the peace nor did you know who was behind this, their scents strange and the sound of steps unknown. All you knew was that their steps were heavy, out of breath but pushing their way into - what you thought to be - section C. The place they kept the young and willful.

You might be blinded by your cell, but the guards outside your confinement knew how to talk, their chatter and barking orders loud enough for you to hear through the thick walls. From them, you knew they were strangers, unknown players on your board of pawns. You didn’t know their goal, whether they were here to let you out or keep you in a cage of their making, but you knew they were a gamble on your fate. As the noise got closer, you sat down, crossed your paws and waited, cautiously awaiting to see what your verdict would be.

Strangely enough, there was a different section, separated from the other one by many gates and stricter security, but they were able to break through it. Security was concentrated in one hall as if the monster they locked at the end of this hallway was of big importance. It had higher security, stronger and thicker. Ghost wondered if it was to keep the monster in or keep people out, either way, this meant that they found the thing they first came here for: the trained and dangerous subject C34.

Ghost was apprehensive about opening this metal door, built taller than any doors he’d seen, it was as wide as it was tall, metres over what would be considered normal for a human or monster, similar to the wide gates that protected British castles, tall and imposing, but the most worrying was it’s vast amount of security measures. He thought back to the blurrier giant he saw in the picture, their shape indescribable and otherworldly, almost alien-like. His eyes met Soap’s reassuring ones, standing steadfast and unyielding to do good in the world. So with a nod, Ghost worked through the locks and scans of the heavy, metal door made to keep this cement cage closed. This door clicked loudly, echoing down the hall with ominous intent, foreseeing something damming and destructive.

Yet they hadn’t expected to see another cage within the cage, a box made of reinforced glass, large and robust and inside of it was another cage, a rough metal one with bars for walls, a sick joke of a bird’s gilded cage. It would’ve seemed almost exaggerated to have three layers - three different cages - to keep one subject safely locked up until he caught sight of the monster. Lying on the cold, metal ground with legs folded in, tail curled around them and staring at both him and Soap with cautious curiosity. It looked like a gryphon if it were more reptilian than a mammal, this monster had a human torso, a head wearing a stoic expression, dressed in rags. Where there would normally be legs was the body of a bird, an eagle perhaps from the golden-brown plumage and reptilian legs from the knee down, followed by a fully scaled back, hind legs and a strong tail. Each toe was tipped with a sharp claw, big and deadly if it got its hands on someone, it could easily rip into anyone without putting in much effort. The biggest thing about it was the folded wings, feathered and equipped with a talon. If it could fly, these wings would be powerful.

He understood why they kept it locked, it was neither man, monster or hybrid. It was a beast of human creation, a creature made to be at the peak of its condition. It was smart, he could see it, the glint in its eyes and the pursed lips, mien kept monotone and calm —observant.

What did Laswell sign them into?

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly

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arscorpii · 3 months ago

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these aerial shots of the streets in the scene where anthy was about to jump off a building in episode 37 remind me of a network of blood capillaries gradually flowing with some foreign substance (the way the red lines were drawn certainly resembles some liquid substance). the camera panned towards anthy from the 1st to 4th picture, and the streets gradually turned from pure white to white with some red.

before the suicide scene, utena and anthy were enjoying tea and cookies at akio's place, and they were wearing their school uniforms. anthy indirectly hinted at "poisoning" the cookies. in response, utena directly stated that she had "poisoned" anthy's tea. both accepted the poison into their systems (bodies) without any hesitation or qualms. noticeably, in this scene, utena didn't wear the rose crest ring that she took off at the beginning of the episode. i'd like to think of the streets gradually turning from white to flowing with red liquid as the visualisation of the poison they consumed in this scene gradually circulating in the system (via blood vessels and capillaries); thus, these points represented utena and anthy's bond/relationship with each other up until before the suicide attempt (white) and after (flowing with red).

up to at least the moment utena found out about anthy and akio at the end of episode 36, utena and anthy hadn't been honest with each other, despite utena saying to anthy that she could come to her if anthy had any problems, and that they can help each other through anything (episode 25). from the point akio began making bold moves in grooming utena (episode 30 onwards), which led to sexual assaults and rape, utena had started to keep things out of anthy's knowledge/unable to tell certain things to anthy.

a prominent example of this would be the scene in episode 36 where anthy asked about utena's whereabouts the night utena went to the dueling arena with touga. other examples are in episodes 30 and 35. anthy, on the other hand, hadn't been honest with utena from the very beginning. from my understanding, from both sides, the dishonesty with each other came from the dire need to preserve the sanctity/purity of their bond (and the despairing inability to open up about respective sufferings). both utena and anthy didn't wish to taint their bond with their ugly stories of truths. the situation was more adverse for anthy because letting utena know the truth could derail all of akio's plans.

(note the network of streets) with regard to the series, colour theories were ever-present in every visual aspect. white was equated to purity and innocence; red was synonymous with violence and danger. i think these meanings suited the visuals of the post-suicide attempt scene, the purity of their bond was incrementally coloured with violent truths from one another. moreover, i also think the post-suicide attempt scene further reified the cantarella scene. in other words, the post-suicide attempt scene was the more literal take/depiction/iteration of the cantarella scene (if that makes sense), with the visuals of the white streets flowing with red as the connecting factor between the two scenes.

the final visual of the "poisoned streets" before anthy urged utena to leave the school. the poison was freely and fully flowing through every street. throughout the suicide scene, utena and anthy were both in their sleepwear. this may connote a more vulnerable and honest disposition without any facade, as well as a better understanding and more equal footing with one another, compared to when they were in school uniforms during the cantarella scene. utena was also wearing her ring here, which may highlight her choice to play the role of a prince for anthy's sake to the end.

in addition, i think the streets flowing with poison could also be seen as a network of empty/dried blood capillaries finally flowing with blood; akin to a dead body coming back to life. after a person dies, the first visible change would be pallor mortis (within 15 to 20 minutes), wherein the body begins to pale because blood stops moving through the capillaries. with regard to this information, the visuals may indicate a sign of rejuvenation of the bond between utena and anthy after opening up to one another. the bond between them became more human, alive (flowing with blood), as opposed to being hollow (dried out blood capillaries; like death). to me, i believe both interpretations could work simultaneously for the visuals of the streets.

#i really hope these make sense #these are just my point of view #i could be wrong #revolutionary girl utena #shojo kakumei utena #shoujo kakumei utena #rgu #sku #utena tenjou #anthy himemiya #utenanthy #akio ohtori #analysis #medical knowledge finally came in handy!#i tried making gifs/videos of the streets for better clarity but tumblr is Very Picky and i'm not skilled #✮

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fellstcr · 10 months ago

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⚔️ // heels stepped from snow to dirt to stone , and with the rhythmic clicking of footfalls , the short pilgrimage into hallowed halls brought with it the solace of this church's sanctuary. the chill was left behind , and with it was shed the uncertainty of this very encounter , for though it was not garreg mach , the faint glow of colored light on marble and stone was enough to ease enlightened one's mind.

— at least for a small moment in time.

it was said that long ago the saint seiros was summoned by the goddess during the guardian moon. propelled forth by a divine revelation , it was she who had struck down nemesis and she who buoyed the foundations of the adrestrian empire. the knights that had aided byleth's house bore her name. the many tenants that byleth had pored over for certifications sake were of seiros' make.

in time's flow , broken pieces began to align.

byleth's foot skid on the floor and twisted to counter-balance her own faltering weight. recovering into something of a small spin , an awkward croisé gave way to moment of catching one's breath. ( and covered all the more by a small gesture of welcome to the chapel. )

". . . jeralt - my father - and i lived as wandering mercenaries for as long as i can remember. so i don't think it's exactly fair to say that i hail from anywhere." perhaps such answer would not quite feel like a silver strung lie if byleth was yet none the wiser ... but jeralt had once lived a secret life at garreg mach. and soon did her thoughts fly to sitri , who had lived in the monastery above her final resting place , had fallen in love within its walls , and had died there for a child who had never lived ... and never learned to cry. ( it seemed to her , as byleth plucked the tail end of her coat sleeves between thumb and fore-finger , that there were a great many people that lived secret lives. )

"for a time , jeralt and i lived and worked at a ... at a sanctuary. but it was ravaged by war before i ... found myself here."

◦ 「 ☆ 」 —— " then i must thank you , byleth eisner . you possess a fine name . "

however , the name means nothing . what had she expected it to mean ?? apparently something , because it doesn't spark in the way she'd somehow expected . it doesn't connect to a memory , despite the irksome feeling that it should . her instincts are not so often wrong .

byleth eisner . a surname was a particularly human quality , but it was not unheard of . nabateans and humans have mettled together for as long as they have both existed . although , accurate knowledge of those who lived beyond zanado's borders dwindled once the humans began waging their wars , relocating frequently as the earth healed at sothis' touch . . . and all remaining knowledge disappeared with the burning of the valley . and so , seiros wondered : where had byleth come from ?? and even moreso , was she unaware of just who she stood with ??

but in truth , it was seiros who remained the fool .

" i will ease all suspicions : you may call me seiros . " she indulges , eyes skimming and scanning as they return to the chapel , picking up on the angelic archivol etchings adorning the entrance to the chapel . the architecture was foreign . beautiful . delicate . it's oppressiveness was rather becoming . . . beautiful , even . but not even all the beauty in the world could keep seiros' mind off track , she distracts .

her , with all her unspoken familiarity : " byleth eisner . from where do you hail ?? "

#(white lies and skirting around the truth ... it runs in the family !!)#⚔️ ic. / crest of flames.#⚔️ thread. / closed.#seirosu / oo1 #seirosu #(god byleth's having such a crisis rn she has SO MANY QUESTIONS SHE WANTS TO ASK and not nearly enough-)#(-wherewithal to figure out how to even /begin/ with any of them)#(cos lord knows the cross-wires between sothis and seiros and sitri and byleth are going to cause SO many more to crop up)

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elizabethsproctor · 4 months ago

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then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” i said, “art sure no craven,"

Davos Blackwood x Bracken OC Davos is the eldest son of Lord Samwell of House Blackwood and the scourge of all the knights and squires of House Bracken. Though he thinks himself a knight and concerned with duty and honor, he spends most of his free time with his own squires, tormenting all the Brackens that they happen upon. Celeste Feathers is the bastard daughter born of Amos Bracken and a Summer Isle whore. At the chance of a higher dowry for her daughter, the baby was sent to live with her father in the wet and windy Riverlands until a husband was chosen for her. Though the two had a chance encounter as children, they have only heard stories about each other in the meantime until one fateful day near the boundary line in the forest. wc: 4k chapter: 1/?

tw: hinting at sa

"Since when do the Bracken's send their women past the boundary stones? And so close to sunset at that? Miserable and ignorant old bastards. You're in the woods, my lady, or do they not teach you maidens about the dangers of crossing into Blackwood territory?"

Celeste turned around sharply, not expecting to have heard the voice of another that late into the evening, but she knew the danger at once.

"They teach us fairly well, good knight," Celeste said, feeling her hip to see that her dagger was still sheathed. "The assize permitted this land to my house. You know that." She searched the young man's face, trying to decide who he was before determining that he was the lord's son. She took a few steps back, prepared to run if he would accost her.

Davos grinned, the dim light of the setting sun catching his canine teeth.

"Assize." He mocked, mimicking the girl’s high tone. "What a perfect, little Lady you are... If not, you certainly speak the part like a good little highborn."

The young lord took a few steps forward, his hand upon the pommel of his sword. The blade had been passed down from his father to him not so long ago, and it felt like a boast.

"You're quite a feisty little minx, aren't you?"

Celeste tightened the grip on her dagger and stared the boy back in his eyes. "You don't scare me, Davos," she said with fervor. "And you don't have your squires to applaud you, little pup. Back down, and I may forget your insults."

She knew she didn’t have much ground to stand on, but she wasn’t sure that Davos knew that. The sun was sinking, and she had been out adventuring. In truth, she wasn’t sure where the boundary lines ended and began within the woods, and she knew, in truth, that even if she told anyone within her court that Davos had maligned her, she would only be punished in return. Why was she in the woods? Alone? At night?

Celeste was but only the bastard daughter of Lord Amos Bracken and a woman from the Summer Isles. She was sheltered, but treated well… as well as a bastard would be treated, especially one with a deep caramel complexion and a stature that rivaled other men her age. It was clear she was different, and though no one had ever said anything to her face, not even her father’s wife, it was evident by one look into the reflection of the river.

Davos' cocky grin faltered for a brief moment as he noted the dagger at her hip, and her determination. He was not used to people, particularly women talking back to him, and he felt a strange stir in his chest.

"Is that so, Lady Celeste?" He mocked her tone once again. "You're a bit of a vixen, you know... I admire your confidence, though you might want to be more careful of who you talk to like that. After all, you're far from the safety of your little stone towers... Not to mention you're alone."

"I am alone, Davos, but you are also alone with me," Celeste shrugged, not daring to meet the boy with a grin, as he would mistake it for kindness. She looked over his face. It wasn't one she had seen for some time up close. She wondered if he remembered her from when they were younger. A small scuffle past the boundary line. Davos had been breaking up a fight or perhaps cheering one on between a Blackwood and a Bracken, and Celeste had come tumbling in to break it up herself, and shockingly, Davos had called for order-- no blood to be splattered on the lady's 'pretty yellow dress'.

She had balled her fists. The dress was orange. He had known that.

That had to have been ten years ago, and had they grown in that time! He was handsome, a pair of crooked teeth and shaggy hair. Still as annoying as ever, as annoying as the squires of House Bracken spoke of him being, but she had only seen him from a distance after so many years, but she remembered him. No one else had the radiating cockiness that he did.

"What, good knight? Will you retrieve your father to deal with me? Twenty lashings for reprimanding his puppy?"

The young Blackwood lord's eyes widened for a moment, and the smirk he wore wavered for the briefest of moments as he noted the familiarity in her gaze, and it suddenly clicked into place. That fiery little girl in that stupidly orange dress, back before the wars had started. He couldn’t have forgotten that it was her, but it had slipped from his mind that it had even happened. He had been knocked on his ass… so many times. Gods, he could practically remember the angry look on her face!

"That seems excessive, wouldn’t you say?" He chuckled, taking another step forward. "After all, it is just us... and I'm curious."

"Curious about what," Celeste retorted, noticing Davos closing the gap. She did him the favor and stepped forward as well, only about a yard between them. It was far enough that she could step back and run if he retrieved his knife.

Davos tilted his head to the side as if he was studying a particularly curious animal, and stepped even closer, until the two were almost chest to chest.

"Merely that a fine young lady such as yourself would be so boldly passing the stones." He said, his smirk returning. "I'm quite surprised your father hasn't locked away that feisty tongue of yours."

Celeste shook her head slightly. If only the man had tried. It was known about the castle that Celeste had… masculine proclivities. She liked to climb and hike and sneak away when the maidens did their work, and perhaps that had done little to endear her to the ladies of the court. But what she had gained in the meantime was courage and diplomacy. Neither of these things granted her a stick between the legs however, and she was still looked down on, perhaps even further for her attempts to raise herself up.

"Ah," she snickered for the first time, pointing a finger to his chest. "Would you prefer to have found me if I was a fine young man?" It was a joke on his sexuality, something to menace him. Celeste was beautiful, but strange to the men in the realm. At least that far north. They often looked at her as if they could not touch her, and maybe because of her father, they couldn't.

"I'm surprised your father hasn't put down his rabid dog, Davos. Let me go. This conversation bores me. Will we go back and forth on who has the better wit or will you send your hounds to strike me down for crossing the boundary? What do you wish for? The sun is sinking."

Despite the fact that every fiber in his body was burning with the desire to knock her on her ass for her insolence, Davos' only outward response was an eye roll.

"You little-"

The young lord took another step forward, and in a surprise move, gripped her hip and backed her into a large oak tree.

"I've a better question for you, you little minx. Does your father know that his little princess is prancing alone in the forests, so close to nightfall?"

Celeste felt her feet trip beneath her as the boy pushed her onto the tree. He had already been taller than her, but now he hovered over her by a great amount. She straightened her back again, getting as close to eye level as she could, her cloak tugging on the bark behind her back.

She was confused, though exhilarated, but fear began to pulse through her body when she felt how strong he was compared to her. There was no way to run if he truly threatened her.

"I am not hopeless," she spat out. "He needs not know about my actions, because he knows I am a weapon in my own right. You should unhand me, Davos. I might forget this," she squirmed.

"A weapon are you? Is that so?"

Davos chuckled as he watched as the young girl squirmed, and leaned in closer to her, using his free hand to grip the other side of the tree, trapping her completely. He was close enough to her now that he could feel her breath on his skin.

"Is this how you're going to defend yourself, Lady Celeste? Squirming and wiggling like a little fish on a hook?"

"You're craven," she shook her head, looking at the boy and shaking her head. "The sun is setting, and they'll be looking for me before they even think of you."

The grin on Davos' face only widened further, and he leaned his head down so his mouth was mere centimeters from the shell of her ear.

"And who is 'they', my lady..?" He asked her in a low voice, his breath warm as it cascaded over her skin. "Surely you don't think that I'd let you go so easily, do you?"

"You're as stupid as you are ugly," Celeste said, pushing against the boy's chest though he hardly budged. She couldn't believe his audacity, but at the end of the day, he had more status than she did. He was a man. And legitimately born.

"Do as you wish, but don't waste my time, you moron. I'm not scared. Release me or get on with it."

Davos chuckled at her attempt to push him away, and instead pressed closer against her, caging her against the rough bark of the tree. His hand slid from her hip to her waist, and he leaned in even further, his body pressed against hers.

"Ugly..?" He repeated the word as if it was a curse, his eyes narrowing. "And I'm the stupid one, eh? You've sure got a mouth on you... No wonder nobody wants you, little minx."

Celeste hadn't been looking at the boy for some time, but at his words, her brown eyes sunk back into his gaze and a flash of vulnerability played on her face. The rest had just been banter... but how could he know that? Or say it? It wasn't true.

She thought for a few seconds then scoffed. "You're set on making this personal," Celeste tilted her head back onto the tree, catching the sunlight, knowing it would soon be gone.

"I could knee you in the most private of parts at this exact moment and end our tryst, my lord. Why toy with me?"

Celeste thought about her mother in the Summer Isles and wondered if she would ever see her. Everything could be taken away in a second due to the Blackwood boy, but it had never really been given before, had it? Soft, white beaches and cyan water for the cold, damp wet of the Riverlands for less than her weight in gold, and who would marry her? Perhaps she didn’t care that Davos had her in that position. Was it not what she deserved for not knowing her place?

Celeste sighed, her cool breath brushing against the boy’s nose.

The young lord chuckled once again at her defiant demeanor, admiring how his words had gotten under her skin. He had not expected the flicker of vulnerability he had briefly seen in her eyes, though he filed the information away for future reference.

"You could do that, couldn't you..?" He mused, his hand on her hip tightening its grip. "But you won't, will you? If you were truly not scared, you would have already."

"I don't wish to maim you, Davos. I know a great man such as yourself would lose every birthright given to you if you had no balls in which to populate the Riverlands," she gave a small and annoying smirk and pushed against his chest again. "I'm no villain."

Davos couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped his lips. Damn it, she really was sassy. Her insolence was not something he was used to, and he wasn't sure if wanted to knock her down a peg, or pin her against the tree and kiss her.

"Damn it all.."

He muttered under his breath, his hands moving to circle her petite wrists, pinning them above her head against the trunk of the tree.

"You're doing this to me, you know that? All bark, no bite."

"I'm sure you will do what you will,' Celeste said, looking at her hands above her head and realizing there was not much else she could do at the time being. "But answer me a question first. Truthfully."

Davos chuckled as Celeste finally seemed to realise that there was no escape from his grip, and he leaned in so his face was directly in front of hers.

"A question, eh? I'll answer truthfully, depending on the question." He told her, his gaze flicking from her face down to her chest as her top strained against the position he'd put her in.

"Just now. You said 'no wonder nobody wants you'," she lifted her chin, recognizing she was showing her insecurity to someone who could surely use it against her. She did not want to look weak however, she made eye contact with him all the while. "What would come upon you to say that? What whispers have you heard across the river, puppy?"

Davos was a little surprised at her sudden display of genuine feeling, and for a moment his own words seemed tasteless and callous. He had said them purely in an attempt to needle her further, not to actually hurt her.

He leaned his head down so their faces were almost touching, and his voice was low as he responded.

"Perhaps I knew what someone of your position must keep themselves up at night regarding..."

His gaze wandered back down to her chest, where it lingered for a moment before flicking back up to her face.

".. or I am no fool, and I hear the lads of both houses talk."

"The lads of both houses," she snickered, her arms shaking under the pressure of her wrists. "The lads of one of those houses are beneath me. My father's knights," she rolled her eyes, almost in disbelief. "Does no man pledge fealty in this age?" She could feel hot tears of vengeance, sadness and irritation on her eyes. She should have been much more upset that the boy had her in the most uncomfortable and unfortunate positions, but instead she could only think of how grateful she was to him for telling her what she had always suspected: that she would never truly be accepted in the riverlands, not even in her father's home.

"Well, Davos," she said finally, looking at the boy with a shrug. "Thank you for that. My trust in you is now without question." Silence.

Davos' eyes widened at her response, and he could immediately see that his words had had a much greater effect than he'd imagined. A frown tugged at his lips as he realized he'd made her cry. He'd never wanted to see a woman cry in his life, and the thought that he had made this strange, sassy little girl shed tears twisted a knife into his gut.

"I-"

He struggled for words for only a moment, and his grip on her wrists loosened, though he did not let her go completely.

".. I did not intend to upset you, Celeste."

She stared at him without saying anything for some time before a frown appeared on her lips as well. As brave as she was, she was still young, childlike even. A woman masquerading as someone free, a foreigner masquerading as someone home, and a bastard pretending she wasn't the embarrassment of the Riverlands.

It was moments like these that brought her back to earth; the fantasy was exposed. She could not defend herself or her honor nor would she ever be able to. It felt right to acquiesce to his hands, and she and Davos both knew, even if she told others of his misdeeds, no harm would come to him. She was nobody.

"Do you remember me from when we were children?" She said with some sentimentality, her head drooping.

When she spoke again, a wave of nostalgia washed over Davos as he was transported back to those carefree days of childhood, so many years ago. The memory of her yellow dress and the smirk on her face was so clear in his mind.

"I do," he murmured, the tension between them lessening slightly. "You came tumbling out of the trees, in that ridiculous yellow dress, and broke up something I shouldn't have been participating in."

"The boys were older," she said, only suddenly remembering. She had been so brave, a small smirk spread onto her face. Of course, Davos and her had been little as well, but he was a lord. They bent the knee to him.

"The dress was orange," she said, shaking her head. "You knew that. A cunt even then, you were."

Hearing her speak of her childhood act of bravery, and the confidence in her voice when it had happened, sent a strange pang stabbing through Davos' chest that he had never felt before.

When she corrected him on the color of the dress, he chuckled softly, and rolled his eyes. "Of course I knew it was orange, you imbecile. I just said it was yellow to rile you up. I've always liked riling you up."

Celeste felt her stomach turn. Perhaps she shouldn't have felt that way. Flattered by his words. Flattered by him remembering her from all that time ago, spending the extra time to bother her. To even take note of her. She got such little attention, and when she did, it was scorn, though occasionally, and a glimmer in her father's eye and gifts from her mother every few years. She knew her father loved her, but how could he possibly dote any affection upon the proof of his infidelity? He loved her in secret and carved small trinkets for her, smiled while she was scolded for playing with her brother's arrows.

All that though, all those small grievances, or tiny reminders that she was, indeed, alive, were overshadowed by the attention that an enemy had the ability to dote. Anything was better than apathy, and had he, really, gained as much by teasing her then as he did not, with the print of his cock nearly embedded into her gown? She shook her head at the boy and laughed.

"Let me go, Davos. There's no reason for this."

The laugh that escaped her lips sent a shiver down Davos' spine, and he realized that he liked hearing her laugh, even if it was at his expense.

He shifted slightly, slowly releasing her from the grip he had her trapped in against the tree with, although he didn't completely drop his hands from her.

"No reason for this, eh?" He repeated, his tone holding the same cockiness from before. "If I let you go, what's to stop you from running back to daddy?"

"I will go home, it's growing dark, but," she thought for a second, but the second couldn’t have been filled with anything intelligent or worthy. She looked at his hands on her waist. She took a gulp and sighed. "I can meet you here again... overmorrow. If you'd like it."

Davos tilted his head slightly as she spoke, his fingers drumming gently against her hip until she mentioned meeting again the evening after next.

A smirk slowly spread across his face and he stepped forward, closing the gap he had created between their bodies when he had released her.

"And how do I know you will come back?" He wondered, his tone mocking. "For all I know you could run straight to daddy and tattle on me."

"I might run home and tell on you," Celeste shrugged. "What would be the difference? Do you think they'd raise an army in my name? Why do you jest? You've already humbled me enough this evening, you don't think?"

"Tch,"

Davos scoffed at her response and rolled his eyes once again. He could not deny that he had been having too much fun riling her up, and he was almost reluctant to see her go.

"You're a strange little vixen, you know that? One second you're defiant, next second you're giving in and agreeing to meet me again."

"I guess I could be planning to bring my half-brothers along with me to slay you where you stand and put your cock and balls in my hand as tribute," she said, only inches away from his lips. She smirked.

Davos' eyes widened for only a moment before an almost maniacal grin appeared on his face.

"By the Gods, I knew you were feisty, but I didn't think you were that much of a savage."

He chuckled heartily and leaned in towards her, his nose almost touching hers.

"You wouldn't harm a hair on my head, little vixen. I know you like me too much for that."

"Like is not the word," Celeste said, pulling her head away from the boy and placing it as close to the edge of the tree as possible to avoid accidentally kissing him. She wouldn't mind it, but on her own terms.

She wanted a night to think about her decisions. The blood under her skin was fooling her; he was her sworn enemy, a snake, and a wolf in sheep's clothing, but he had told her the truth when no one else in her life had ever dared to begin. And his crooked, crooked teeth. They were so reminiscent of their childhood encounter, it made her heart twinge in nostalgic pain.

"I will see you in two nights, Davos, and if I'm not here," she gestured behind her with her head. "You do know where I sleep."

Davos pouted slightly as she pulled away from him, not letting their faces touch like he had intended. He wanted to close that last final gap between them and pin her back against the trunk of the tree, press his body into hers and taste those sweet lips.

He was sure she wanted it too, underneath all of her insolence.

"If you're not here, eh? And what is to stop me from sneaking into your room and... forcing you?"

"Guards. And knights. And townspeople by the hundred. You think they don't know your houndish little face?" Celeste shook her head, the sun only a few minutes from setting. "You had your time to finish me here, and you wasted it with your petty remarks, doggy. You will see me or you won't, but this opportunity is gone. I must go."

Davos bared his teeth at her mocking tone, but he knew she was right. He had had her trapped against the tree, he could have done whatever he wanted, but instead, he had used his time taunting her instead.

"Very well," he said finally, and he released her completely, taking a step back. His eyes raked across her figure before they met her eyes again.

"I expect to see you here tomorrow night, little vixen. Don't keep me waiting."

"Two nights," she repeated. "I said two." The forest floor was already growing dim as she backed away, starting a small jog before the boy could grab her again to argue. She needed time to think, and perhaps some time for him to want her.

"Two nights!" Davos called after her as she started to dart away. He knew he could easily reach out and tug at the hood of her cloak and pull her back to him, but he decided to let her go. For now.

He stood there, under the tree, long after she disappeared from his sight. There was a strange feeling bubbling in his chest that he had never felt before, and he spent the rest of the night trying to figure out what it was.

#hotd #house of the dragon #benjicot blackwood #davos blackwood #got #game of thrones #tasnc #hotd fanfic #got fanfic

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