#fill my weak lungs with this joy

[vividxpages]

✩˚౨ৎ˚✩‧The Great War PART 1 ✩₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧

PART 2 + PART 3

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 1700

summary: Jace and you are lovers, but stand on opposite sides of the war, not allowed to see each other anymore. But love always finds a way. (inspired by “The Great War” by Taylor Swift)

warnings: angst, reader is Alicents's daughter, the Greens being a bad family, hurt/comfort!, kissing

a/n: help, I'm obsessed with this boy and every song starts to sound like a possible fic idea for him!!!

𓆩♡𓆪

All that bloodshed, crimson clover Uh-huh, sweet dream was over My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War

Sometimes, you could only breathe above the clouds.

Up here on your dragon’s back, the trouble you left behind underneath you did not matter anymore. You thought of the castle that slowly poisoned you from the inside, the dark nights where you thought you were completely alone in the world with no comfort in reach but the memories you carried with yourself.

Once there had been laughter at the dinner table, the halls filled with the family you had not seen in months. Now, you only saw your brothers and your mother together in one room during council. You shuddered at the memory of today’s meeting, snuggling deeper into the saddle and closer to the dragon who kept you safe in the sky.

(“Maybe we should send our dear sister.” Your brother Aegon had proposed at some frustrating point of an endless council, taking a deep swig from the wine glass in front of him.

You had simply stared at him, silent. No one was really listening to you anyway and you were past the point of turning to your mother pleadingly. She was just as silent, always frowning, always doing nothing. “What do you mean, Aegon?”

“We can weaken them from the inside.” He had spoken to the others then, who at least looked so confused as you had felt. “Send them my little precious sister who a certain bastard son always had a weak spot for. I don’t see the problem if you kill him while you’re fuck-“

Your chair had screeched over the floor and fell down with a loud thud on the stone floor. You had clenched your hands into fists as you stood, fury in your eyes.

“Aegon, stop with such nonsense.” Alicent had said quietly, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. You fled.)

You welcomed the tears on your cheeks like an old friend, letting them cool your skin as you stirred your dragon through the sky, opting to just turn right and never come back to Westeros.

But oh, how your heart still clung to them.

The family up north in the realm, the family you had lost forever in the middle of his conflict.

Suddenly, you felt your dragon tense and directed your attention to the west, where a shape of a big shadow flickered through the clouds. Your mind began to race with what you’d do if Aemond had followed you, always being damned to bring you back when you had strayed too far away from Kings Landing.

But this shadow was not big enough to be Vhagar.

And those dark curls did not belong to your brother.

You gasped as your dragon let out a recognizing screech, lunging forwards through the clouds until you and the other rider could almost touch at how close your beasts were.

Time seemed to slow down as they flew past each other, teasingly snapping at each other’s necks with the joy of being reunited, but there was no doubt. As you raced through the skies, you looked into your Jace’s eyes.

You let out a broken gasp and quickly looked over your shoulder, but he and Vermax were already out of reach, descending down beneath the clouds. And suddenly, you knew where he was going. You spurned your dragon on, the wind cutting into your skin as you raced after them, faster and faster until you let your dragon spread its wings for a quick landing by the beach Jacaerys had chosen.

Only the silver moonlight illuminated the shore by the cliffs, void of any other soul who could witness the forbidden reunion between the two of you. If you had been in company, Jacaerys would’ve already been dead or held captive.

But you were alone, for the first time in months.

You slid down your dragon’s back, nearly blind by the need to reach him, to throw yourself into his arms like you had dreamed so often.

When you had seen each other for the last time, there had not been a war yet.

And Luke had been still alive.

(You had cried for hours when Aemond had returned, blood still drying on Vhagar’s massive teeth. You had begged your mother to write a letter, just a simple letter to Jace, but everything at court had still been too fragile to do anything but be in shock over what had happened up there. It had nearly driven you mad, to know that somewhere Jace was suffering the loss of his little brother and there was nothing you could do to comfort him.)

Now, he was right there in front of you, leaving Vermax behind him and running towards you on the wet sand by the water. You broke out into a sprint as well, a disbelieving laugh that was anything but amused leaving your tight throat as his features became more and more clear to you.

You crashed together like two waves.

The embrace was nearly violent as his arms slung themselves around you, lifting you up and pressing you into him. There was no strength in your bones anymore and if Jace wouldn’t have held you so tightly, you would’ve crashed onto the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

Only Jace was holding you together right now.

He was everything you had been missing in those terrible weeks. He smelled like sea and wind and smoke and your hands shook as you combed through his wet curls, your tear-streaked face securely hidden in his neck.

You never wanted to let go of him and it seemed like the feeling was mutual.

“Gods- my love…” He mumbled into your ear and you let out a choked sob as you held each other. It was like he could not decide where he wanted to touch you first. His hands drifted over you restlessly, up and down your spine, holding onto you as if you could disappear again at any moment.

“How did you find me?” You asked breathlessly, your bottom lip still trembling dangerously as you caressed his cheeks, needing to refamiliarize yourself with the feel of his skin on yours.

He swallowed thickly, unshed tears glistening in his beautiful years. “I remembered the route you liked to take when you needed to stop thinking. And it’s cloudy today. No one saw me coming. I’ve been waiting for a cloudy night like this for weeks-“

His voice broke and you pulled him closer again, shudders of pain and longing and relief to be with him going through you in an endless loop. How much had changed since the last time you had seen eye to eye: Your father had always said you’d make a good match back then and now Jace had one brother less and you were a captive in your own home.

“I missed you so much.” You whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as you both looked out on the ocean. “I- oh Jace, I tried to write, I wanted to send you a letter, but- I wasn’t allowed. I couldn’t help you and-“

“It’s okay.” He said, but it sounded lifeless, void. “It’s not your fault. I wished I could’ve been there for you too. I know how much you loved Luke.”

Gods, you wanted to cry and never stop again. Even now, Jace was trying to be strong for you, as he had always been.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.” He told you and cupped your cheek, looking deeply and longingly into your eyes. “I missed you every second we’ve been apart. Have you been treated well? Have Aegon and Aemond-“

“I love you too. I want to come with you.” You interrupted him fiery and he shuddered at the insane idea of it, the consequences unimaginable and likely deadly for one of you. “Please, please, let me come with you, I can’t stay a single day there, my mother is not the same anymore and- my brothers have been horrible with the things they want to do to Rhaenyra and you.”

He shushed you gently, drawing his arms tighter around you and swaying you back and forth. “I’ll find a way. I’m not letting you stay there alone for much longer, my love. It makes me sick to think about you being alone in Kings Landing, believe me, but…mother says it’s not safe, not yet-“

“I won’t cause your family any trouble, I promise-“

“It’s not us we’re fearing for.” He smiled sadly at you. “It’s you. I won’t summon your brother’s anger on you. I’d rather take it on myself, but- we need to be a little more patient, okay?”

You could see how much effort those words cost him and you had no doubt if it was his choice to make, he’d take you with him to Dragonstone and never look back. You watched his throat bump with tension, his jaw set, his lips pressed together tightly.

A sudden small smile danced over your face. “So you only came to me tonight because you wanted to see me?”

His eyes were dark with longing, with wanton he could not give in to, not tonight. “My love...I needed to see you.” His thumb lovingly brushed over your cheek, the pad of it briefly touching your lips.

There was so much you wanted to say, so many things you needed to tell him and hear from him, but in this short moment you were only a girl and he was a boy. Your boy.

 He met you right in the middle, delicately holding your face between his hands as your lips met, desperately kissing you as his taste exploded in your mouth once again. He kissed you drunk, enveloping all your senses until all you felt was him. His lips were dry and salty from the long flight over the clouds and along the coast, your runny noses sliding against each other, but it was perfect.

Your heart was mended with every little sigh into your mouth, his long lashes brushing over your cheeks, your hands tangling in his hair…

You thought that maybe, in another lifetime, the two of you could’ve been able to stop the war.

Another part of you knew that you always had been damned, cursed.

You blinked into the starless grey sky above you as Jace began to ravish your neck with wet kisses and you thought of the old saying passed on from generation to generation.

Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.

On which side would yours land if you ever lost him?

On which would his land when it finally sank in that he could never have you?

[adelheidvonschicksal]

⋆｡°✩ DARLING, DON'T BE AFRAID

Summary: Despite living with Xavier for the past few weeks, you still haven't taken the plunge to see if all this time together make you anything more than roommates especially when he disappears again in the middle of the night. Determined, you decide to question him on where his feelings lie. You just never thought a simple kiss on the cheek was the only push needed.

Pairing: Xavier x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: Roommates AU, Vanilla Smut (A lot of it. Like 7k words of smut), Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex

Word Count: 12,000~

Note: Sequel to Do Roommates Sleep Together. This part can be read as a standalone. So not necessary to read part one but it adds more context.

AO3 Link

You make a final decisive pull of the trigger. A loud pang resonates in the air and smoke spirals off the barrel. The Wanderer disappears in a wisp of debris and dust that is quickly caught in the wind.

Xavier stands a few feet in front of you. His sword twirls with one final arc of light illuminating behind the sharpened tip before it dematerializes in his hand.  You’re oblivious to the way his eyes search and find you on instinct as you run eager fingertips on the warm barrel of your pistol. 

“Mission completed. We should report back.”

You raise your head to meet his gaze while your gloved fingers remain faithfully on your weapon. The adrenaline from a successful mission is still surging through you.

“I want to test out my guns some more.”

His eyes soften at your response, but the weight of his gaze is still heavy as he walks towards you and places his hand on your head. 

“There will be more Wanderers tomorrow,” he murmurs. His thumb gently brushes your forehead before his hand swoops back over your hair. Though your hands were still itching for another battle, your mind was weak to the calmness of his tone, like the slow tumble of waves on the shore, as he coaxes your head back to look at him more directly. “Let’s go home.”

This time you do not protest. Even if you did, what could you possibly say? 

Your aggression relaxes along with your shoulders, allowing you to give in to his request with a quick holstering of your twin guns. 

You return to headquarters and give your mission report to Jenna – pausing only to poke fun when she mentions how much Xavier’s reporting time has improved since the two of you became partners – then you start on the way home with the sun kissing at your back.

Laughter fills the air on the streets. Immediately, you feel warm inside. It was only thanks to the work you do every day that citizens could enjoy this peaceful dusk without fear of monsters scrambling to destroy the city like so many years ago. 

It’s rewarding to know you hold some small part in the safety of the city after almost dying in the catastrophe as a child. You breathed it in fully, letting joy fill your lungs as you savor the calm moment. The emotion is only highlighted by the fact that when you look to your side, you can see Xavier there, putting weight to the empty space left in the wake of your family’s death. 

Walking home together in the past was a random occurrence, happening whenever your busy schedules after missions aligned. As freshly cemented roommates, it was almost a given you’d walk home together now. Not just to the apartment complex, but to an actual shared home. 

This path you go along every day has become special in that time. It’s full of promises, the kind you could only wish for on snowy New Year's evenings as you tied red ribbons to the shrine gate and prayed for good things to happen in your life. Not a lot of those wishes came true but Xavier did. 

In that way, you were a fortunate person. 

It was only your guess if he felt the same. You want to ask him. Unlike when you’re fighting Wanderers, you’re not brave when it comes to Xavier - a part of you prefers to leave things between you unsaid. It’s safer that way as you can keep living in a beautiful world of your own illusions. 

Therefore, you’re unable to help yourself. Pinching the sleeve of his uniform, you tug on it gently to gain his attention; Xavier looks at you with glossy glazed eyes. He’s always so sluggish after missions. His steps slow and methodical, like a robot, as he barely manages to straighten his spine and raise his head.

“Chin up, Xavier. We’re almost there.”

“I’m exhausted,” he says. 

You don’t need to hear him say it to understand. You think you’ve become good at reading his body language by now. Donning a sympathetic smile, you shift your hand, aiming for a lower target, and entwine your fingers with his under the guise of leading him faster.

“My next solution is carrying you by the way.”

A smile cracks on his face, impossibly light as his gaze drifts to the hold you have on his hand. “I don’t think you could carry me.”

“You dare doubt me?” Truth be told, he was right. He was tall and muscular and much thicker under that uniform than he looked. He would probably crush you under his weight if you tried to lift him. Despite how improper it was to think, you wouldn’t mind if he wanted to place his weight on top of you in another way. You tick up the corner of your lips into a surprisingly innocent smile opposite of the images in your imagination as you flash your bicep to him. “I’m very strong.”

“I think it would make more sense if I carried you.”

“I can walk.”

“I don’t see why that matters,” he says with a yawn, and you smile.

“Are you sure you won’t drop me?”

“If it’s a choice between falling asleep and dropping you then I’ll definitely stay awake. Otherwise, you might end up carrying me after all,” he says. Xavier always manages to be unfailingly charming. Given the mystery of his past and the way he carries himself, you often question exactly what kind of upbringing he had. You almost ask but your interrogation doesn’t have the chance to plant seeds when he stops in front of you and kneels. 

You thought he was joking when he said he’d carry you home but that doesn’t stop you from wrapping your arms over his broad shoulders and letting him scoop your legs up around his solid waistline. 

His clasp on the back of your thighs makes you shiver. You feel like a touch-starved virgin that the simple strength of his hands over the thickness of your pants incited such a reaction out of you, so you bury your burning face against the back of his neck. 

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Xavier must feel your hair against his neck, and you use the fact he can’t see your face to your advantage as you nod against his nape.

“Just hungry.”

For his part, Xavier doesn’t question your sudden hunger. Instead, he asks what you’re in the mood for and starts to list the restaurants that you pass on the way to the apartment complex.

You lay your cheek against him, watching the many buildings pass you by until you point out one you don’t recognize, flashing with many signs about a grand opening.

“How about that one?” you ask.

Xavier chuckles, continuing on in his steps past the building in question. “It’s not that great.”

“How do you know?”

“I tried them out.”

You squeeze into his shoulders, pushing off of them in a childlike manner and an even more dramatic gasp. “Without me?”

“I was going to bring you something back, but they weren’t very tasty. I like your cooking a lot more.”

You know he can’t see you, but you puff out your cheeks anyway. You wrap your arms tightly around him again, willing your heart not to skip when his back tenses as your chest compresses against him.  

“Are you asking me to cook dinner for you? I’m quite exhausted after all that running around,” you tell him sarcastically. 

He accidentally makes you regret your teasing when he agrees with a compassionate offer, “I’ll cook for you today.”

Hearing the word cook from his mouth makes your stomach sour. If there’s one thing after all these months you learned, it’s that Xavier is a…creative cook to put it gently. Or rather, he has zero cooking ability if it involves electricity. You didn’t mind. The two of you make it work with you doing most of the cooking and him cleaning up after, at your own behest, because if he had his way, he’d be in the kitchen much more often. 

“On second thought, I’ll cook.”

“You still don’t trust me,” he says with a sigh. Guilt tingles through you. However, your continued survival outweighs the guilt that the memory of his puppy eyes can draw out of you. “I’ll handle the cold stuff, and I’ll leave the meat to you.”

“Deal,” you say, nuzzling your head against his neck. 

When you get home, the night pans out like it always does. The two of you take turns in the shower with dinner being cooked shortly after, and the human garbage disposal known as your roommate leaves very little work for you to do once all is said and done. 

You decide to start on the last of chores for today while Xavier washes the dishes. It’s routine to check the plants before going to bed as the many potted flowers were like your own children after you spent so many hours tending to them, finding the perfect ratio of nutrients and water to keep them thriving. 

It is also routine to hunt down the birds so lovingly named Fatso and Alarm Clock by the sleepy man of the house to give them some of the seeds and nuts you regularly brought home from the store. You told Xavier that happy birds would stop eating his strawberries when in reality you liked to spoil them. 

So, you spread out the seeds on the ground for them, leaving them there for later. 

“If you feed them, they’ll never leave.”

You can’t help the laugh that leaves you. As much as he complains about the birds, you think, if his constant curiosity about the birds’ day-to-day lives was anything to go by, that he’d miss the two fluffy creatures if they were to ever find new nesting grounds. You turn back to the balcony door with a cheeky grin. “I have experience with things that don’t leave after you feed them. You enjoyed dinner a little too much.”

It’s hard to see in the fading light but Xavier blushes and brings a shy grip to the back of his neck. “Last I checked you moved in with me.”

That silences you. There’s no denying his observation, and you fail to notice him getting closer until he reaches his hand out to help you up. You willingly reach out, hand sinking into his touch as he lifts you to your feet. 

The coolness of your palms touching slowly births a lingering warmth. The soft squeeze around your hand makes it hard to let him go but eventually you must. Otherwise, you might say things that are better kept to yourself as you walk back into the house and close the sliding door behind you. 

With a pounding heart, you retire to your room early.

This room is a little different from the master room at your old apartment. The wall color is a little different brighter and it’s smaller. Luckily, you made the space work pretty easily by migrating half your plushie collection into Xavier’s room, checking like a dutiful mother to make sure he was treating them right and placing them with love should they roll off his dresser.  Sighing, you change into slightly more comfortable clothes, choosing a random pair of soft shorts and a tank top to wear before climbing into bed. It’s ten when you finally let your eyes slip shut, and it's around eleven you feel someone touching you.

Your eyelids are surprisingly heavy; you can barely pry them open enough to see the wisp of grey-brown hair shadowing medium-blue eyes. You don’t protest as you feel his fingertips brush along your waist or when his knee digs into the mattress, sinking you towards his weight.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he wants. You raise your arm enough to let your fingertips greet the curve of his chin in silent acceptance. Slowly, you drop your hand and squeeze his bicep. Like a good little soldier, he follows the order to fall into the bed with you. 

The most comfortable position is to slot your arm on top of his as he hugs your waist, props his leg on top of yours, and spoons your back. There’s absolutely zero space between your lower halves; and if he notices how you, with a small amount of shame, subtly shift and push yourself back on him a little more, he doesn’t say as he lolls his head against the curve of your neck while his incredibly light exhaling on your skin comforts you after a long day. 

With a flutter of your eyelids, you slowly slip back into sleep with the happiness that comes with being roommates with your crush. 

It’s times like these that make you think maybe he loves you. It’s also times like these that make you forget that despite all of the endearing things about him and despite how much you care about him, you don’t truly know a lot about him.

Xavier has always been a man with a lot of secrets. You’ve known this since you first met him asleep in the forest. It’s true that you once accepted the fact you’d never learn all his secrets but that was before whatever this abnormal relationship that the two of you found yourself in. 

Even after living together for more than two months now, you still had no idea where he would go when he would sneak off in the middle of the night. You didn’t question where he goes anymore, you found that he wouldn’t give you a straight answer to save his life. You merely stayed up until you heard the sound of the door opening or the warped echo of air being sucked into a vacuum, indicating he teleported inside. 

So, when you wake up at two in the morning, finding yourself alone and the side of the bed where he laid mere hours ago already cold, you’re not surprised.

Getting out of bed, you slip on your slippers and drag your feet to the balcony. It’s a familiar situation when you collapse into the swing chair, with nothing but the cold and the chirping of the birds to keep you company until he undoubtedly returns with his body hosting a family of fresh wounds.

It’s incredibly frustrating because you love him and seeing him hurt, without you having been there to prevent it, drives you crazy. You wonder why he won’t tell you, and your heart sinks, as quickly as a stone cast in a lake, with the idea that maybe you were the only one thinking that your relationship meant more than it did. Because even after all this time, you still aren’t close to him in the way you want. 

Clenching your fists, you shove your eyes against them. It was all so infuriating when he ran off to fight Wanderers or whoever and left you all alone to overthink and worry about him like some helpless house plant. It was enough to make you want to cry as the strange foreboding sense of losing him begins to echo inside of you, making you nauseous.                                                                                 There’s only one way to get rid of this feeling. Taking in a deep breath, you settle to give him a piece of your mind about sneaking off so much and also to bite the bullet to confess your feelings. 

It was only a matter of waiting for him to actually return home and to get your heightened nerves to stop firing in every direction in the meantime. 

By the time you heard the door to the apartment creaking open, you’d nearly fallen asleep in the wicker swing chair. You swallow down the bitter taste of fear, ignoring the tumultuous waves it makes when it hits your stomach. You’d never get anywhere if you didn’t face him. 

Carefully, you hop up from your seat and make slow strides into the apartment. It’s still dark in the house; you hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights earlier. Yet Xavier carries a lightness around him, mostly imagined by yourself, that makes him easy to spot in the darkness. 

For a moment, things seem normal as he takes a few stiff steps forward. Suddenly, he falls forward, the white of his uniform nearly a blur with how fast he collapses onto the sofa, but it is nothing compared to the speed at which you rush to his side. 

You call his name, press two fingers to his throat, and let your eyes slip closed with a desperate concentration as you search for his pulse behind the blaring red of his collar. 

It’s a gradual pace, averaging twenty beats a minute and slowly rising. For anyone else, you’d immediately rush them to the hospital. For Xavier, that number is a relief. 

You hold your hand to your pounding heart, practicing deep measured inhales to calm it. It appears he fell asleep as soon as he entered the room, with only enough awareness to kick off his shoes at the door. 

It looks like your lecture will have to be postponed for another day. 

You’re thankful for all the training you had to take to become a hunter because it takes an enormous amount of effort to throw one of his arms over your shoulders and drag him to his bedroom. You make a mental note to never let him question your ability to carry him again as you sit him on the bed and shuffle off his uniform jacket, leaving him only in his pants. 

In a tender motion, you gently cup his face and examine him. Dirt cakes his face; and when you brush it away, there’s a small cut on his cheek. It hits you again just how reckless and secretive he can be, echoing with a bitter thought that he didn’t bring you again. The only bright spot is the little cut is his only injury this time. 

Laying him on his back, you leave for only a moment to get a warm washcloth and an adhesive from the bathroom. It’s a blue band-aid with a cartoonish pink bunny on it, something a kid would love and has probably been collecting dust in the drawer longer than you’ve been alive. 

It takes all the seriousness out of your body when you return, clean his face off, and place the colorful bandage on his cheek. It’s hard to believe this narcoleptic pretty boy was the strongest member of the Hunters Association. 

“I didn’t think when we moved in together I was going to become a babysitter,” you commented with a little huff and poke of his cheek. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself. Can’t cook. Can’t stay awake. Can’t tell someone when you’re going out. I bet you didn’t even lock the door when you came in. …What if a Wanderer floated in after you and trampled all the flowers, or did you just not want to leave any for me tomorrow?”

You know your complaints are falling on deaf ears as he cuddles up to his pillow without a care in the world. But if you didn’t complain, you’d get depressed instead. Dropping to your knees, you sit on the floor and prop your elbow on the bed to get a better look at him. 

He looks so peaceful.

There’s no tension, no crease to his expression. It’d be easy to mistake him for a normal young man if it weren’t for the strong humming of his Evol tickling at the wall of your resonance.

“I’ll let you sleep, but you’re getting it in the morning! I expect answers. Otherwise, I won’t cook breakfast for you,” you attempt to sound threatening in your words with every poke to his cheek a not-so-silent promise to follow through. “I’ll take my missions with the new recruit all the ladies at work gossip about. And the next time I get a snack shipment, I’m letting Jeremiah have first pick!”

With one last prod to his face and no reaction otherwise, you stop your demands and sit back on your legs. 

Bit by bit, you feel your energy dissolving. It’s no use. It’s all empty threats. You’ll probably not cook for a few days, eat in front of him too, at least until he gives you those puppy eyes, and you’ll fold just like origami paper. You’ll still save him the snack you know he likes even if you allow Jeremiah first pick of the rest. And you’d never be interested in the new recruit or anyone else. 

Xavier can be distant and formal. For others, his hyper-independence was evident. Taking on missions alone and avoiding group settings is just the way Xavier’s personality works. He’s reliable and gets along with everyone at a surface level and he’s known to go out of his way to help others without seeking validation for it so it never ruffled any feathers when he goes off on his own or rejects an invitation to drink with the others after work. 

They didn’t see. They didn’t see how easy it was to care about him. They appreciate him but they weren’t aware of how intensely and passionately he could feel when he unfurls that independent nature. How he always quietly adjusts his dominant foot to point your direction whenever a Wanderer appears. How his voice drops and his touch becomes the smallest bit more graceful and careful when he sees you upset. How sweetly he looks when he sleeps.

It makes your resolve crumble and your heart squeeze, something only he can do without even being awake to know it. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” you mumble to him. 

As you lean closer, you easily ignore the stirring in your gut that tells you to stop. 

The bandage is a little rough against your lips as you seize the chance to kiss him. It’s a short and small thing, much more delicate than your prodding from earlier because you want to indulge the romantic in you. You want him to somehow sense the feelings cultivated in your heart over the past few months though impossible when he’s asleep.

You don’t let it last long. Instead, the desperate urge to feel his heat against you spurs you to rest your forehead against his cheek. It’s warm and soft, and the faint scent of pine trees of the no-hunt zone fills your nose. You savor being this close to him, allowing yourself to indulge in it until the heat on your skin starts to match his, and you finally let him have peace for the night.

With no need to remain in his room, you stand and pivot towards the door, wondering how you’ll manage to grasp any form of sleep tonight. However, you don’t make it two steps before there’s a tug at your arm.

You yelp as you’re pulled towards the bed while the shock has you stumbling forward into it. The hand leaving your arm in favor of grasping around your wrist stops you from falling completely but your knees have already buckled. You’re left nearly a head under him when he finally swings his legs over the side of the bed and shifts into a full sitting position. This position is oddly familiar. When you uncertainly force your eyes up to meet his face, this vulnerable angle becomes unmistakable.  

His voice is husked and rasped from sleep, sending a chill up your spine when paired with the swirling shadows darkening his blue eyes under his hooded lids and dark lashes. That’s the look of a predator, of the association’s strongest hunter, and you face the inkling realization that you’re the prey. 

Nervously, you begin to divert your eyes. He takes a page out of your own playbook and reaches under your chin to guide your sight back to him as you fight not to whimper at the pressure of his thumb pushing down as if he wants to part your lips. It isn’t until now that you notice how close you are to his lap and how another few inches would drop you to your knees.

“Why worry about Wanderers following me home when you’re so much scarier.”

“What do you mean?” 

Memory has never been your friend. This though is the first time you’ve forgotten how to breathe when his fingers completely close around your wrist. His hold is firm, preventing you from wringing your way out of his grasp, but it doesn’t hurt.

He might as well take that grasp and use it to squeeze your heart instead when he brings your hand to his face. You’re unsure what he’s planning; the awkwardness of the situation makes your fingers straighten and twitch away as he holds your hand closer to his face. Sensing your trepidation, he closes the last of the distance instead by tilting his head into your hand with the same affection as always as he lets your fingertip brush against the silly little bunny bandage. 

The familiarity of the motion puts your heart a little more at ease but not enough to bring your breathing back to you as he mumbles, “I don’t remember giving you permission to kiss me.”

Your lips part with a silent puff while your brows push forward, highlighting the confusion in your mind onto your face. He takes advantage of the moment to nuzzle your hand. It’s a notion you can’t appreciate as his words finally sink into your mind and reform into a horrifying conclusion.

“…You were awake the whole time.”

He chuckles so easily at the dry peep that echoes from you, the rivet of that warm sound collects in your palm and makes your face scalding hot. You didn’t face a burning heat like this even when fighting one of those flame dragons. All the while, Xavier was laughing at you…

“Not the whole time.”

With your head catching up, you find enough of yourself again to actually glare at him and smack his shoulder. “That’s not the point!”

With another display of strength, he locks your other wrist, pulls you up, and then snatches you into him. Luckily, you’re able to flatten your palms against his chest to brace yourself. His heart as well as his face is unnervingly calm compared to your own organ that’s currently orchestrating its escape from your chest, battering your ribcage even harder as you unconsciously stretch your fingers over his naked skin. 

You don’t like this. This bullying, which you only describe as such because you can’t think of a word more fitting for the way he’s treating you, is too one-sided. 

“It was on the cheek,” you argue with a steeled voice. You fake the confidence to stare him back down, choosing to trade your determination to confess to him tonight in exchange for preserving your pride. “It was friendly.”

To your satisfaction, your declaration of war makes him the one to pause this time. His eyes widen and there’s a quiver in those waves of blue that he hides by glancing down and away. 

“…Is that what it was?”

You nod. “I wasn’t…going to do anything else.”

Xavier smiles, shaking his head, and there’s a new determination in his eyes that causes your teeth to clench down on the inside of your cheek as he leans closer. 

“In that case, is it okay to return the favor?”

He doesn’t give you the time to answer. He’s already closing the distance, his dark lashes already fluttering, and his lips already puckering to kiss you as you’re squeezed flushed against him, only your palms stopping your chest from colliding with his. 

“Wait!”

Hearing your disapproval, he pauses, but that cheeky grin still doesn’t dissipate. 

“What's wrong?” he asks with a sigh. You’re sure it’s not a true question. “Am I not allowed to give you a friendly kiss as well.”

The implications make your stomach twist while your thighs squeeze together pathetically with the sudden throbbing of arousal that spikes through you as you tumble further and further into this rabbit’s trap.

“I—that’s!”

“So, you were misbehaving,” he concludes from your sheepishness. “I guess that means I need to punish you instead.” He breaks his hold around one of your wrists to ghost his fingertips along your cheek and down your neck until all you can do in response is breathe out a moan, much to his surprise given by the rise of his eyebrows and the slight dust of pink on his bewildered face. “…I didn’t think you were that sensitive there.”

Your mind swims with the traitorous thought of wanting to show him where you’re more sensitive dancing in your mind before you can sweep it away. When his fingers dance along your neck again, you whimper and hold in another moan.

“Don’t hold back on my account. You know my most sensitive spot after all, as hunting partners, it only makes sense for me to know yours, right?”

You can hardly think of a response to that. It’s true. You know his biggest weaknesses and as you come to terms with the situation you run your thumb over the plump inside of your thigh hesitantly. It takes you almost an entire minute to decide on what you want to say, and you don’t notice his hold on your wrist weakening.  

“My weakness—” 

Suddenly, your arm drops back to your side.

“I’m kidding,” Xavier states; the small smile he normally wears comes back to his face as you look up at him with wide eyes. “I was only curious as to what your reaction would be.”

The tension in the air wanes and buries itself in your heart. The embarrassment clings to every cell living in you, unshakeable as you try to keep a brave face. “You’re cruel.”

“Am I? You were the one touching me, all the while promising to run off with some rookie,” he reminds you. 

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t—you’re so frustrating,” you scream at him, and this is the first time he appears to take you seriously all night.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, with less teasing and more concern. He wraps an arm around your waist. His legs slot between yours, leaving your knees to collide with the plush of the bed as he hugs you tighter and tighter until you’re nearly seated in his lap. “Don’t be mad. I only thought—” 

“Xavier?”

“Did you really mean it then?” he redirects. He snakes his other arm around your waist, this time when he holds you it feels…weak, and his pursed lips and narrowed eyes hold back a troubled emotion. “That it was in a friendly way?”

Your breath hitches at the swirl of his thumbs nervously circling the small of your waist. Nervously, he waits for an answer you long lost in the rapids of the constantly changing tides of the last few minutes. 

“If you meant it…if you truly wanted to kiss me,” he pauses, trying to find his voice. The one to tell you that you’re all he thinks about. “Then you should have woken me up.” His face holds a serene glow that completely enraptures you as he looks up at you. “I wouldn’t have rejected you,” he swore.

He loved you so much it ached. Moving in together should have been enough to prove it. He guesses not; because when he thinks you want him back, you’re so hesitant to accept. Even now, you’re unable to respond. 

This cycle has become painful, even for someone as patient as himself, the wait when you’re this close to him is agonizing. So, he decides now to be the one to end this circle the two of you found yourself in with one decisive motion. 

He tests the waters, not knowing if he’ll swim or drown, but he has confidence in his ability to read your personality and actions as he cups the back of your head and pulls you in for a kiss. 

Your mind empties immediately, your body on autopilot when it registers the warm, silky skin of his lips on yours. Closing your eyes, you willingly tumble and fall into the taste of him, chasing after it when he breaks away. 

“There. We’re even,” he says, but to you, that’s far from the truth. You’re far from even after all the heartache and sleepless nights he’s been putting you through, after all the push and pull that left you aching and wanting both in your heart and between your thighs. 

The self-satisfied smile on his face quickly fades as you grope his shoulders, digging your nails in like you’re afraid he’ll escape. Your knees press to the top of the bed as you plant yourself more onto his lap. He braces his hands on your hips to catch you as you run your hand into his hair and crane his head back, so he has to look you in the eye.

His ears pinken at your sudden brazenness, but it doesn’t reflect in his voice as he smiles at you. “Are you trying to get more?” 

“Am I being too greedy?” you ask. He chuckles at the jut of your lips and the pleading eyes before you press another demanding kiss to the corner of his lips. 

Xavier moans from his throat as he latches onto your jaw to redirect your kisses to his lips. Kissing him is nearly maddening, the twitch of his muscular thighs under your ass making your mind hazy. With one hard squeeze at your hips, he catches up to the zealousness of your kisses. 

His tongue pokes and prods at your mouth. However, he doesn’t need much permission to keep going as you open your mouth wider. His mind skips and lags at just how quickly your mouth overtakes the slick appendage. It leaves him more than a little out of breath and flustered with the rate your mouths keep parting and meeting, tongues desperately searching and licking the inside your mouths as if this is the first meal you’ve had in weeks.

You’re hungry to memorize each other despite having all the time in the world now to do just that. When the two of you finally indulged enough and earned enough satisfaction, you’re able to calm down and readjust the pace. 

“I think we’re both greedy,” he jokes about the both of you before sliding his tongue back into your mouth. This time he’s slower as he presses down on your tongue, causing your teeth to lightly graze over the top of his.

There are too many sensations going on for you to keep up. The way your breasts hug his hard chest has you feeling sensitive while the heat seeping from his tongue stroking in your mouth has your stomach bundled in tight knots that won’t know release until he’s inside of you. 

Dreams were nothing compared to this. Nights filled with nothing but inappropriate thoughts of him turn into nightmares at the slim chance of having to face them again should this go wrong. 

Impatiently, his fingers curve into the hump of your ass to anchor you and encourage you to grind on his lap, or rather grind against the hard tent brazenly making its presence known with each hurried roll of your hips.

You whine from the separation of your sexes when he begins to lift you up, but your complaints quickly die in your throat. They’re replaced by a squeal as he flips you and your back bounces on the mattress.  

Xavier climbs over you, his face flushed, breath ragged, and overall, he’s just absolutely beautiful to you. Reaching up, you cup his cheek and play with the ends of his hair, unable to recall the last time you’ve felt this high. 

“Xavier,” you whisper breathlessly as you swoop his bangs back to see more of his handsome face and save it to memory. “What are we?”

Xavier tilts his head, furrowing his brow at your question, and there’s a second where a ray of doubt breaks through the clouds of lust in his irises. “We’re…whatever you want to be.”

“I want to be with you,” you say. Those words tumble out more effortlessly than you ever thought. 

Xavier overlaps your hand with his, holding on tight as if to prove a point. “You are with me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” he corrects. Then, he dazzles you as he always does, “I want you to tell me so there’s no mistake, and you can’t take it back later.”

You inwardly become embarrassed when it crosses your mind that this is the first time you’ve ever confessed to him without multiple drinks in your system. It’s too late to turn back now that you’ve crossed the Milky Way and landed on the other side. 

But why would you when you’re so close?

“I want to be with you always. Whenever and wherever you are. Whether that’s having fun together or fighting. I-I love you, and—”

“And I love you,” he answers. You’re not sure if you’re jealous or relieved that he can say those three words without hesitation.

“I don’t want anything to be between us. I don’t want any more secrets or hidden things. I’m tired of this. I just want to be real, more than partners or roommates or whatever other title that isn’t boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Okay,” Xavier agrees as easily as he agreed to be roommates with you in the first place. 

“Okay?”

“I want that too,” he agrees as he repositions himself on top of you and his lips curve into a small smirk, “girlfriend.”

You’re accustomed to the finicky organ known as your heart tightening with pain when you’re overwhelmed; this time when it skips a beat, it’s welcomed. Smiling, you gaze up at him as he releases a slow, strained breath. It’s validating to know he’s been just as nervous as you.

Everything suddenly becomes full force again when his knees move to either side of your legs while he pins your hands above your head in one tight fist. His teeth nip at your earlobe, and his free hand gropes at your breast, fingers outstretching to fully take it in his grasp. Wet kisses burn on your throat, each one firing off a rapid signal to arch your back. 

“Slow down,” you whine before cutting it off with a moan as he hits a particular delicate spot. The discovery spurs him on, like a pet with a new toy, and he bites your nape once again causing your hips to jerk. With a burning desire building in your stomach at every touch, you pitifully hug your thighs together to try to ease it. “I didn’t get a chance to absorb all that,” you tell him, mostly to get some time to catch up. It backfires wonderfully as he grips onto the bottom of your tank top.

“I have a better way to help you understand.”

The sheets shift with his movement, your lower half dipping towards him as if he holds his own gravitational field. He settles between your legs and strokes against you with one slow, languid rock. It instantly makes you throb. It’s painful how hard you clench over absolutely nothing, panties gathering the lust that’s dripping from you.  

You simultaneously hate and love him for causing this need that’s bubbling inside you. 

Large hands press your shirt further up your torso. “Arms up,” he demands softly, which you have no problem obeying, and he quickly lifts your shirt over your head.

He lowers his hands to hold at your waist, and they fall still on you as he takes in your naked skin. You’re not privy to his thoughts. The silence of the room feels defean-ing now that your needy gasps of air aren’t filling it.

He pauses, eyes taking you in as you raise your eyebrows at his hesitancy. Xavier smiles, mumbling out, “Just thinking where to start.”

Xavier smiles at you so tenderly. Everything about him is incredibly soft on first appearance. He has big blue puppy eyes, he prefers white, cozy clothes, and his voice is just as gentle as his appearance. Everything about him is soft except for his hands. 

Those are hardy and battle-honed, worn with calluses built up with every swing of the sword he’s taken since he was a child, enough of them to slay thousands of Wanderers over the years. 

They drag.

Oh, they drag so dangerously slow over your skin, dipping into the pudge of your stomach and highlighting a small circle in the warm, buzzing glow of his Evol. The rays shine gold over your flesh, shimmering brightly in the dark of the room. 

“Here,” he states before hunting down another spot on your torso. A beauty mark, like a beacon, earns the sharp eyes of a hunter. He zones in on the vulnerable location, creating a golden target. “Maybe here.”

You squirm with every mapped spot he creates. “Xavier.”

The residue of his power leaves your skin humming; you’re overly aware of each spot he highlights with his power. You like to think your senses would still be heightened regardless of this little game. After all, you’ve been wanting him to touch you forever.

Every night next to him felt like torture, being unable to touch him more than a hug when all you could feel on your back was his hard chest, his arm tight around your waist, and the outline of his cock against your ass as he sighed in your ear.

It runs through your head that he must have put more thought into touching you than you assumed as he continues to stripe lines over the top of your thighs right under your night shorts, making your breath heavy in your throat. You’re no longer sure if he’s marking you to tease you, to track what parts of your body he’s claimed for himself, or to simply make you laugh from the humming of his Evol tickling you like fuzzy static on an old tv screen. Even as he smiles at your shallow giggles, there’s no denying the aura of possession radiating from him that makes you antsy when he finally presses his finger to your sternum.

“Let’s start here,” he says followed by a soft hum as he tattoos a line straight between your breasts, leaving you highlighted in slowly fading graffiti.

“About time you decided,” you say with an playfully exaggerated roll of your eyes. He cocks his head at you with a sly smile.

“I can’t help if I want to touch all of you,” he murmurs. Any response you had ready dies when he licks the encircled zone of your shoulder then swiftly to the notch of your throat, drawing a moan out of you that you didn’t think you were capable of until you met him.

Tilting your head, you allow him more room to work as he kisses your chest. His warm tongue slips through the line he marked, his nose dragging against you as he litters your engorged skin with kisses. 

“More,” you beg. Who was he to keep you waiting any longer?

He slips a fingerpad over the tip of your nipple, gently pressing down and then rolling it. It does nothing to satiate you. Satisfaction keeps escaping your grasp, the goalpost of what’s enough moving further out of reach with every pinch and pull of your pebbling nipples. Chasing it makes you brash, and you give a hard push to the back of his head. 

Just as you want, he spoils you. He bites and nips the supple skin, drawing out soft pleas from your angelic lips. When he finally graces you with the slick, velvety lap of his tongue on your pert nipple, you mewl and arch. His lips are a little rough after being out all night, his hunger for you more palpable than ever as he gropes harder and sucks at your wet skin. 

Your aching pussy throbs with every brush of his clothed cock. Your patience drains more and more as you crave something to fill you. It isn’t until he switches sides and gently nips and suckles around your other teat that you realize he’s been fingerprinting you with his Evol, the polka dots slowly fade away each time he adjusts his hand to knead your breast.  

“You’re still being cruel,” you manage between moans. 

“I think I’m being very fair,” he reasons, recapturing your lips to silence your complaints, and it works as your mind keeps repeating when his tongue makes a temporary reservation back in the confines of your mouth. 

When he parts with you again, he cements it with a soft kiss then another. He keeps peppering them on you so fast that you almost miss the way his tongue darts over your bottom lip before his teeth bite down. 

Xavier sighs between his kisses, each one adding more pressure, turning from loving, adoration-filled into needy, heavy smooches.

“Wanted.”

Another kiss that leaves you whimpering.

“To.”

He fondles your chest again, alternating between rolling and pinching your sensitive, puffed nipple then grasping your bare tits in his hands, molding and kneading them.

“With you.”

With your thighs closing at his waist, you curve your back and meet the sloppy buck of his hips. There’s a rush of excitement leaking from you when his kisses trail back over your breasts, hitting the tiny ring of bite marks he seared on you before tracing across the targets of light decorating your belly. 

“So bad.”

Skin on fire, legs spread wide to accommodate his chest as he sinks lower to press wet kisses to your stomach, you call out to him. “Xavier, baby,” you whisper and brush his hair to get his attention. And does he give it to you when his eyes flick up to look at you from under the grey tuffs of his hair.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. 

You bring your finger to your lips, not only to pry them open so you can speak but also because you need to bite on it. Otherwise, the surge of lust in you at the sight of his head so close to your cunt and the back of your thighs resting on his broad shoulders would cause you to cum right there. 

“My most sensitive spot…is my legs…”

It doesn’t take long for him to catch on, and he quirks his eyebrows up at you with false concern. He lowers his head to kiss your stomach again, this time noticeably closer to your mound. “Are you sure you want to tell me that in this situation? It isn’t wise for the prey to put themselves at a disadvantage.”

“I said no secrets,” you remind him, curling a finger to beckon him back up. Inwardly, you curse that he decides to bring your legs with him by keeping them propped up on his shoulders. Somehow, you manage to ignore his obvious teasing and poke at the cutesy adhesive still stuck on his face. “If you were listening, you should know you’re still in trouble for sneaking off so much without telling me.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he tells you, a layer of remorse riding his explanation. “I wasn’t expecting to go anywhere.”

Amused, you shake your head at how boyish he sounds as he defends himself while he pulls off that wide and pleading look to bolster his cause. Even with your amusement, you’re not willing to let him off just yet. Sternly, you tap his cheek again. 

“That’s not going to work this time.”

Pouting, Xavier holds onto your hand, stopping your playful jabs. “Please give me a chance to lighten my sentence, Miss Hunter, it was unintentional,” he negotiates with a kiss on your palm. The sincerity in his request eases your heart enough to allow him a little wiggle room, or perhaps it’s the slick trailing more between your folds. 

“You only got until morning to make a case for yourself.”

“I’ll make you forget by then.” He snatches up your ankle towards his face, a much more pleasant position than your last, as your muscles were starting to ache from having your knees pushed to your face. 

He caresses your ankle, pressing an airy kiss. The little bump of his nose against the ball of your ankle tickles, making a giggle cascade from your lips as you slide lower with the pull of your leg.  

“Silly,” he mumbles before shuffling off your shorts. Your underwear comes off with more of a fight, the stickiness soaked into it causing the dainty fabric to cling lewdly to your skin and outline to the shape of your cunt. 

You don’t often hear Xavier curse but that’s what happens along with his tongue rolling over his upper lip when he catches the image. He reaches out and his fingers twitch, threatening to curve against the spreading stain in your panties but he resists and hooks his fingers into the waistband. He takes his sweet time watching the doused material peeling from you with thin strands of cum sticking to it.

It takes him more effort than he’d like to admit to resist diving straight in. Instead, he keeps it slow, sensual, as much for his sake as yours as he skims his lips up your calf.

He does the same with your center, carefully pressing two fingers against you as he holds your leg up on his shoulder. His mouth stays on your inner thigh, but his eyes are entirely locked on his fingers and the way they effortlessly collect your cum and slip between your lips with barely a push. You can feel his breath shudder out against you before he forces it down with a bite of your thigh but that does nothing to hide the way his entire body tenses when his fingers slip from your clit all the way to your clenching hole. 

It does nothing good for your ego or your sanity to think how normally calm and collected Xavier is losing his composure just by touching you. How he’s so obviously turned on when you haven’t nearly returned as much as he’s been giving you. 

He presses his hands at the crook of your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, and quenches himself between your legs. His name leaves you in one low drawn-out sigh. Sure, you were baiting him when you told him your weakness, but you weren’t expecting him to abuse the knowledge so readily. 

He held your legs blood cuttingly tight to keep you from squirming away from his wriggling tongue, and by the moan that reverberates from his chest and the strong jerk against the mattress when your juices hit his tongue, you think he would only be satisfied if you crushed his head between your straining thighs. When he suckles your clit; when his voice, muffled, hits your pussy; when his biceps tighten around your legs as if encouraging you to do so, and when his eyes meet yours with a silent demand, you know that’s exactly what he wants.

At the plunging of his fingers in you, you break down, catch his head in a vice-like grip, and push him into you. Your heart flutters and the remaining butterflies in your stomach migrate away at the growl he lets out. Your walls happily clench around those thick fingers, your dripping hole making it easy and smooth work to pump in and out of you. You’re not sure when he decides he would rather feel your muscle tightening around his tongue instead, but you can only respond with the tilt of your head back into the sheets and the stroke of your heel on his bare back when it happens. 

The only thing better is his palm grinding down on your clit, alternating between slow rotations and rough sporadic grinding that has your toes curling and your eyes glossing with the buildup of tears.

“You’re too loud,” he comments yet he doesn’t stop, in fact, he presses down harder, making you whine. “You’re going to wake the neighbors.”

“Since when have you cared what the neighbors think?” you barely manage to whimper out. 

“I’m not worried about them. I just don’t want anyone else to hear what only I should,” he remarks, lapping up the juices spilling down your legs.

His confession is a surprise to you. You never took him to be so possessive. But if that possessiveness is what kept his tongue swirling on your swollen clit and an intense moan escaping your lips then you didn’t mind. 

However…

His fingers weren’t enough anymore. 

Choosing to surprise him, you decide to turn the tables on him. You jerk your legs, catching him off guard but not enough to tip him over. He looks at you with concern. It doesn’t stop you from trying again with extra force this time until you can weaken his grasp and force him down on his back. 

Having the world’s strongest hunter under you was only something you could dream of—first as a rival and now as a lover. The adrenaline has you tunnel-visioned as you straddle his stomach, your soaked cunt making a waterboard out of his abs, which Xavier has also picked up on if the dusky pink on his cheeks is anything to go by.

You grab his hands, gripping tight to regain his attention. Xavier looks taken back especially when your fingers interlock his and pin them back. Whether he’s shocked or curious you don’t know, and you also don’t ask to borrow his power. 

“You’ve been having too much fun,” you tell him as you check to make sure your finger is sufficiently coated with light. “For my turn, I’ll attack here and here,” you whisper, marking off his chest and drawing a line across his neck.

There’s a hint of worry finally when he sees you’re aiming for his weak spot. “If you’re trying to teach me the best spot to kill Wanderers, I already know.”

“More like the best spots to defeat a Xavier,” you remark, flattening your palm over his heart, finding your own thumping when you verify that you finally managed to raise his heart rate to the levels of a normal human.

“You’re pretty forward today.” Xavier reaches out to hold your hips and cocks his head at you with an inquisitive glance. “Are you always this easy to excite or is it because of me?” 

You feel your face heat at his question. As if he didn’t already know the answer. No one else could make you like this. Needy. Shy. Aroused. Flustered. Confused. Infatuated and in love more than you’ve ever been. 

Your eyes soften. “And if I said it was you?”

“Then, you can use me all you want,” he confesses and gently coaxes you back to sit on his hard cock. You smoothly slide your hands to his shoulders, rotating loving strokes into his fair skin before you stop to free his cock from his pants.

It springs readily into your palm, so responsive. You reward him by letting him have a little taste of you. He tries to hide the hitch of his breath as if he could hide any reaction from you right now. It’s so hard to get him to react to anything, and your brain won’t let you miss a single moment as you sit back onto his lap and grind.

His cock slides between your lips, so big that you can feel it stroking you fully, his swollen, dribbling head making you whimper whenever it bumps your clit. 

“You, you’re so—” he begins, his eyes flitting from the gentle shake of your tits to his cock glistening between your folds, but he loses his voice to a low whimper when you increase your pace. It’s not on purpose but you can’t help yourself; you’re aching for him just as much as he is for you. “Hah, please...” 

His cock is leaking onto him with each sleek thrust, a little pool of precum glistening on his belly as your hips buck. It makes your stomach twist and your insides twitch to see him so excited for you.

“Not yet,” you tell him, brushing fingers across the length of his throat. His mouth parts with a croak that plasters a crooked smile on your face.

His eyebrows knit, and he frowns as you decide to tease him a little by slowing your strokes while your nails continue to follow the thick vein protruding from his neck as he desperately holds down his whines. 

“And you call me the cruel one.”

He was gorgeous under you. Beautifully flushed and sheened with sweat. His lips were so close to quivering each time his swollen head was swallowed back under your heat. It’s strange how his pitiful expression actually excites you, leaving you wetter and funneling this cycle of him repeatedly scrunching his face before relaxing it with a moan. 

“Please,” he asks again, this time more politely, pleadingly, and downright cutely. He knows what he’s doing because you decide to take pity on him when he gazes at you. “Please let me have you?”

It takes only a second for you to reposition yourself and hover over him. There’s a split hesitation when it registers that you’re actually going to have sex with him and how large he actually is with his cock standing tall and the tip kissing at your entrance.  You press downward anyway.

The stretch is both painful and pleasurable, straining your nerves as you lower. The wince on your face is accompanied by a hiss on your lips. However, Xavier is there again to catch you.

“Let’s take our time,” he instructs.

You nod, slowly thrusting halfway onto him. Each rise and fall of your hips coating him with your cream little by little makes it a bit easier to sheath him each bounce. 

“Good girl,” he whispers soothingly. Face constricting, he bites down on his lip to hold in a weak groan. It’s not your fault that the praise made your walls flutter and tighten.

When you finally suck him in completely, your eyes roll. 

“There you go,” he continues. He slides his hand into one of yours, encouraging you to hold onto it as you slowly and pointedly follow the curve of his cock, “Just like that,” he rasps out.    As you take him in fully, your pussy reaching his lap and pushing against his balls, you find it hard to concentrate on the exact words leaving him.

You take a minute to sit with him fully sheathed inside of you, allowing your stretched core to get more accustomed to his cock and also for the high of joining with him to cool off. Otherwise, you’d lose control.

You feel so full. It’s a wonderful sensation, and the pleasure increases tenfold when you lift your hips then have him stretch you again.

Rubbing your fingertips into the back of his palm, you lift and slam back onto him again, causing a ragged groan from you both that ricochets off the walls of the room. It isn’t until now that you recognize how bad you’ve been needing this.

Needed him. 

You’re still nowhere near understanding why this need is inside of you. Anyone can give you pleasure, and he’s not the first, but nothing quite matched the warmth overtaking you when his cock pistons and rubs against your nerves as you ride him. 

The thought that Xavier was right about fate being written in the stars barely breaks through the thick fog of arousal clouding your brain. The heat spurs you to bounce harder to meet his jerking thrusts. 

He sighs under you; the pressure on his lower half increases while your eyesight blurs and your head angles back. You’ll both be each other’s undoing at this rate, he thinks, as he watches the beads of sweat accumulating in little shiny droplets on your forehead and on your bouncing chest in a light sheen.

Chasing that desire to see you undone, he pulls you to a halt, burying himself deep inside of you, before pressing his hand to your mound, brushing past the patch of damp hair to zone in on your sticky, swollen clit. 

The instant whine of his name makes him dizzy. Centuries have gone by, and he’s never heard you say his name with such wanton desperation nor seen you grind onto him, stirring his cock in you as if your sanity depended on it.  

His certainly depended on you. Always has especially in the many decades he thought he’d never see you again. That need is even clearer from how sensitive yet eager his cock is to you squeezing around it as you shudder on top of him while keeping an unbearably tight hold on his hand. Your movements come to a near stop except for the occasional rut to prolong the rush of your orgasm. 

The sight of you breaking down on top of him threatens to make his eyes roll back as he squeezes onto your legs for grounding. Your strangled gasp followed by your muscles relaxing tells him that you’re coming down.  

“I take it you’ve finished,” Xavier says with a smirk, and you only have half the mind to swat at his chest like a lazy cat. Your legs burn, your chest unable to fill with enough oxygen to catch your breath. You think you’ll skip the gym tomorrow but Xavier has other plans.

“I’m not finished,” he reminds you. 

You look down at Xavier; you’d been so busy finding your own pleasure, you didn’t realize he hadn’t cum yet. You feel a lingering guilt but he swiftly takes the situation into his own hands.

You’re still too sensitive to fight back as he slides his cock out of you with a wet pop. It takes two swift movements for him to lift you off of him and roll you onto your stomach.

Your chest feels restricted, tight to the mattress as he presses on top of you, his grey-brown hair rubbing your shoulder as he cuddles your back. It’s an affectionate notion, distracting from the pressure in your lower half as he slides off the last of his clothes and thrusts his cock back inside of you. 

You thought you were filled to the brim the first time, yet this angle was different. It felt much tighter, and the slightest shift of his hips had you muffling moans into your arms. 

“I want to hear you,” he sweetly requests, yanking on your hips to raise your ass higher and pull you further away from the muffling effects of the bed. Your fracturing mewls mix into his grunts, both sounds washing out the sloppy, wet paps of his cock pounding into you. 

His hand swoops down your bending back in one long soothing stroke before his head collapses onto you. His grunts are loud, tumbling right into your ear along with the slapping sound of his hips meeting your ass. Your legs feel like jelly, and the rest of your body becomes weightless as your mind only focuses on his cock recklessly burning its way through you.

Xavier’s breath rolls against your back along with his forehead as he buries you under his weight; his grip on your thighs tightens to an unbearable degree, leaving you to wonder if you’ll have marks in the morning. 

You don’t really care if he does when he moans your name and heat fills you, spreading with each sporadic thrust until he finally bottoms out inside you one last time and holds until he completely empties. 

Taking his time to enjoy the sensation, he waits before pulling out of you, making you whimper with the sudden void. Shakily, you collapse back into the sheets and flip onto your back with a sigh. His eyes are still half-lidded as he watches you; he chews briefly on his bottom lip, reminding you of the look in his eyes earlier. 

“Xavier,” you question but he silences you with a kiss, which you tiredly return. His fingertips slide down from your knee to your thigh, and he teases your opening, the mixture of cum making it easy for him to stroke your still spasming pussy. 

Xavier sighs against your lips before moving his kisses to the swoop of your neck. “You’re so beautiful and all mine.”

Your mouth parts with a dry moan as he slides thick fingers over your clit. It starts to ache from his touch but it’s hard to deny him, even as he tortures you with his methodic and precise rotations over the bead.

His name is on your mouth, each syllable heavy on your tongue. You leave garbled gasps in his mouth as he makes out with you while your hand draws down his chest, attempting to make a mental map of every twitching muscle and healed wound on the way down.

Your heart jumps with the twitch of his cock when you wrap your hand around it. There’s going to be no trouble getting him to rebound, you think. He’s already thickening again with the warm strokes of your hand and tracing of your fingers over the slowly beating vein lining the underside of his shaft. 

Xavier doesn’t even let you finish exciting him before he rolls back on top of you and settles his head between your breasts. Between all the cum in between your legs and his half-hard cock, it isn’t as mind-numbing to have him inside you. What is different is to feel him twitching and growing inside you with his renewed thrusts. 

You’re hiccupping by the time he pushes your legs back and starts to hit deep inside of you, leaving the corner of your eyes tearing. You’re overwhelmed with everything. The uncharacteristic amount of energy he possesses as his hips snap into you. How each powerful rock leaves tingles aftershock-ing inside you, ruining your chances to recover before he does it again. The heavy scent of sex mixed with pine overwhelms your nose. His sweaty chest blocks out any light in the room, sealing any notion that you can be distracted by anything other than him as he pushes up your knee towards your chest.

You’re quickly working up to your second orgasm; the painful cramping in your foot tells you it’ll be bigger than the last. You’re right. When you come undone again, it’s with a shrill sob. You’re too out of it to even register when he finishes until he starts kissing your neck again.

He’s still inside you, you realize once your mind finally lands back on earth. His cock is resting in the heat inside you, waiting for him to work the two of you back up again. You know that’s the goal when his thumb gently brushes over one of your nipples again. Your sore insides constrict and strain. You don’t think you could survive a third round. 

“Xavier, please, no more.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice dry and husky in your ear as he kisses under it. 

“Too much,” you tell him, pushing on his chest to make some space between the two of you.  

“I didn’t catch that,” he coos defiantly. When he notices that you’re being serious, he obediently pulls out of you. His kisses become smoother as he pecks your lips. “What’s wrong? Is it aching?”

You nod then puff your cheeks in frustration when you see the amusement on his face.

“It’s not funny!” you say, holding onto that angry, childish pout until his smile turns sympathetic. 

“You’re right,” he agrees and shifts off you. Quickly, he locates his briefs on the corner of the bed. He steps out of bed and pulls them on. To your surprise, he leaves you, alone and cold.  

“Where are you going?”

Xavier disappears without answering you and only the sound of running water gives you any sort of hint of where he might’ve gone. When he returns, it’s with a rag dangled in his hand. 

“A boyfriend should help clean his girlfriend up after times like this,” he explains and leans over you; he presses the wet cloth between your legs; the rag is incredibly soothing on your bloated skin. It’s a blessing to your sore muscles as he starts to massage and clean you. “It feels better already, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” you answer pitifully, grumbling a bit because the look on his face still seems like he’s teasing about your neediness. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s my fault you’re a little sore.” He’s definitely taunting you, but you don’t have the energy to fight about it. “All done,” he remarks, tossing the rag to a forgotten section of the dresser. He carefully climbs back on top of you, waiting for the moment your hand finds his bicep to guide him down next to you. 

It isn’t the first time he’s been this affectionate, and it won’t be the last time. However, this time feels more special than any time you’ve slept together, and not just because you can feel the stickiness of his sex-clad skin against your naked body. Well, that’s part of the reason.

“Something on your mind?”

“Nothing. I’m really happy,” you explain. 

“If it really makes you that happy, maybe we should do it more often,” he offers, and you pinch his unwounded cheek to punish him. Jumping back, he knocks your hand away and caresses his wounded face. “I’ll need another bandage if you keep doing that,” he complains weakly. 

“You only have yourself to blame!”

Xavier sighs. “You’re always right,” he concedes, more so that he can cuddle you without fighting rather than actually agreeing with you, you fear. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Are you really doubting your boyfriend?” he asks. Heartbeat skipped, you clamp your mouth shut as he unfolds the blankets over the two of you. 

It’s finally settling back into your mind that the two of you are a couple now. “I’m still…not used to it yet with you being that.”

“You will get used to it the longer we’re together. The same as I will.” Xavier sighs, happily so. “Although, we might run into the same problem again.”

You blink at him. “Why?”

Thoughtful, Xavier hums then explains, “First comes love then comes marriage as they say.”

He catches you off-guard once more. As always, Xavier is forever forging on ahead with little regard for convention. “Aren’t you thinking too far ahead?”

“Maybe,” he agrees but there’s no drop in his confidence as he smiles at you and draws his hand over your hairline. “But I loved you since we met.”

“Xavier, please,” you beg, finding your favorite place to hide your flustered face in the crook of his elbow. 

He can’t help but laugh at you as he curls his arm around you. “Especially that,” he confesses and places one more kiss on the top of your head before inviting you to go to sleep. 

You do, falling asleep against his chest less than thirty minutes later. For him, sleep is elusive for once as he mulls over the day’s events.

The word girlfriend on his tongue is sweet. The idea itself burns wonderfully in his chest, but it isn’t enough. He knows he still needs to wait a bit longer, take his time, your bashful response to his prodding was enough to tell him that it isn’t time yet. It’s hard not to rush when this is the closest he’s ever been to the one thing he truly wants. 

Xavier guesses he’ll still have to rely on his dreams for a little while longer. It’s okay, he tells himself, it’ll work out this time. He’ll find a place to settle with you and have a quiet life, a place where he can see stars. 

And this lifetime, when he asks you to marry him, he hopes you’ll say yes.

[casualheizouenjoyers]

- secrets i have held in my heart

featuring: jing yuan, bailu, yanqing, reader

warnings: a bit angsty ig, hanahaki au, blood, sickness, throwing up, coughing and just general sick stuff

Orchids grow where others cannot.

This phrase reigns especially true when orchids begin to grow in your body. Scratching your throat and clogging up your lungs. 

You try to laugh it off as a small cough, a small sickness, as if the whole thing didn’t fill you with dread when you thought about the invasive plant infesting your every breath. 

It isn’t until finally you violently cough over your sink that a bloodied white orchid petal came fluttering out.

Were… you some form of mara struck? You wondered in confusion at the collection of petals that grew with each hack of your lungs. 

The high elder —Bailu— immediately takes up your case. Which is potentially concerning as you’ve gone to about possibly any doctor that will see you for some kind of explanation to your floral fever and none of them have had anything good to say. 

In fact, they have nothing to say about your illness. No one knew what was causing the orchids to bloom, making a home of your decaying body; a pretty parasite taking you ahold. 

The little Vidyadhara girl frowned upon seeing the collection of whole flowers and crumbled petals, all coated with a splattered layer of dried blood. 

Bailu’s eyes squinted as she observed the floral. 

Perhaps, it was some kind of achievement that you had every doctor and healer on the luofu stumped at your conditions? 

It isn’t until you’re coughing out another flower, this time red covering it was still vibrant and liquid, that the healer decided you were some form of mara struck and needed to be monitored closely. Even as she wrote out her prescription and made you promise to come back the next week, you could tell she wasn’t too sure about what she was saying.

That did absolutely nothing to calm your nerves. 

You go home after collecting your prescription and puke out leaves and stems along with the flowers. 

Despite your sickness, work is work, you decided, and working as a tutor was fulfilling for you. You hope —prayed— that the sight of your favorite student, Yanqing, would bring you some form of joy. The lesson went smoothly, though it was clear your student’s mind was up in the clouds, but you didn’t comment about it as yours was rooted deep elsewhere. 

With the closing of the textbook, Yanqing’s eyes light up. 

“Can we swordfight now?” The teenaged boy asked.

You almost said no.

You had realized early on that Yanqing would do his work and pay attention better if you found a way to relate it to swordsmanship, or if you promised that the two of you would spar a little after a lesson. 

There was a growing weakness in your body. It seemed that describing the flowers as a parasite wasn’t inaccurate, as every day went on you felt them drain the energy out of you. 

Yanqing waited for your response.

You nodded, standing up and picking up your sword from where it rested on a wall. Once, you had used it as a cloud knight, now it only ever saw use when teaching the blonde boy. 

Yanqing excitedly ran to the other side of the room, drawing his sword and getting into position. He paused, looking over at you.

When did your eyes become so sunken in? Your hand shook as you held your sword up and it became increasingly clear to Yanqing that you were in no position to swordfight. 

Your student called out your name, a hint of concern in his voice. 

“I— Give me a moment—” You called out, placing a hand on your head as a sudden headache came, making your vision blur and your legs lose balance as you head tumbling for the floor.

Yanqing tossed his sword far away as he slid to catch you. 

Bailu is halfway through her yearly appointment with the general when you come in with Yanqing by your side.

You mumbled apologies for the interruption and swore on your life you were fine. 

You had honestly not realized how bad things had gotten in the few days from the last time you had seen the healer.

Your heart fluttered at the sight of Jing Yuan.

The orchid also fluttered out of your mouth in a set of coughs that leave you out of breath on the ground, Yanqing down at your side again. 

There are multiple voices speaking but your mind can focus on none of them. 

Jing Yuan helped you up and you feel your heart clench up as a choke comes to your throat.

More orchids. 

He whispered to you in a soft voice, trying to help you through this coughing fit as Yanqing explained the situation that had happened just a few minutes before. 

Bailu watched this, shock painted on the girls face as she realized two truths.

You were indeed mara struck, just with a rare mutation that had gone out thousands of years ago. 

You were also in love with the general

and it was going to be the death of you.

[moonselune]

By the Silk That Binds us

Matron!Minthara x Forced!Betrothed!reader

An arranged marriage, enemies to lovers fic: part one, part two

CW: Gore, feminine drow reader

This is a pure indulgent fic inspired by @mimetoist 's request, I had so much fun writing this and I hope you all enjoy it though recognise there's a lot of lore here making it hard to leave up to people's individual interpretation/preference. Also I have been very flexible with the already in place drow lore, and have mainly made my own but hey ho that's what fanfic is for

⋆.˚✰ Minthara ⋆.˚✰

Matron Minthara Baenre stood amidst the ruins of House Liakyre, her blade gleaming with the blood of those who had dared to stand against her. The women of the house had been slaughtered, their screams now a haunting echo in the silent halls. Kyorlin and Lesaonar Liakyre, the last of their line, knelt before her, their heads bowed in resignation.

"Your blood will purge Baenre of any weakness," Minthara declared, her voice cold and unwavering as she lifted her blade, ready to deliver the final blow to the twins. House Liakyre had helped House Baenre in an hour of need and in the future that Minthara had for her house, no history of weakness could be permitted to live.

But just as the blade was about to descend, the bells of Menzoberranzan rang out, their peals announcing the new rankings. Minthara ignored them with a perfected arrogance, she knew her house would remain where it had been for centuries, at the top. Though to Minthara's shock, Kyorlin and Lesaonar began to shake, not in fear, but in laughter, a sound that filled the bloodied room with bitter irony.

"Why do you laugh?" Minthara demanded, her confusion mounting as she lowered her blade, but they did not answer. However, before Minthara could raise her blade once more to cease their apparent joy, one of her servants, pale and trembling, hurried to her side.

"Matron, you must come outside, immediately`.There is something you need to see." The murmured, the voice shaking in unbridled fear.

Reluctantly, Minthara followed the servant out into the open, glaring at the twins with a vengeful promise. She walked briskly with the servant towards the balcony, a few bodies strewn across it. The rankings were displayed prominently, and to her expectation, House Baenre remained at the top. What she did not expect was directly beneath it was the name she thought she had literally just eradicated: House Liakyre.

She spun back and stormed over to the twins, fury blazing in her eyes. "How is this possible?" she screamed. "Your house is decimated! Your women all lay breathless!"

Kyorlin, still laughing, met her gaze with a cold smile and leaned towards his brother. "Say, Lesaonar, how fortunate it was that our sister's handmaiden looked so similar to her. Anyone could mistake her corpse for our dear sister's."

"How right you are Kyorlin, how irritating would it be for some vengeful matron if she survived? Alive all along." Lesaonar wheezed out, his lungs battered from the beating he had received just moments prior.

Minthara's fury turned into a tempest and she lunged for Lesaonar, lifting him up by his bloodied robe. She knew immediately who they were referring to, you, the fifth daughter of the House of Liakyre, the only one she had not slain with her bare hands. "Where is she? Where is your sister?"

Before either of them could respond, a frantic messenger approached, bowing as low as they possibly could so not to direct her rage unto themselves. "Matron Minthara, you are summoned to the High Priestess's chambers. The Liakyre brothers are to accompany you - alive and harmed no further."

Minthara unceremoniously dropped Lesaonar to the floor, and motioned for her convoy to depart. Not before, however, she set the remains of House Liakyre on fire. Kyorlin and Lesaonar barely got out in time, and they only had moments to mourn before they were fetched by the High Priestess' servants themselves. Seemingly having predicted that Minthara would not assist them in their journey to the temple.

Her mind seething with rage and confusion as Minthara marched to the High Priestess's chambers. She burst in, with no respect for the authority before her, her anger barely contained. "What is the meaning of this?"

The High Priestess, seated with an air of calm authority, gestured for Minthara to hush. "Matron Baenre, calm yourself. You may be Matron but even you still bow to our sacred customs."

Minthara bit her tongue and bowed to the High Priestess in formal greeting, she was still Lolth's favoured after all. Minthara's bloodied armour dripped onto the polished marble floor and she was overall dishevelled. She then began to pace, an unfortunate habit she picked when she was unable to contain her rage.

"I apologise, High Priestess, but please may you enlighten me why I have been summoned here? I have much more urgent matters to attend to-"

"-Like the assassination of Y/N Liakyre?" The High Priestess interrupted and Minthara stood still. She turned to the High Priestess and her scowl intensified, she had an instinctual feeling that something was very much the matter, if the High Priestess was involved. The High Priestess smirked and gestured for Minthara to sit, reluctantly, she did.

"Minthara, I warned you when you started this campaign to purge House Baenre of any history of weakness, to disturb the delicate web of the foundation your family has thrived upon, that history would come back to disturb you." The High Priestess looked upon Minthara with a sense of twisted satisfaction. "It seems it finally it has."

"What do you mean?" Minthara gritted out, and the High Priestess handed over a piece of old parchment, a contract. Though the way it shimmered in the light, Minthara realised it was no ordinary contract, it was a binding vow. Minthara picked it up with a dreadful distaste and a pit formed in her stomach.

"That is a binding vow between House Baenre and House Liakyre, made between the respective Matrons from over a dozen centuries ago." The High Priestess began to explain, "It states that in return for House Liakyre's sole trade of their weaponized silk in the war against House Oblodra, House Baenre offers their protection and as security, if their house was ever brought to near ruin by their descendents' hands, and to ensure Liakyre's survival they promise a union between Liakyre's highest ranking surviving member and their highest ranking member."

"You cannot be serious-"

"As you have not yet married, that makes you, Matron Minthara Baenre the highest ranking member of Baenre and Y/N Liakyre the highest ranking of Liakyre. By this binding vow and Lolth's will, you two shall marry." The High Priestess announced, before taking a lower tone, "And no further harm may come upon House Liakyre, you cannot kill your way out of this Minthara."

Minthara sat there stunned, yet not in silence, "This is ridiculous."

"It is, as who would ever bring a house to near ruin and allow a survivor to bring forward such an ancient and specific binding." The High Priestess said venomously towards Minthara, though there was an undeniable smugness behind her words.

"That means she's here in Menzoberranzen she is-"

"-She is right here, Matron Baenre," You said as you stepped into the room, and the air stilled at your presence. "or rather, my betrothed."

Minthara stood up at the sound of your voice and turned to you. There you stood, alive and breathing. She covered her astonishment with a smirk and straightened herself out.

"If I knew I was meeting my betrothed today I would have washed their families viscera off my armour first," Minthara spoke to you with restrained contempt. "Apologies for your loss,"

"Worry not, if they were felled by the likes of you then they were deserving of death." Your insult did not go over Minthara's head and she tightly smiled at you. You stepped towards her. "I believe a formal introduction is required, I am Y/N Liakyre, remaining daughter of House Liakyre."

"I am Matron Minthara Baenre, Matron of house Baenre." Minthara introduced herself and the two of you bowed in recognition.

With a cold nod, you addressed the High Priestess. "High Priestess, may I summon my brothers? Considering they will be part of the Baenre household, it is only fitting for Minthara to meet them."

The High Priestess waved her hand in assent, and a servant was dispatched to bring Kyorlin and Lesaonar. Moments later, the doors to the chamber opened, and your brothers entered, their expressions a mix of defiance and unease. They had barely escaped death at Minthara's hands mere hours ago, and now they were expected to meet her as members of the same household.

Kyorlin, with his head held high, and Lesaonar, with a wary glance at Minthara, approached. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the echoes of the recent violence still fresh in the air.

Minthara's eyes narrowed as she regarded them, the memory of her blade poised over them still vivid. "These are your brothers?" she asked, her tone icy.

"Yes," you replied, stepping beside them. "This is Kyorlin and Lesaonar Liakyre. As my kin, they are now under House Baenre's protection."

Kyorlin gave a curt nod, his jaw set in a firm line. "Matron Baenre," he said, his voice steady but guarded.

Lesaonar, more cautious, managed a strained smile. "Matron Baenre," he greeted, though his eyes flickered with the memory of his near-death experience.

The High Priestess watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. "It is good that you all meet now. The future of your houses depends on your ability to work together."

Minthara's lip curled in a faint sneer. "Yes, of course," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Welcome to House Baenre."

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent standoff between old enemies forced into an uneasy alliance. Your brothers, though wary, stood their ground, determined not to show weakness before Minthara.

After a moment, Minthara sighed, a gesture of reluctant acceptance. "Very well. If this is what Lolth wills, then so be it. But do not think for a moment that I will forget the past."

"Nor will we," you replied calmly, meeting her gaze head-on. "But we will do what is necessary for the future."

The High Priestess rose, signaling the end of the audience. "Remember, Minthara, Y/N, this union is blessed by Lolth herself. You will honor it, and through it, strengthen Menzoberranzan. Now go, and prepare for your wedding. The city awaits your union."

As you and your brothers moved into the grand, imposing halls of House Baenre, the reality of your new life began to sink in. The opulence of the Baenre estate was a stark contrast to the smoldering ruins of House Liakyre. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting the glorious history of the Baenre family, and the air was thick with the scent of power.

Minthara, however, made no effort to hide her disdain. She ignored your presence whenever possible, her cold indifference a constant reminder of her intent to make your life difficult. She left you and your brothers to navigate the labyrinthine corridors on your own, offering no assistance or guidance.

Kyorlin and Lesaonar, though wary, adjusted to their new surroundings with a surprising ease. They were determined to make the most of their second chance, throwing themselves into their studies and training with a renewed vigor. The opportunities at House Baenre were unparalleled, and they were determined to excel, if only to honor the memory of their fallen family.

One evening, as you were unpacking in your new quarters, Minthara appeared in the doorway, her presence casting a long shadow across the room.

"Do not think for a moment that you are welcome here," she hissed, her eyes blazing with barely concealed rage. "I will make your life as hard as possible, Y/N Liakyre. You may be under my roof, but you will never be one of us."

Before you could respond, a soft knock on the door interrupted the tense silence. A young acolyte, dressed in the ceremonial robes of the High Priestess, stepped into the room. She bowed deeply, her demeanor respectful but resolute.

"Matron Minthara Baenre," the acolyte began, her voice calm and clear, "I bring a message from the High Priestess. She has sent me to ensure that the union between House Baenre and House Liakyre goes smoothly, and that Y/N Liakyre is treated appropriately."

Minthara's expression darkened, her anger palpable. "And what exactly does the High Priestess deem 'appropriate'?" she spat, her gaze never leaving yours.

The acolyte met Minthara's glare with a serene smile. "She means that Y/N Liakyre is to be treated with the respect due to a member of House Baenre. Any attempt to undermine or mistreat her will be seen as a direct affront to the High Priestess and to Lolth herself."

Minthara's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. The acolyte turned to you, her smile warm and reassuring. "If you require anything, Y/N, do not hesitate to ask. The High Priestess has instructed me to be at your service."

"Thank you," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "I appreciate your assistance."

The acolyte bowed once more and left the room, leaving you alone with Minthara. The silence between you was thick with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

"Do not think this changes anything," Minthara said finally, her voice low and dangerous. "You may have the High Priestess's protection, but that does not mean you will have an easy life here."

"I never expected it to be easy," you replied calmly. "But I will not be intimidated, Minthara. I will do what is necessary to honor my house and our union, regardless of your efforts to make it otherwise."

Minthara's lips curled into a sneer, but she said nothing more. She turned on her heel and left the room, her footsteps echoing down the corridor. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenges ahead. The path would be difficult, but you were determined to navigate it with strength and grace.

As the days passed, the acolyte's presence served as a constant reminder of the High Priestess's watchful eye. Minthara's attempts to make your life difficult were met with quiet resistance.

A few nights later the grand hall of House Baenre was lavishly decorated for your engagement ball. The air was filled with the mingling scents of exotic perfumes, the sounds of laughter and whispered conversations, and the soft strains of enchanting music. Drow nobles, dressed in their finest attire, moved about the room like shadows, their eyes ever-watchful and calculating.

You entered the hall, your presence drawing immediate attention. Your dress, crafted from the finest spider silk, shimmered in the dim light, the intricate patterns woven into the fabric telling the story of House Liakyre's storied past. Your hair was adorned with delicate jewels, and around your neck, a bejewelled necklace you had managed to retrieve from your mother's corpse.

Minthara watched you from across the room, her eyes narrowing as she suppressed the unbidden surge of attraction that your appearance invoked. She was dressed in her battle regalia, polished and gleaming, a stark contrast to your delicate finery. Her jaw tightened as she saw the way others looked at you, their admiration clear. She had never felt such conflicting emotions before—pride in your elegance and skill, and an unwilling envy at the attention you garnered.

As the evening progressed, it was time for the traditional engagement tasks, meant to prove the devotion and compatibility of the betrothed. Minthara and you were called to the center of the hall, where a hush fell over the crowd. The first task was announced: together, you were to take down a Hook Horror, a fierce creature known for its deadly claws and tenacity. The task was designed to test not just your combat prowess, but your ability to work as a team.

The creature was released into a large, circular arena set up within the hall, its monstrous form towering and menacing. Its chitinous exoskeleton gleamed under the torches, and its eyes glinted with a predatory intelligence. The crowd watched with bated breath, eager to see how the new alliance would handle such a challenge.

Minthara stepped forward confidently, her blade already drawn. "Stay back," she said with a smirk, her voice dripping with condescension. "I'll handle this. Just take a seat and look pretty."

Before Minthara could advance, you moved with a speed and precision that left the audience gasping. You drew a length of your house’s enchanted silk, a weapon as beautiful as it was deadly. With a flick of your wrist, the silk looped around the Hook Horror's neck. The creature let out a guttural roar, thrashing about in an attempt to free itself, but your grip was unyielding. With a swift, practiced motion, you tightened the garrote, the silk slicing through the thick exoskeleton as if it were mere cloth. In a final, fluid movement, you decapitated the Hook Horror, its head thudding to the ground with a sickening finality.

The hall was silent for a moment, stunned by the efficiency and lethality of your actions. Then, a murmur of approval and admiration swept through the crowd. Minthara stood there, her blade still raised, a mixture of surprise and frustration on her face. She had underestimated you, and now, in front of everyone, you had proven your worth beyond doubt.

You turned to Minthara, your expression calm and composed. "I believe that completes the task," you said, your voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Minthara sheathed her blade, forcing a tight smile. "Indeed," she replied, trying to mask her irritation. "You have proven yourself quite capable."

As the evening continued, the tension between you and Minthara was palpable. Yet, there was also a grudging respect growing between you, derived from the recognition of each other's strengths. Minthara couldn't deny the skill and poise you had displayed, and while it irked her to no end, it also intrigued her.

[metranart]

My one and only wants you, so he’ll have you (Part 12)

ft. Sensei! Gojo Satoru, sensei! Suguru Geto, reader insert, slight! Megumi x reader.

Gojo Satoru and Suguru Geto happily married, you, their lovely student and the cause of their ragging temptation. The problem: their son, Megumi, your best friend.

𖦹 Warning tags: Gojo x Reader x Geto, threesome, married couple, Suguru and Gojo happy married couple, polyamory, Teacher-Student Relationship (everyone is an adult).

-

Megumi pretended not to hear. He was about to have his said in this, he just needed to distract you farther. 

His lips dragged from your neck straight to your mouth, were the kiss softened, and suddenly a rampant thought you have never had, shook you, you began to worry that Megumi had had his fill. The mere thought surprised you, why would you care about that? why would that be important? but you decided not to dig into that curious discovery. Everything was too complicated already, right now wasn’t a good moment to dwell deeper into your brain… But that idea wouldn't just go away either, because you can't ignore the enormous relief you felt when realizing how wrong you were.

“—Focus on me, (Y/N). Ignore the rest of the world, I’m ALL you need.”

That made you feel like you were totally naked and at his mercy, like the clothes had disappeared from your bodies and your skin was meeting for the first time, that's how this man you called your boyfriend made you feel. Only a second's breath, to lock eyes with you as he sewed those words into your mere soul. Megumi dived back down, pulling you in as he alternated between soft and hard, bruising, soul-shaking kisses, and light, nipping, playful pecks while he held you to him like his life depended on it.

All the emotions, and sensations-the constant rapping on the door could never keep up with the need raging inside his own body. The rapping on the wooden door grew louder and harder but also the throbbing of both your heartbeats, drumming against your ribcage and your ears, making you deaf to everything else. 

“I-…. I can’t hold it in anymore,” it slipped out of Megumi’s shivering lips like a curse, a curse that’s been hunting him since you set foot in the school so many years ago, since your eyes met his and he felt in nirvana, the curse of love was edging him and twisting him. “I need y-you… dammit! I need you to know…”

Each desperate syllable bubbling out of him without control or restrain, Megumi was far beyond that. Without warning, broke the kiss bewitching you and went for another breath— and his head tipped back with heaviness, oxygen raid his lungs enough for him to be able to in all calm press your foreheads together. His lips parted…

“I know.” 

Your voice hurried to say, you didn't want his declaration of love, not now when you were so confused, you knew what he would say but knowing also that you wouldn't have a favorable answer for him... you decided to spare him.

“I know, Megumi.” 

You repeated, pecking his trembling lips into rest and suddenly his body relaxed, Megumi felt way lighter, he smiled -a beautiful smile that would overshadow the sun- so much joy that it was contagious and suddenly you were grinning as well, grinning like a maniac and laughing and kissing and smiling and laughing again as held each other.

“After a life of disappointments-…. I can see the light. You are my light, (Y/N).”

Megumi was struggling to contain the joy of feeling, for the first time in a long time, fulfilled.

So, he didn't. He let it out. He relished in it. And he laughed and he kissed, and he groped, and he hugged, and you died a little inside.

That incessant knock grew louder and louder and louder, for some unknow reason to you, it was the first time you heard it. 

“Should I get that?” 

He asked you instead, like relying on your better judgment… that deep you had strike him. A weak, feeble grin was your only answer, and you felt the kiss he pressed to the tip of your nose before he reluctantly tore himself off of you to tend to the unconscious bastard knocking so hard on the door. His dreamy expression turned nasty, so ready to rip the head off whoever was on the other side.

"I already told you NOT to-"

His scolding died on his lips when the ones he thought were knocking weren't there and instead, an embarrassed Yuji scratched his head almost guiltily.

"I'm sorry, Fushiguro. Gojo-sensei told me it was okay for us to come up," Nobara snorted comically, holding her stomach as it rambled with laughter. “Why did you take so long to open the door? We could clearly hear you laughing like some love-struck fools…” the brunette scoffed, patting the shoulder of an embarrassed Fushiguro mockingly to then brushed pass him to enter the room and start teasing her next victim.

"Or maybe, (Y/N) and you were doing the dirty? So lame, Meg, not even five minutes-"

“We were just talking, knock it off.” Megumi’s face was so beat red, it would be funny if you weren’t so shaken. 

On the other side, Yuji had to hold back the laughter as Megumi's face burst into flames and your cute, hyperactive hands began to fan uncontrollably in front of your face as a negative. Nobara smirked, all too pleased before drop on the bed, and the door could be heard closing behind the pink haired sorcerer.

Suguru Geto smirked at his husband, one of those smirks that speak volumes. 

"Good thinking, love." The raven-haired sorcerer rewarded his husband with a kiss on the back of his palm, reverent of his agile train of thought. "You really are a prodigy.”

"You sound surprised," Gojo whined, playfully. 

“—Actually, you get less awkward the older you get, Gojo. It's a surprise to everyone." Nanami sneered stoically, out of the blue, and Geto nearly jumped out of his skin when the blonde walked through his kitchen door followed by Ino. "I don't think I've ever been to your house," the stoic sorcerer commented, admiring the place with disguised interest.

"It's quite nice,” Nanami’s mentee shared politely. “Oh look, is this Megumi? Damn, he’s so cute-… look Nanami." 

Ino bent down to look at the framed picture of a younger Megumi with a soccer in his small hands, grabbing the frame placed it in front of Nanami’s face. The stoic blonde suppressed a scowl to instead spat equally emotionless. 

“Adorable.”

Gojo’s snicker could be heard but before Nanami could throw daggers with his eyes to the tall special grade sorcerer, Geto cleared his throat.

"We'll gladly meet up another time, but right now we should get started on the mission."

“Agree.” Nanami was quick to second. 

-

Groups were made and to your luck or unluck, nor Megumi nor Gojo nor Suguru was on yours. You walked those abandoned and hunted building complexes alongside Yuji, Nanami and Nobara. A well-deserved breath of cool air, for once. 

“I'm sure you'd rather go with Megumi, but you'll have to settle for us, pookie.” Nobara scoffed, playfully using that petname that she knew you considered way too corny. Yuji chuckled, peeking at you from the corner of his eye and the smile ghosting your lips told him this was going to be a fun ride.

"If I wasn't here who would take care of you two dummies?"

Nanami snort was heard from the front before he clear his throat and said. "Stay alert, we're in enemy territory—"

Unfortunately, the warning felt void and delayed when out of nowhere a thunderous noise was heard alongside flying debris and falling concrete of the building being torn apart by a massive amount of cursed energy. Cursed energy that you recognized immediately. This is Gojo’s blue technique, your heart stammered in worry. A cloud of dust blocked the light and darkness envelop you when your feet lose the ground as the solid floor underneath went missing.

“Jump!” 

You're sure that was Nanami's voice, but it was gone way too soon, and just as suddenly, you felt a strong body holding you, hugging you way tighter than it should to its frame.

"I got you." 

The voice of your savior announced but there was something odd, something more masculine than you remembered in Yuji's always cheerful tone. Nevertheless, you buried your face in his chest to protect you from the flying debris and rocks and waited for the noise to cease and the cloud of dust to fall again before you dared to peek out.

With a heavy heart and a shaking frame, you tried to assembly your thoughts. Gojo was in danger, or at least in a fight, he needed assistance, probably not… even so, you wanted to go to him, check on him. Hug him-… why can't you move?

“Yuji-…” you called, “…it’s okey, everything’s fine now, the collapse stopped-you can let go.” 

The dust still floating in the air and the shadows that covered didn't let you open your eyes or make out shapes, but you were one hundred percent sure that it was Yuji who was holding you, too insistently, against him. He must be still on high alert, you justified his actions.

Finally, an ace of light fell upon you and the destruction around left you overwhelmed, but what really left you speechless was a closer danger.

"Y-Yuji?" your shaken murmur tasted like heaven to him.

“Try again.” 

That masculine voice asked, and your entire frame froze. Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when that sharp smirk greeted you from your friend's face, uneasiness injected into your veins when you recognized the wickedness tattooed on his face.

"...If I recall correctly, you and I have some unfinished business, pookie."

COMING SOON PART 13....

➡️🔞👀 NSFW Sneak Peek

➡️ FULL NSFW ARTWORK OF THIS STORY

@dazzlingakaashi @bambiimani111

[myseungsunglove]

More than Willing | Ksm

Pairing: Seungmin x reader 

Warnings: Smut, piv sex, no protection (Wrap it before you tap it and all that advice) friends to lovers, language 

Word Count: 3.5k

𖠫Summary: Seungmin has been your constant since the moment you joined JYP Entertainment. He’s been your safe haven and your biggest supporter. When you became the 9th addition to Stray Kids in 2020, it only brought the two of you closer, but over the years there has been an unspeakable tension boiling at the surface, just waiting for a weak spot to break through and rear it's tempting head. 

✎A/N✎: This has been in rolling around in my head for a few weeks now. I think I’ve played it out enough that it’s time to put one to paper. Hope you enjoy. 

◠ ◡ ◠᭚ιαᵕ̈

「© February 28, 2024 by myseungsunglove」

XMDNIX

“Oh. My. God.” you sigh dramatically as you plop onto the king size bed in your NYC hotel room. “I can’t believe that just happened!” you giggle and groan all in one breath. “God I’m sore,” you grumble, throwing your arms to the side of you so that you look like a starfish on display in the bed. 

“Pff,” Seungmin scoffs playfully as he knees the foot that is dangling off the edge of the bed. “Welcome to life on tour,” he smiles down at you. “I can give you one of my famous massages later,” he teases, winking at you. “How does it feel to have your first performance in the US as a member of Stray Kids behind you?” 

You smile and sigh happily, reaching out a hand so he can help you up. He takes it gladly, moving to help you sit up, but instead he finds himself being pulled onto the bed, toppling not so gracefully on top of you with an exasperated laugh. You grunt at the weight of his body landing on you, but can’t help the laugh that escapes you. 

“It feels like I’m on cloud 9 with a 120 pound weight on my chest,” you tease, looking up into his eyes as he remains where he landed. 

“God, sorry,” he giggles, pushing himself off of you and rolling to lay beside you. “There really isn’t anything quite like that post concert high, is there?” He smiles wide, looking at you and a laugh tumbles from him. The cadence of his laugh sounds like a song. It’s beautiful and contagious and before you know it, you’re both giggling for absolutely no reason other than the sheer joy of the occasion.

 After the laughing fit has passed, you let your arm fall across Sungmin's chest. It lands with a dramatic thud and a low umph is punched from his lungs. You chuckle again and work hard to keep another giggling fit at bay.

“The only thing that makes it better is that I get to spend it with my best friend,” you sigh, running your hand along his chest over the Maniac hoodie he is still wearing. “But fuck my muscles hurt like a bitch,” you laugh again as you smack his chest playfully and sit up with an exhausted sigh. “I really need a shower,” you add, pushing your hair out of your face. It’s late June in New York, and it’s a hot one. 

“Yeah you do,” Seungmin smirks beside you. “You kinda smell,” he teases, sniffing the air and pulling a disgusted face. “Dibs on the shower first!” He laughs, jumping up from the bed and darting into the huge bathroom.

“Ya! Kim Seungmin you little shit!” you yell after him, hot on his tail only to have the door slam in your face. The last thing you see is a braces filled smile gleaming at you followed by maniacal laughter from behind the door. “Ah fuck you!” 

“You wish!” he sing songs as he turns on the shower. You do a 180 and stomp dramatically into the living area, throwing yourself on the couch. Your head thuds against the back of it and you are starkly reminded just how sore your muscles are. This is your first world tour with the boys, having joined them right at the start of Covid and you didn’t realize just how demanding “regular” idol life could be. All you had known was life as a “Covid idol” as you liked to joke. It was still busy, but this was a whole new level of busy. Not to mention you were already prepping for a comeback in October. 

You grabbed your phone from the coffee table and turned on your playlist. Seungmin’s voice from his Hometown Cha Cha Cha OST rings out and you can’t help but laugh. His voice is your favorite in the whole world. You still can’t believe he is your best friend. You look around the room and sigh happily. The two of you always share a room when traveling, even when the company gets everyone else their own room. Seungmin always insists that he be with you, for safety reasons, he claims. 

Sure you do feel a little more at ease with him in the same room when you are far from the safety of your dorms, but Seungmin knows you can handle yourself. The company initially forced you to room with someone, putting you with staff the first times you traveled. While you love each of them dearly, it hadn’t been the kind of experience you wanted or wanted to continue while traveling with SKZ and Seungmin had made sure that he was the one you roomed with from that point on. 

You breathe deeply and gradually your breaths slow and you drift into a light sleep. 

You’re eventually  stirred by a quiet albeit dramatic sigh. 

“I was gonna give you one of my famous massages,” Seungmin laments. You can hear his arms lift from his side and slap back down against his hips dramatically. 

“I’m awake,” you start, opening your eyes and blinking a few times as Seungmin’s figure comes into view. 

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs. You rub your eyes and when you open them again, you're surprised by the view. Seungmin has a towel still draped over his hips, his hair still wet. Usually he’d already be donning a white oversized T-shirt and a black pair of basketball shorts. 

You lift a scrutinizing eyebrow at him, and can’t help but let your eyes roam his body. His shoulders are broad and his chest wide. He hides it under all his oversized clothes, but he has a well built torso despite not spending a lot of time in the gym. He is dedicated to perfecting dances, and that’s evident in his build. He’s slim and toned, defined without excess. Solid. Steady.  His waist is tiny, smaller than yours, and his thighs are surprisingly thick though you can’t see them for the towel, but you know. 

Seungmin clears his throat and laughs. 

“Ya! My eyes are up here, perv,” he teases. 

A blush pulls onto your face and you stand quickly. A satisfied smirk creeps onto Seungmin’s face and the unspoken tension that’s been dancing between the two of you for the better part of a year has manifested itself right into the room with you. 

“Bought damn time,” you huff, standing and heading for the bathroom. “And you better not have been lying about that massage,” you add, your hand grazing Seungmin’s bare chest as you walk by him. He shakes his shoulders a little at your touch and tossels his wet hair around. You know goosebumps have pricked up on his skin. You don’t look back at him but you hear him clear his throat and sigh loudly as he falls against the couch with a chuckle. You can’t help but smile yourself as you step into the bathroom and close the door. 

You’re not sure how long you spend in there, but the room is full of steam and hot as hell when you finally step out and grab a towel, wrapping it around your torso. You use another towel to dry your hair so that it isn’t soaking wet and pull open the bathroom door, steam billowing out into the room, announcing your departure from the bathroom. 

“Fuck it’s hot out here too,” you complain, looking around for Seungmin. 

“You know I don’t turn down the air if I can help it,” Seungmin says. He is lying on the couch where you left him, with a towel still draped over his hips. 

“It’s not good for…”

“Not good for our voices, I know,” you interrupt him with a laugh. “Why are you still half naked?” you ask as you move into the bedroom and plop onto the bed again, holding the towel close to you so it doesn't fall. 

Seungmin isn’t far behind you and laughs at you sprawled across the bed. “Cause it’s hot as balls,” he says as he walks over to his suitcase and pulls out a pair of black shorts. He tugs them on and pulls the towel off. “You’re still half naked,” he notes, walking into the bathroom to hang it up.

“How bout that massage?” you joke as he returns to the room, still bare chested, his hands pushing his hair out of his face only to have it fall back onto his forehead, his efforts fruitless.

“Promise is a promise,” he shrugs, walking back into the bathroom. 

“You didn’t exactly promise, but if you’re willing I’m not complaining,” you sigh and pull a pillow under your head and shuffle around getting comfortable. 

“I’m more than willing,” he chuckles as he returns from the bathroom, your favorite lotion in hand. 

More than willing. You try not to let that phrase stick in your brain too much, but you can’t help but wonder what he means by it. 

“You trust me, yeah?” he asks, a serious demeanor overtaking him suddenly. His eyes meet yours and there is something there you don’t recognize. 

“Of course I do Seung,” you smile, a little nervously. 

He squeezes some lotion onto his hand, rubbing his large hands together as he keeps his eyes on you. He reaches down and grabs your foot, massaging gently as he asks his next question. 

“If you want me to stop, you’ll tell me?” He presses his thumb into the arch of your foot and a small moan escapes you. 

“Yes,” you breathe out as he sets one foot down and gives the other the same treatment. 

“Yes what?” he asks, and there is a teasing lilt to his voice now but a sense of command there as well. 

“Yes, I’ll tell you to stop if that’s what I want,” you sigh as his hands move up to your calf and knead into them. You take a deep breath when both his hands slide over your knees and squeeze earnestly at your thighs. You don’t mean for the quiet moan to escape you, but Seungmin’s hands have always been good at this. However, he has never touched you quite like this. There is something different about the way his hands move up and down your thighs, your skin on fire as he moves his long fingers to the outside of your thighs and up along where your leg and hip meet. 

You realize the towel has ridden up and remember you are still completely naked underneath. 

Seungmin seems to notice your embarrassment and digs deeper into your hips and chuckles when you moan louder, your hands flying up to your face. 

“I won’t look if you don’t want me to,” he says, his hands not leaving your body as they move up your sides and under the towel. “Though, this would be easier without the towel,” he says quietly, his hands dancing along your sides lightly. 

You’re not sure what comes over you, but you open the towel and let it fall to your sides, completely naked before him. 

He shoots up suddenly, his hands off you in seconds as he turns around quickly. He runs his hands through his hair and his head falls forward as his long fingers dig into his neck, his elbows resting against his knees. You can’t help but watch the way his back ripples with his movements and you have to stop yourself from reaching out and running your hands over his shoulders.  

“God, y/n, warn a guy first,” he chuckles nervously. 

“You said it’d be easier,” you reply, reaching out and running your hand along his arm, pulling at it to get him to look at your face. “And maybe I want you to look,” you add when his big brown boba eyes meet yours. His tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip as his eyes dart down briefly at your mouth and back up to your eyes. His stare is intense and you feel like your body is on fire from the inside out from his look alone, and he hasn’t even really looked at you, but the thought  propels you forward. 

You take his hand and place it on your ribs, your hand resting gently over his. His fingers splay across your skin slowly and then squeeze at your sides, causing you to arch into his touch. He turns around then his knees back on the bed as his other hand lands on your ribs. He squeezes them, his hands slowly sliding up under your breast and back down again, causing you to let out a breath that you don’t realize you are holding. 

You can’t take the tension anymore. You feel like you’re going to burst if you don’t do something. 

“Kiss me,” the words fall desperately from your lips as your chest heaves tremulously under Seungmin’s gaze and touch. 

His mouth gapes slightly, but when you reach out and touch his neck, his brain catches up and he lets you pull him down to your face. 

“You want me to kiss you?” he asks, his eyes roaming your face as his hands stay firmly on your sides. 

“God yes,” you breathe out and that seems to be all the permission he needs. His hands tuck under your back and he pulls your body flush against him as his lips find yours. You’d been watching Seungmin sing for years, but nothing prepared you for how soft his lips are. Your chests are pressed against each other as your mouths open to each other, his tongue slipping between your lips and tasting you in earnest. You cling to him as he rolls you to lay on top of him, his hands roaming your back as he kisses you breathless. 

When your lungs are on fire and your skin ablaze and flushed, he pulls away, your name a whisper on Seungmin’s mouth. His lips are swollen and puffy and he looks  more beautiful than you have ever seen him, his skin flushed and his hair a disheveled mess. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes with a laugh as you kiss along his jaw and down his neck. “Fuck,” he moans when you nip at his pulse point then lave your tongue over it to smooth the ache. “Are we really doing this?” he asks, his hands settling on your hips.

“I can’t even tell you how long I’ve wanted you like this Seungmin,” you admit as you roll over beside him and hide behind your hands, suddenly starkly aware of the situation at hand, of the position you now find yourself in. 

Seungmin quickly moves on top of you, his hips settling against yours, his covered erection evident against your cunt as he rolls his hips into you. He moves your hands away from your face before he speaks. 

“Then have me,” he breathes out desperately, his lips locking with yours. He kisses you hard and deep and you can feel his braces against you as he moves against your lips. Your hands run down his back and over his hips as you desperately push his shorts past his ass. He lifts off you slightly, not wanting to break the kiss and pulls the shorts off completely, kicking them off as he settles back between your legs, his hard cock now running through your folds and your sweaty bodies moving slowly against one another.

 His hands are everywhere at once as he takes his opportunity to  move his kisses across your jaw and down the column of your neck. His lips trail across your collarbone and he sucks several marks onto your skin as you moan desperately and arch into his mouth. When his lips find your hardened nipple, his tongue swirling around it before sucking it into your mouth, a broken sob shakes your body. 

Seungmin lavishes your body with attention before trailing his way back up to your mouth. He kisses you slowly, his hips canting against yours as he confesses. 

“I can’t believe you want me too,” he breathes against your lips, his hand softly holding your face as his thumb swipes across your cheek. “My beautiful best friend. My y/n,” he sighs and kisses you again. “I love you,” he pants against your mouth. 

“Then show me how much,” you respond, your legs falling open more. 

He reaches between your bodies and grasps his dick in hand, running it through your folds before lining himself up with your wet entrance. “You're sure?” he asks, the head of his cock breaching you slowly.

You arch into him, your hands running down his back and settling on his ass as you help him ease into you. 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Minnie,” you let out your airy confession. “I love you so fucking much.” 

His lips find yours again, his hand on the side of your face and in that moment, you think you could lie there and kiss him forever and be completely satisfied. It’s only when he pulls out of you and slowly slides back in, his hips meeting yours and pressing hard against your body, that a moan falls from you and your brought back to the reality that you’re fucking your best friend. No, you're making love to your best friend. 

His hips find a slow and steady rhythm as he pulls away from your lips just enough to look into your eyes as he pushes in and pulls out of you. Your mouth falls open, small puffs of air cascading out of you with each press of his hips, his cock reaching that spot inside of you that sets you on fire in a whole new way. 

Your hands roam his back and move up to his shoulder, his pace slowly picking up as you squeeze around him, your head thrown back in pure ecstasy. 

“Fuck,” you moan, moving your body to meet his as you start to feel that coil tighten in your abdomen. 

“Fuck,” Seungmin echos, as your bodies slap together, his stomach tightening, that blissful release eminent. “Y/n, I’m gonna come,” he warns.

Your legs wrap around his hips, holding him to you as he drives into you, his rhythm now erratic. He reaches between you and starts to rub circles around your clit. 

“Seungmin,” you moan and arch into his touch, your walls squeezing around him. That’s all it takes for him to spill into you, his pace briefly quickening when his climax hits him. That’s what pulls you over the edge, his hands moving to your hips once he feels you flutter around him, his seed warm as it overflows from your pussy and drips down over his balls and down your ass as you quiver beneath him.

Your hands reach out for his face, pulling him into a kiss once more. 

“I love you, Kim Seungmin,” you whisper against his lips as he settles against your body, his hand running up and down your sides lovingly as he kisses you slowly again. 

“I’m so in love with you,” he confesses, looking into your eyes. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” his cheeks blush and you place your hands on both sides of his face. 

“You have me now,” you tell him, pulling him in again to kiss him hard. 

Suddenly he is laughing against your kiss and pulls away from you. 

“I don’t think this probably helped with your muscle soreness,” he jokes, pulling out of you and moving to get up from the bed. 

You laugh out loud, slapping his chest as he pulls away from you, his hand reaching out to pull you up. 

“Definitely made it worse,” you agree with a playful laugh. “Not that I mind,” you add as he pulls you up from the bed. 

“Shower,” he says as he tugs you toward the bathroom. “This time I won’t lock you out,” he winks as you step into the bathroom and he moves to turn on the shower. “You’ll  really get that massage now,” he smiles mischievously, pulling you into the shower with him. 

Your laughter is muffled by a teasing kiss and you can’t help but think what a wonderful tour this is going to turn out to be. 

[soshirohoshinasimp]

the journal

@imthecosmicbasball

tw: mild swear words

Wc: 461

genre: secret admirder, fluff

sorry for any mistakes, I speedran this fan fic on my phone. 4

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

“Every moment spent with you feels like a beautiful dream I never want to wake from. Your laughter reverberates through my soul, and your smile brightens even the gloomiest of days. Thoughts of you consume my mind incessantly; I ache to hear your voice and behold the sparkle in your eyes filled with joy," you wrote quietly in your soft pink journal, its pages adorned with sketches of Vice Captain Hoshina, your unattainable crush.

Yes, you were hopelessly in love with him, though you kept this burning passion veiled behind a facade of icy composure. No outward expression would betray your deep-seated emotions; instead, you buried yourself in work as a coping mechanism.

Your workstation in the tech department was strategically placed near Hoshina's office, affording you frequent glimpses of him—exactly as you secretly desired. But why did you love him so desperately?Why did you want him so urgently?

For one, he had saved your life years ago—an indelible mark on your heart. Strike One

 Despite neglecting basic needs like food, water, and sleep in favor of work, it was a routine that concerned even him. Caught once arriving at 4 AM after toiling until 11 PM, Hoshina scolded you gently, "Get some rest, Y/N-chan. It's not good for ya." His concern, coupled with those caring words, sent you spiraling into a whirlwind of 'what ifs,' your cheeks flushing with hidden embarrassment. Strike two

Then there was his infectious laughter and perpetual sunshine aura that brightened your every day, and of course, his undeniable cuteness that rendered you weak-kneed. Strike three.

You loved him to the extent you would willingly face a bullet—or even a meteor—for him.

The best part? He remained oblivious to your feelings. (If he knew, it's all over.) —until today.

During lunch break, while socializing outside your department, disaster struck. A neglected tear in your backpack became the unwitting gateway for your journal to slip through. Panic surged as Vice Captain Hoshina, wielding your unmistakably pastel pink journal, questioned aloud, "Does anyone recognize this journal?"

Silence descended like a shroud. He checked each person's handwriting, inching closer to your desk. The door swung open just as he neared, and you walked in to find him holding your journal—your worst nightmare unfolding in a span of mere minutes. "H-hey, that's mine!" you blurted out, lunging forward to snatch it from his grasp, heart pounding. You shoved it straight into your backpack, displaying a wide range of emotions like embarrassment and close to tears. 

"So... I brighten every day of your darkest days?" he teased with a mischievous smirk.

Oh fuck no. 

He had read it.

At that moment, as mortification began to engulf you, you wondered if it was too late to volunteer as kaiju bait.

[imwetforyourmom]

GHOST OF A MEMORY.

CW: Swearing, mention of death, based off that one ep of greys anatomy - izzie and denny, very very sick chris, like hella sick chris—basically in need of a heart sick (because denny needed one)

SUMMARY: Even love cant stop ones fate.

A/N: The way my ass had to take BREAKS writing ts cause I kept crying

A/N: POOKIE GOT FIRST READDD @curi0usm0nkeyy

·˚ ༘

“You’ll always be my favorite.”

The love filling inside their bodies didnt stop the fate Chris would see soon, even the tangling, desperate movements of one another, the pure need underlying the quick, rushed movements to be one with eachother, to be together. Intertwined.

The love that surfaced from the crevices deep inside Chris’ body everytime he saw the girl of his dreams, you. He couldn’t picture a life without you, he couldn’t picture saying goodbye to the kids when dropping them at school if they werent yours, he couldnt picture growing old and wrinkly, the love mingling your bodies keeping your minds young for as long as you kept on with the beautiful, undying love for one another, without you. He didnt want to live a life, if you werent his. He’d rather suffer through the physical pain being on the hospital bed brought him, than ever to live a life where you dont give him forehead kisses everyday, where he wont feel the love radiating off your body.

Despite the emotional and physical pain it brought Chris to lie on the same, light blue, scratchy hospital bed, Chris would never choose to be healthy, to be able to ride a bicycle, to be able to breathe the fresh air through his lungs, if it meant you werent going to be there for him, side by side with him. Riding the bicycle with him, your laughter filling your ears as you biked down the empty street, riding into the sunset as you do so. He wanted to hold your hand while inhaling the fresh, dew smelling oxygen through his lungs, his head turned to look at your side profile, instead looking at you, rather than the beautiful nature he’d been deprived of seeing for months, years. Because you’re the only thing that could bring him the true joy of being him again. The accomplishing, true nature, of you.

His body began to crumple slowly again, after building up again, slowly mending the shattered pieces together like a child at hard work, spending hours at the same chalky tan desk, super gluing his fallen apart wooden airplane together, after playing with it too much. Until, in the palm of his own tiny fingers, it snaps, falling back to its returned form. Broken, and maybe never be able to fix again. He shed his tears, yet kept the fixing up, his mind destined with not giving up. Chris felt like that child— but not more than you did. You watched as his skin began filling with more color everyday, the bags of his eyes slowly turning lighter to match the rest of the peachy shade of his skin, his voice beginning to lose the usually rasp. Until, it all snapped.

He lost all of his progress, his body failed, couldn’t accept the fact he was healing, too attached to being sick to heal. His lungs returned to the short, quick breathing, his hands lost their heat and calm, returning back to freezing and shaky, his eyes never dimmed the same light they always had, even if the bulbs keeping his body up and running began to dim. The light switch struggling to turn on. He never once failed to look at you differently, to change to the same heartfelt look on his face, the soft, growing weak smile doing its best to cover the pain and exhaustion he felt inside. He didnt want you to go through it with him. You deserved better.

You didnt deserve to feel the ache growing inside his body with him, you deserved the excitement radiating off ‘the one’, filling inside your own body, Chris couldn’t give that to you. He regretted his entire relationship with you, but couldn’t be happier with you.

You deserved to be able to go onto hikes, travel across the world, or go on a simple, late night drive to mcdonalds, Chris’ rap music humming softly in the background. You didnt deserve to just sit beside his sick body, in a blaring white hospital room, the chlorine smell lingering in the air. It wasnt good for your body, to just sit beside him, reminiscing in the memories of when he was happy and healthy, when you could do anything together. “Side by side.” He’d say, but how you wish he could say it again, under different circumstances.

On one certain afternoon, the sky a bright blue, birds chirping, lifeful green grass and people all outside, bright smiles on their faces, everything was okay. At least, to others it was. Yet, for you, you couldn’t dare bring yourself to mirror their emotions, an ugly grin on your face sounded like a sin.

You hurt too much. It wasn’t even hurt. You didnt know what the fuck it was. Your eyes were dry with unshed tears—however that worked—your heart thrummed weakly against your ribs (reminding you of Chris), each thump a reminder of the shaky breathing Chris took that morning. Or, in other words, his last, short breaths.

Fuck. His last breaths.

He wasnt here anymore. He was gone.

You were never gonna hear his voice again, the same gentle rasp to it, the same gentle reminder that you were gonna be okay, as long as you were with him. But he’s not here anymore. He never will be. Now what were you without him?

You were never going to have the familiar feeling of a blanket on your shoulders with even the feeling of his presence. Even when you weren’t speaking, he still held your everything in the palm of his hand. You were never going to feel the same safety around a person that you felt with Chris. He was never going to be able to provide you with the comforting grasp of being safe with him, even in the space of your own home, protected of dangers.

And what hurt most, was the warm smile you could never see live, in person, ever again. It was torn from you, ripped away. Apart of you, maybe even all of you, going with it. You couldnt see his grin for you anymore, the pure flashed teeth churning your stomach with comfort and content, needing nothing more in that moment, than staying with him. Even when it was a weak and broken chapped lipped smile, it still fluttered your heart with joy and and a feeling you couldn’t place your finger onto, but the feeling you so badly wanted to grasp onto and never let go.

Your hands clenched into fists against the warm, fake wooden bench. Your back leant against the back of the bench in a poor attempt to relax, yet the stiffened form of your entire body didn’t weaken. It only served as a purpose that sitting outside, trying to bathe in the light, soak in the warmth, wasn’t what you should be doing right now. You should be sobbing, your shoulders shaking heavily with each loud wail falling from your frowned lips, your hands clenched at your sides. You were supposed to be mourning, crying your heart out, not trying to enjoy the outside, trying to bring your mind off of him.

Your body felt sick to the brim. Your throat hurt with the sobs you were holding back, attempting to avoid causing a scene out in public. Your vision blurred with the pooling tears. You hated feeling this way, your stomach nauseous, your head hurting like hell, and your body sick with the need to talk to Chris. To curl into his side, drinking in his body heat, stealing it greedily.

Maybe it was the lingering words that worsened the way you felt, the words he exhaustedly rasped out, his arms a comforting assure around you. Maybe, just maybe you took that moment for granted. At least a part of you did, it all happened too fast. One point you were trying to hear over your own deafening sobs, trying to hear his desperate confessions of love, the love he’d always give you. And the love he wanted you to go and give someone else.

His lips placed above your ear, his words muffle against your hair, breathing in you for one last time. The weakened smile adorning his lips broke your heart even more, he gave you one last effort to be him. To assure you, he was okay. He was going to be okay. Or, the smile etching his features climbed onto your shoulders, pillowing behind your neck, the rest falling behind your back and front. Warming you for what he physically couldnt do.

Or, perchance, his last attempt to give you him, was the echoes of his murmurs. The echoes of the war he’d had with his body, fighting to live, for you.

“You’ll always be my favorite.” Was all that stuck with you, all that you could comprehend, gather from the overwhelming moment. Too caught up with the fact you’d never get to experience him again, to even try, to even beg on your knees to listen to his last efforts.

1,503 words.

TAGS.

@luverboychris @chrissturniolosfavoritesexdoll @meg-sturniolo @junnniiieee07 @ssilentzom @b2cute @graysturns @wh0resstuff @sturn-bugz @sunsetsturniolos @strniolo @sturnssmuts @simply-a-simper @stunza @meerkatzthings @joemamaaa42069 @sturniluvr @cindylcuwho @wurlibydominicfike @watercolorskyy @aaliyahsturniolo1 @alyrasturnz @colorthecosmos444 @sturnobsessedwh0re @jetaimevous @nicksgirlfriend @4kv4mp

@lovesturni0l0s @maryx2xx @mattsmad @dollyspsychoxo @riasturns

@starsturni @britishamerican11 @mattspinkshirt

@chrissturniolosworld @ariqolyx

@mels22lunchbox

@elas3

[renlyslittlerose]

Kinktober Day 21 - Hurt/Comfort

For @himilce-persephoniea who asked for "gentledom Obi-Wan that can calm down feral Anakin"🫂

Give Me That Peace and Joy - 1,189 Rating: M Content: Established Relationship / Implied Sexual Content / Angst / Hurt/Comfort / Self-Hatred / Demigod Anakin Skywalker / Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug / Protective Obi-Wan Kenobi / Character Study / Relationship Study / Mental Breakdown / Mental Health Issues

---

Anakin was spiralling, falling, colliding into the abyss, the currents of his fractured psyche dragging him down. Putrid black bile tore through his insides while acrid smoke filled his lungs, hollowing him out until nothing was left but the maddening call of the void below. Self loathing and doubt coated his mouth, lips pulled tight, spit frothing from the corners like a mad dog as he pulled at the chains that bound and howled back at the void.

How long had he stood at this precipice but never stepped over? How many times had he almost slipped but never quite fell? How many times had he heard the braying of the choir that told him to jump - to soar - but never once fallen?

Too many times, it seemed. Eventually something would snap deep inside - the chain would break and chaos would ensue. It was inevitable, really. Anakin had heard the hushed whispers in the halls and behind partially shut doors, hurried looks of curiosity mixed with fear from his fellows, of a boy gilded in prophecy but with a tear in his mind that made him broken; fractured; incomplete.

It was frightening (he was frightening).

It was dangerous (he was dangerous).

It was destiny.

Tearing at his chest with bloodied knuckles Anakin pressed into his sternum, choking on a sob as he curled in further and further, trying to make himself as small as he could - as unnoticed as he could.

Perhaps if he cried enough, screamed enough, destroyed himself enough he could be free of this magnitude. Perhaps if he broke into a million pieces he couldn’t be put back together. Perhaps if no one noticed, the Force and all its beauty and horror would look the other way - find another to favour, to cherish, to love.

But Obi-Wan wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t let Anakin hollow himself out, pour his messes across the floor and let the dogs lap it up. He wouldn’t allow Anakin to turn in on himself, to become small and pitiful and weak. He wouldn’t allow the pieces to go unmade, wouldn’t allow the fractures to break apart, wouldn’t allow Anakin to be anything other than—

“My darling boy.”

Strong hands gripped his own, pulling them away from his chest. Angry welts from his nails were touched by these same hands, his palms both warm and cool as they ran across Anakin’s neck and down his chest, soothing the ache for just a moment. Another sob broke past Anakin’s lips but was swallowed by a gentle kiss, Obi-Wan pressing his warm lips to Anakin’s chapped and broken ones, pressure firm and solid. Anakin tried to push, to lash out, to get away from the dignity and the kindness but Obi-Wan remained firm, his grip solid behind his neck, the taste of him washing away the sick, the smell of him familiar.

Breaking the kiss Anakin closed his eyes, and like a child seeking warmth curled up against Obi-Wan. He could still hear the howling of the abyss behind him, each tug of it unravelling him further, the allure of sinking into his own insanity still tempting. Gritting his teeth he pushed against Obi-Wan further, desperate to be a part of him, locked within his ribs and curled around his heart, protected from the agony of his existence.

With trembling hands he pulled and tore at Obi-Wan’s robes, breath stuttering as he stripped him of his layers until marred skin was exposed to him. Obi-Wan murmured soft words that Anakin couldn’t hear, his body taught, muscles firm beneath Anakin’s desperate touch as he continued to rip at his Jedi trappings until all that was left was the man beneath it all.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin pleased, desperate for something though he knew not what.

Solace? Penance? Affirmation?

He caught Obi-Wan in a fierce kiss, his own robes pushed and pulled at, his bruised body exposed to the outside air that stung and nipped his overheated flesh. Climbing on to his lap he grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand and brought it between them, pushing his aching length against his palm, begging Obi-Wan to touch him, cherish him, wash away the filth and the hurt until he was whole again. Until he was who Obi-Wan always said he was.

Keeping his hand on Obi-Wan’s wrist he moaned softly as the flex of Obi-Wan’s wrist coupled with the press of his hand, fingers wrapping tight as he stroked him with a steady grip. Obi-Wan continued to speak to Anakin though his words made little sense, wrapped up and coursing with the flow of blood through Anakin’s head and chest, thunderous and overwhelming.

But Anakin felt it. Felt the adoration, the steadiness - the truth - of Obi-Wan’s words. He believed them as he spoke them against Anakin’s jaw and along his neck, breath hot and sticking to Anakin’s flesh, bumps spread out across his quaking form as he ground down harder. Thighs trembling and body humming, Anakin fell further into Obi-Wan’s embrace, his hands trailing along his body, memorising and admiring every folly and perfection.

Obi-Wan was real and solid; a reminder of Anakin’s existence in this world. He wasn’t just a creation of the Force, swallowed up in its magnificence, bound by its orders. He was a child of flesh and blood, loved by someone so achingly human it sometimes hurt Anakin to think about. Obi-Wan was perfect despite the imperfection of his creation, unlike Anakin.

But maybe if Anakin swallowed enough of his sweat, his tears, his come - his humanity - then it’d soak into him. It’d lay down seeds that would grow and spread like vines through his body, beating back the slow creep of death and destiny, making Anakin into someone who could inspire rather than revolt, love rather than fear, fulfil rather than hunger.

Grinding down Anakin could feel Obi-Wan’s own eagerness, thick and hard beneath him. It was this reminder - that Obi-Wan wanted him, desired him, craved him - that sent Anakin down into his release.

Obi-Wan loved Anakin.

He spasmed and shook, a blissful sigh slipping past his chapped lips, the assurances of Obi-Wan’s belief in him coursing through him. He kissed Obi-Wan then, tasting the tea on his lips, feeling the wisps of his beard that tickled, hearing the soft sigh of his own release. He held Obi-Wan close until his hands ached, his arms ached, his chest ached, still desperate to be inside of him - to be anywhere but in his own body, his own mind.

When they were done he dropped his head down to the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan stroked his back, palms hot and rough, fingers pressing into the bruises on Anakin’s body, feeling the dips of his ribs and the bumps of his curled spine. With another sob Anakin curled in as close as he could, cradled in the arms of the only person that knew, that understood, that loved despite it all.

[katasstrophy]

STAY—

cw. spoilers for tokyo rev manga ending. mikey x gn! reader. angst w/ happy ending. swearing + bit suggestive at the end. i’m oh so in my feels about him, my forever man <3

currently sobbing over the thought of you finding manjiro in every single timeline – except for the last, true one.

you find him, always, when the worst has already befallen him and he’s haunted by it, knee-deep in the gore of his own inky dark, impulsive thoughts that suck him in like a chasm, the self-promised responsibility of keeping everyone that’s still alive and precious to him out of harm’s way weighing his entire skeleton down. a shadow of a man, he is, the beginning of something truly monstrous, when you find him. and yet, you don’t shy away. you do something even worse, what he thought unthinkable – you stay.

he is not kind to you. far from it, however much his behaviour shames him and coats the walls of his stomach sticky with guilt. he lashes out at you, calls you cruel words he doesn’t take back even though he never means them. he pushes, and pushes, and pushes you away where he thinks he can finally keep you out beyond the electric wire wrapped around his heart – both to protect himself and to make him bleed. he makes you cry – your tears a waterfall of genuine hurt, carving their path over and over on your reddened cheeks. and yet, you’re stubborn, and you stay. you tell him he’s a fucking asshole for upsetting you, that he was never popular with girls, was he? that what he’s doing is not okay, and for all the life of you, you’ll probably never fully understand what he went through, but you know he’s hurt beyond words. you tell him you feel it, his suffering, so very obviously from just a single look into those dead fish eyes of his – what colour even are they? – so he can be a pissy little baby about it, but you’ve planted your fucking feet and you fear they’ve already taken root so he might as well make his peace with your presence, because you’re not going anywhere.

you linger. you flutter about, like some otherworldly, soothing-balm butterfly. you follow, even though he hasn’t had the desire to go anywhere for a long, long time. you stay, and suddenly it’s a little easier to breathe. he breathes, takes huge gulps of air into his lungs in what feels like ages, and tastes the salt of the breeze nipping at the tip of his tongue. suddenly, he can stomach looking at a sunrise again without wanting to crush something under his palm. an emptiness still clangs inside of him like a great gong that, even if you wanted to fill, you’d be unable to. but even those wounds have dulled from an ache to a throb, because now there’s you – a great, roaring, raging fire. you, who doesn’t give him the luxury of taking his hand, but instead beckon and beckon until he grits his teeth rising from his knees to his feet to reach for and accept your warmth. now, it’s not so dark anymore. now, there are some good days in between the bad and the really bad ones. sometimes, he even smiles. rarely, he laughs, rusty like an old faucet, smoky like a burning house, a weak imitation of his past joy. but still, he laughs, and you’re there to hear it and grin back.

mikey wishes your murmured words and soft caresses against the hard planes of his skin could have cured the unfixable black hole festering in his soul. he wishes your kisses could have sucked out the uncontrollable evil within him, swallow it whole and breathe it out as carbon dioxide, as harmless, used-up, recycled air, because he’s convinced you’re an angel with a touch that turns everything – both splendid and foul – golden. you’re an angel that was meant to show him there’s still good in the world, maybe even in him, but you were never meant to save him. fate’s cruel like that. he was always meant to be saved by another, for everything to come full circle, but he wishes all the same it could have been you.

when takemichi tells him everything – the time leaping and the curse on him – when he goes through another awful, roach-like existence and learns of sinichiro’s sacrifice, the catalyst of everything; when he finally gets the chance to make and do it right with all the knowledge of how to, when he’s grown up and successful with all his friends flushed with health and happy by his side – he remembers you. he finally, finally remembers you. how you met him, always, when he was drowning, and stayed and made him want to thrash and wade to the surface so he could share the same breath as you. he cries – the waterfall of his tears carving a path into his cheeks, at what you did for him, over and over again. the life you offered instead of the plain drifting he was stuck in. and manjiro decides you’ve fought enough. you’ve done more than enough.

so this time, he finds you.

he searches, picks apart the whole city, until he finds you. you don’t remember him, but that’s okay, because he remembers you, and he’s not going anywhere. you’re still so lovely, so golden, appreciative of his advances even though he knows he must come off as strong so early, but you laugh and tell him you find it refreshing. charming, if not a little confusing. and he laughs back this time, fizzy like a bubble bath and rumbling like a fireplace. mikey tells you he wants to stay, with you, so earnestly it strikes you that you might know him, after all. you don’t tell him that, of course, because it’s a bit silly of you, isn’t it?

(you tell him – ask him – later, when he’s been yours for years, when he’s put a ring on your finger and you took his last name. you ask him, after both of your breathings have calmed from a night of pleasurable tangling in the sheets. you ask him, enamoured and so, so in love with him, if he believes in past lives, because you’re so sure of it that he was meant for you. and your husband merely smiles like he’s privy to all the knowledge in the world. he kisses your knuckles sunlight-soft and tells you you were destined for each other from the very start. it leaves a gasp frozen in your throat and a thrill skittering down your spine that makes you want to ravish him once more.)

but that comes later. for now, it’s still a little silly, no matter how adamant this handsome man seems about courting you. so you smile and dip your chin in a bashful nod and say that you’d very much like for him to stay. so manjiro does. he stays by your side and lives the life he was always meant to, with you.

[imtotallyokandnormal]

How about John Doe with a significantly shorter partner? 👀

HEHEHEH THIS ONE WILL BE CUTE by the way I hope you don't mind Doe being a little bit of a weirdo about it (not in a sexual way...unless you want it to be)

Reader: gn reader

Warnings: none!

Image link: wheredidyacomefromcottoneyejoe

》☆John Doe x Very Short You!☆《

- The fact that John towers over you gives him the GREATEST possible joy a regular guy could ever experience and I'm not even joking because it makes him feel like a big protector for you.

- They definitely love to wrap themselves around you just to feel how small you are in their arms. It makes them giggle and ramble about how adorable you are (they also squish your face while praising you by the way).

- CUDDLES WITH HIM ARE THE BESTEST he's like a big ol comfy blanket! Or a pillow if you prefer laying on him, either way they're gonna be squeezing you tight and going on and on about how you're so precious .

- If you don't like being called small or having your height brought up constantly they will try to stop talking about it. But honestly it takes a LOT of self control, like how are they supposed to not talk about how they love holding you in their lap and feeling how easily you fit into his arms??

- THEIR FAVORITE JOB IS HELPING YOU REACH THINGS. If you struggle to reach stuff the moment they see you struggling they're already DIVING for it like I mean full on LUNGING for that shit. They may have a ton of stuff fall on their head in the process but it's ok because he gets to help you!

- He doesn't mean to infantilize you or anything, he doesn't mean to bother you about it. He just loves feeling helpful, especially since he can offer more help due to his height.

- He'll also let you ride on his back or shoulders if you need help seeing stuff! You in a crowd and can't see ahead? For the low low price of literally just asking him, you can get a full view using John Doe Height Extension.

- Also John is a bit weird about you being shorter than him- like he won't think you're weak or fragile or anything but something about you being so small compared to him really makes him giddy.

- Especially if you wore his clothes and they looked big and/or long on you, THAT throws them into a whirlwind of excited praise because you just look so cute wearing their things!

- Comparing your sizes also just makes them really excited, especially if you also happen to have smaller hands...oh lord they'd go NUTS over that, just constantly putting their palm against yours to look at the difference in size.

- Oh my god and if you had a smaller face?? Prepare for them to CONSTANTLY poke it and squish it and pinch your cheeks. I'm telling you he absolutely LOVES studying how small you are compared to him, it just fills them with a weirdly wholesome excitement.

- And get this...you can fit into his shirts with him when you cuddle LIKE JUST THINK ABOUT IT- YOU CAN JUST WRIGGLE RIGHT IN THERE ANYTIME.

-But yeah basically they'd absolutely love a short partner, and they will do everything in their power to show that to you! Especially through giddily talking about how you must be made for him because you fit in his arms so perfectly!

[alessiathepirate]

Resident Evil 2 - Resident Evil 4

SHARED WOUNDS HEAL TOGETHER THE BEST: Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Summary: Relationship development through nightmares and shared trauma.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: swearing, referenced PTSD, trauma, mentioned death, described violence, hurt/comfort

•••

Half a night full of nightmares

Escaping the unsurvivable doesn't come with good feelings at all.

It didn't fill her heart with pride or joy after she survived all those monsters in Raccoon City, even though she almost laughed from relief when she found herself far away from that God forsaken place with Leon, Claire and Sherry on her side.

No. The aftermath wasn't happy and it definitely wasn't fun. It was sad, insufferable and painful.

The mornings were alright - she didn't have any problems with those, especially when she could talk to either Leon or Claire, or take care of Sherry. But the nights - the nights were horrible and the first few after the incident were the worst.

She saw hoards of the undead in her dreams, attacking her or killing the people she cared about. She heard the noises of the lickers and the turned dogs, but the worst were the loud steps, making the walls and the ground she was standing on shake.

On the first night she relived the journalist's death so vividly, she didn't know where she was when she woke up. She saw him backing away and then the strong arm of the tyrant pushed through the concrete wall, it grabbed his head and crushed it like it was nothing. She remembered how the blood dripped down to the floor, how his eyes popped out of their places and how they were hanging out of his eye sockets, only a few weak muscles keeping them attached to his body.

When she woke up she couldn't breath, her chest was heavy, her throat felt both tight and dry and she was crying, the tears quickly running down her cheeks. She didn't know where she was or who she was, her mind was too far gone, still living in the world of the nightmare, not finding the way back to reality.

Two sudden hands on her shoulders pushed her back to the present, to the dirty motel room with the lights on, but with the curtains closed.

"Hey, hey! It's okay, it was just a nightmare! You're safe, I'm here. Do you hear me?" Leon's voice was full of fear, but he did his best not to panic as he tried to calm her down. His words made her breathing slow down and she felt like she can get some fresh air in her lungs again. "You have to take a big breath with me, okay? In and out." She followed his instructions as he brushed a few locks of hair out of her face, which got stuck to her forehead from the sweat. "Again- breath in... and out." He made eye contact with her, making sure she's feeling better. "You can calm down, it was just a bad dream."

She nodded, now understanding the situation she found herself in.

"Thank you." her mouth felt dry as she said those two words out loud.

"You have nothing to say thank you for." Leon smiled at her reassuringly. "Do you feel better now?"

She just nodded again, not trusting her voice this time. Leon backed away and sat down next to her on the bed.

She felt awkward as she sat up, leaning against the bedframe as she pulled the duvets to the side, because she felt like she was burning alive under them. She hugged her knees to her chest as she looked at Leon again.

"You can talk about it if you want to. I had one too, you know... a nightmare."

She stayed quiet as she thought about what to do, but then her strength to keep all the fear in herself broke.

"I had a dream about the journalist's- about Ben's death... It was like I- relived that moment, you know. When the tyrant killed him." she explained as a shiver run through her spine at the memories. "What was yours about?"

"That we never made it out alive." he started. "That every one of you died right before the finish line and when I tried to get back to you I got attacked as well."

"I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"I don't know." she answered after she realized how stupid it would be to apologize for the whole Raccoon City incident, when it wasn't her fault - nor their fault at all. "For scaring you because of some shitty dream I had... For what happened or- I don't know."

"It's not your fault. You can't do anything against the dreams you have and I'm sure you did your absolute best in Raccoon City. We all did."

They smiled at each other, but it was a very broken, pitiful smile.

"I'll always be here if you want to talk about, you know- what happened."

"The same goes for you." she said. "Where are the others? Claire and Sherry?"

"Claire wanted to get something to eat and Sherry wanted to go with her. You fell asleep so I didn't want to leave you alone." Leon explained and then added jokingly: "And then I fell asleep as well so I guess we were both too tired to care about food. They should be back in a few minutes."

"Thanks for staying with me."

Leon just smiled and then stood up, walking towards the only table the cheap motel room had.

"Claire was able to get some tea from that nice lady at reception. Do you want some? I mean, it's already cold, but-"

"It's perfect. Thank you."

A few moments later they were both sitting on her bed, drinking that ice cold tea as they made sure the other was feeling better after half a night full of nightmares. Neither of them knew how important that little gesture will be in their shared future.

•••

The already full jar of trauma

The moment she heard Leon's voice from his bedroom, she was up, her bare feet were on the cold floor, not caring about what she had on or how low the temperature in their apartment was. Her reflexes, which became quite sharp after that horrible night, acted on their own accord, and the next thing she knew she was running to her flatmate's bedroom, not bothering to knock.

Just like she thought - Leon's body was sweaty and he was tossing and turning in his bed with an uncomfortable look on his face. All the tiredness was gone from her eyes as she sat down next to him on his bed and put one of her hands on his chest while the other was gently caressing his face.

"Leon?" she spoke up kindly, her voice rough from sleeping beforehand. "Leon, please wake up! It's just a dream. Leon?"

He suddenly opened his eyes as he sat up so quickly she had to lean back so he won't bump into her.

"It's okay!" she tried to reassure him as she touched his arm. "It was just a bad dream."

He looked at her, his eyes teary from both dream and sleep and the next thing she knew, he hugged her, his arms keeping her in place tightly, afraid to let go.

She was shocked at first, that moment being the first time ever he hugged her or was that close to her, but she didn't complain. She knew how bad a nightmare can be, how bad of a reaction it can get out of someone. So she hugged him back and stroked his arm as his breathing became more even.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she said, her face still pressed against his shoulder.

She felt him swallow.

"Do you remember Marvin?" he asked even though he knew the answer.

Marvin was still a fresh wound and a painful topic - especially the way he died and the why he died. The man was a hero; he saved them from getting eaten and he gave them the right weapons and best gear they could ever find.

She nodded, but the memories still hurt.

"I had a dream about him."

"I'm sorry. You had to shoot him because of me."

It was true and she'll probably always feel guilty because of it. It was her fault - her fault that Leon had to shoot him dead and with that add to the already full jar of trauma.

She wasn't careful and let the turned Marvin attack her. His hands were already on her and if Leon doesn't react quickly, he would've bit her right in the neck.

"It wasn't your fault." Leon said and after taking a long breath he continued: "He was already gone. It was between you and him, and he was already gone."

Even if it was a painful topic, she knew she can be thankful that Leon was there and acted quickly.

"Thank you for being there that day." she said after she pushed Leon back so she can look him in the eye. "But you can't blame yourself either. I hope you know that."

He nodded, silently saying that he does.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"Not anymore, no."

"We can watch something if you want to."

"Yeah." she answered, knowing none of them would be able to fall sleep again. "That would be great. A shitty comedy would be great."

•••

Keep on talking

She was so tired she felt like she could cry at any little thing - yet sleep stayed far away from her. It didn't want to come, it didn't want to give her what she needs and covets.

Her whole body hurt from that morning's obstacle training and hand-to-hand combat - both lessons left cuts and purple, blue or even yellow bruises on her arms, legs and stomach. Her muscles were aching, screaming for even a few hours of sleep, but both the sleep and dreams stayed away.

"Are you still up?"

Leon's question was so sudden in the darkness that it gave her heart an ache from fear, her heartbeat becoming faster.

They shared a bunk bed together. Leon chose the lower part so she owned the upper one - but deep down she knew Leon made that decision so he can look out for her and be her guard dog until the end of the damn training.

"Yeah." she whispered back, not wanted to wake up the others.

"You can't sleep?"

"Exactly, but I want to." her voice became high pitched, so she had to swallow to keep the tears back. "God, I really want to."

Leon whispered her name, his voice was full of worry and that was what broke the dam. The tears started to fall from both mental and physical pain, tiredness.

"Are you okay?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't without waking the others up, knowing her voice would be rough and high pitched.

She heard him pull the duvet to the side, she was sure he sat up on his bed. Then his bare feet made contact with the floor and in the next moment she could see Leon's face as he grabbed the side of her bed. His expression was full of sadness.

"Do you want to sleep next to me tonight?" he asked quietly, gently touching her hand.

She nodded.

"Come here..."

She did her best to stay silent as she wiped away her tears and then climbed down, her arms shaking as she did so. Leon was there to help her, holding her, keeping his hand on her back as support.

When she was down he turned her towards himself, wiped the remaining tears away and gently stroked a bruise on her collarbone. She only then noticed that he had a few bruises himself as well, a purple one hiding right under his jaw, but she could still see it in the moonlight.

"Who did you fight with?"

"Why, you want to beat him up?" he asked teasingly, trying to crack a joke.

She didn't giggle, caring about his health and well being too much to take it as a joke.

"Of course I want to."

"You can have one guess." he sighed.

"Krauser?"

"Who else?"

"What an asshole." she whispered.

"What about you? Who do I have to beat up?"

"You can have one guess." she quoted him. "I had hand-to-hand combat right after you."

Leon didn't say anything to that, he only stroked her cheek reassuringly and then gestured towards his bed. She lay down on his bed and tried to find a position where she leaves place for Leon as well. He joined her moments later and pulled the duvet over the two of them.

"Try to rest, okay? You need it." he whispered.

"I know." she started. "I just got to a point where I'm too tired to fall asleep."

"Do you want me to keep on talking?"

"If you want to."

One of his hands found her waist and pulled her shirt down to cover her skin, and then through the material he started to draw different shapes into her. First a square, then a circle, a triangle, a star and then a smiley face.

"Did I tell you that Claire called right before we had to come here?" he asked.

"No."

"Well she did. She told me all about what she wants to do" she closed her eyes as he started to talk. "and about who she met. She asked about us. She was surprised that we became flatmates, joking that that's how dumb romance books start..."

She fell asleep right after that, her mind finally finding peace at his words. What she didn't realize was how she was admired while she was sleeping and how well Leon slept next to her that night.

That was the first time they asked themselves if they are really just friends or something more.

•••

You'll always have Prince Charming, cariño

Their first night together as a couple shouldn't go like this - with this heavy, burning feeling inside their chests.

The well known feeling of guilt made that night harder than ever. It's been a while since they were this afraid of falling asleep and it wasn't easy to get used to again, even if they both got a routine for those nights.

Taking a shower, getting dressed for bed, cooking dinner and then watching something on the TV - trying to do everything slowly to avoid going to sleep, trying to keep their eyes open so they can concentrate on the crappy movie, trying to not think about who they lost.

"We should go to bed or you'll fall asleep on the couch." Leon was the first to break the silence and the tension in the air.

They were both watching some stupid comedy on the TV, but while Leon was sitting with tired eyes, she was resting her head on his thigh. Her eyes closed a few minutes ago and she almost fell asleep when he spoke up.

"I don't want to." she started. "I'll have nightmares and I really can't deal with them tonight."

Leon's hand started to stroke her back and she sighed - being there with him gave her a peace of mind, but it also made her really sleepy.

"I know what you mean - but we have to give it a try. We've been a through a lot and we need to rest."

"I know. I just-" she sat up so she can look at him. "I just don't want to relive Luis' death... I just can't."

Leon looked at her like she said the exact thing he had been feeling and thinking about. He gave her a sad smile and took her hand in his, drawing the usual shapes into her skin with his thumb.

"Luis didn't deserve to die." she continued, trying to get everything what hurts off of her chest. "Even if he was always flirting or being annoying; he was nice. And he was really trying to do the right thing."

"And he was your biggest supporter." Leon added with a small, honest smile.

"No, he was our biggest supporter." she corrected him, letting out a giggle as she remembered all the things he said to her. "He was trying to make me see what our relationship truly is- that what you and I have is more than friendship."

"He was right, wasn't he?"

She nodded and the smile she had disappeared as she got back to reality. To the reality where Luis Serra is dead no matter how hard she tried to save his life.

She thought about the memories she shares with Leon and realized that no matter what they do or where they go, they always meet with tragedy and death. Those things overshadow their relationship and its development, not letting them fully enjoy what they have.

Luis would've loved to see their confession. He would've loved to see their faces when they realize they both feel the same way about the other. He would've wanted them to be happy.

Even if it's hard to be happy and smile.

What would he say? Something cheesy and romantic. Something like: You'll always have Prince Charming to make you smile even on hard days, cariño.

And he'd be right. She'll always smile when she sees Leon. She'll always laugh at his jokes. She'll get through everything if he's by her side.

"All right." she spoke up suddenly, making Leon stop his movements. "We can try and get some sleep- together."

"Together." he agreed and then leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

God, Luis would be smirking with that proud, annoying smirk of his.

A few moments later they were cuddling under the duvets in Leon's room; her head was on his chest as he was stroking her back. She didn't dare to close her eyes yet, but she enjoyed the closeness with her lover.

Lover, she thought. It's good they had Luis to make them see they are better lovers than friends.

That's how she should remember him. Luis Serra, the best wingman the world has ever known. The bravest, kindest wingman the world has ever known.

"Leon?" she spoke up in the darkness as she closed her eyes.

"Yes? Is something wrong?"

"No. There's nothing wrong. Everything is fine when I'm with you." she explained when she heard the fear in his voice. "I just wanted to say I love you."

For a moment Leon's heartbeat and breathing changed, and his hand stopped.

"I love you too, darling. Now try to get some sleep, okay?"

"Promise me you'll wake me up if you have a nightmare..."

"I promise, but the same goes for you."

Leon pressed one last kiss to the back of her hand and then they both closed their eyes, trying to enjoy the other's presence, knowing they don't have to be afraid of nightmares. Not when they have the other.

•••

[colibrie]

Confrontations: Ricochet, Donatello.

Art and sanity credit to @trilobitepunch.

He distantly felt his body jerk into a weak salute before his mechanical limbs turned, carrying hm away from his most recent failure. The walls of the base caved in as he moved, Raph’s calls of “Donatello!” barely registering over the incomprehensible muddle of thoughts and adrenaline. Some barely functioning portion of his hindbrain guided him to the correct door, shaky fingers pawing at the embedded scanners.

“Don, wait!”

The door slammed shut, sealing him into the blessedly familiar darkness of his bedroom.

“Donnie?”

His helmet sailed across the room, striking the far wall with a sharp crack as he crumpled to the ground. A faint whine slipped through his teeth as he dragged his numb legs into his chest, arm wrapping around them in a hug as he frantically began to rock back a fourth.

Heknowsheknowsheknowsheknowsheknows…

Bloodless fingers dug into the edges of his armor, throat now strangling his vocal cords as he tucked his head into the protective circle of his arms. Time crawled, broken only by his hiccupped breathing and the occasional knock of his battle shell against the wall as he rocked.

He knows.

Interesting.

Breathebreathewhycan'tIbreathe?

It's going to be okay, DonDon, don't listen to them. Do you wanna squeeze my hand?

YesIdoIneedyouIcan'tdothisyoupromised...

Something cool and solid carefully bumped against his shoulder, bits of binary breaking through the shrieking reel of his mind. Donnie sniffed, reluctantly lifting his head until his eyes could just bare peer at his visitor. Silvery fins waggled at him in greeting as a large lens swept Donnie from head to toe. The miniature droid beeped softly once more, and when Donnie failed to respond beyond a faint flinch, it drifted closer to gently nudge his shoulder. One fin gently brushed against his knuckles, accompanied by binary based command to relax. It didn’t flinch or retreat when Donnie’s fingers tightened reflexively. It simply continued to drop light taps on his knuckles until Donnie finally gave in and acquiesced, winching as blood rushed back into the tips of his fingers.      

Wiggling with joy, the drone zipped forward to wedge itself into the minuscule space between Donnie’s legs and chest, gently pushing and pressing, soft beeps and clicks asking him to lower them.

“F-f-fi”

A stronger beep cut him off as small struts unfolded from the droid’s undercarriage, delicate pincers grasping onto his chest plate as it forced Donnie’s legs a smidgen further from his chest.

It took far longer than it should have to fold his legs down into a crossed position. His joints were stiff, and somewhere in the haze of his panic a deep, familiar ache had begun to simmer beneath his shell. The presence of that pain, the way it swept up and down his spine like a molten tide, would have sent him spiraling once more if not for the droid in his arms. A port in his armor popped open, and the hiss of a hypos-syringe filled the room before he could fully register what was happening.

“Hy!” he choked; voice garbled as his teeth ground together.

An unrepentant chur was all he got in response as the droid settled back into his chest, motor shifting until a soft purr rumbled forth, one deep enough that it was more felt than heard. It gently pulsed through Donnie’s chest, soothingly repetitive as the muscle relaxers from the hypo quickly went to work. The fire in his back cooled, banked by the drugs that allowed his legs to finally drop into a loosely crossed position. The tension in his throat loosened too, letting air pass freely in to and out of his starving lungs.

Donnie sighed as he tipped his head back, eyes falling shut as he clumsily tried to follow meditation breathing that had been drilled into him at the temple. His droid trilled softly, giving him more space by floating down the settle on his now crossed legs. For a while all was quiet once more, save for sonorous breaths and the low hum of an idling motor.

“5HL-DN.”

The little droid perked up, ignoring the gravely strain on its name in favor of nuzzling into the hand suddenly resting on its carapace.

“How long was it this time?”

A longer stream of bleeps and clicks answered, partially jolting Donnie out of his daze.

“What do you mean, ‘access denied’?! That data is not password protected!”

More bleeps and blips flooded the air as 5HL-DN and Donnie glared at one another.

“5HL-DN, you give me that data right now or I-”

“Beeeeeoooooop!”

“…That bad?”

“Brrrriiiip.”

“I…I acknowledge that it has been a while since I have experienced one of this magnitude. It has been a…difficult day. All the more reason to look at the data.”

“Brrrrrrrrrrrrr-up!”

“What kind of a trade are you proposing?”

5HL-DN’s antenna wiggled as the following binary made Donnie’s mouth drop open.

“Wha- twelve hours?! Unacceptable!”

“Beep!”

“I will consider resting for four.”

“Weeooo-uuuuriiiii.”

“You will do no such thing! The materials for those experiments are not easily acquired!”

“Reeeeeeeeeeeoooorrrrrrrri!”

“Fine! Fine, I will sleep for six! Satisfactory?”

“Skrrrriiiiiiiiiiiii?”

“Oh my…yes. Yes, if it will keep you out of my research, I will take off the battle shell.”

Donnie tried to maintain his scowl but could not stop the hint of smile that bloomed as his droid wobbled, whooping in triumph as it shot up and zipped towards Donnie’s bed.

“I don’t recall installing blackmail software,” He grumbled, slowly levering himself up. His legs trembled, but held, allowing him to limp after the droid and sit on the edge of his bed. A sneaky retaliatory pinch was all he got in reply.

“As agreed, I will rest for six consecutive hours. However, if Raph comes or if Krang summons us, you need to wake me. Understood? Either scenario would be too important for me to risk sleeping through.”

5HL-DN bobbed, pincers pulling back the blankets as Donnie slowly removed his armor, placing it in neatly accessible piles on his bedside table, until only the battle shell remained. His fingers hovered over the latches, hesitating as sour discomfort stirred in his stomach. As cumbersome as his battle shell was at times, the freedom and security it brought made it a difficult thing to part with for any reason. Perhaps…perhaps he could simply…

A low warning whistle shut that train of thought down.

“Yes, alright. I am a turtle of my word, calm yourself.”

A series of subtle clicks later and the battle shell popped free, falling to the mattress with a soft thump. A moan of equal parts pain and relief snuck past his lips as Donnie rolled his shoulders, one hand slipping down to tentatively rub at the edge of scar tissue that ran in a jagged slash across the base of his shell.

Beeps that sounded somehow smug yet concerned tinkled through the air just before one of 5HL-DN’s struts flicked the side of his head.

“Stop that,” he huffed tiredly, scooting back a smidge before dragging his legs under the blankets held by his unrepentant friend. Heavily weighted warmth, one of the few secret splurges he’d ever claimed for himself ensconced him, working with the relaxants to turn his tense muscles into jelly.

“Member t’wake me,” he mumbled, nuzzling into his pillow as lead weights dragged his eyelids down. “An don…don’t touch th…s’sensitive…”

Soft coo’s followed him down to sleep as 5HL-DN settled into the junction of Donnie’s shell and neck, motor gently vibrating as it began its watch.

[starogeorgina]

Violent delights

Warnings: Mentions child birth, still birth, miscarriages, swearing, and blood

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

1.01

Tears of joy stream down your cheeks as you hold your daughter for the first time. Her small lungs filling with air as she cries, you kiss the tip of her small nose. The midwives do their best to discreetly wrap your baby, who was born stillborn moments before his sister, from your view. Your first two pregnancies didn’t make it to term, but both were assumed to be boys. Your first baby was named Vaegon, the second Aerion. You had already decided on several names to choose from that would work for either sex.

An older midwife dabs at your forehead with a damp cloth and asks, “Have you chosen a name?”

“I decided on Rhaegar for a boy.”

“Prince Rhaegar,” she repeated with a sad smile. “And the princess's name?”

You go to answer but are interrupted by a loud knock on the door. A nervous-looking servant walks into the room and says, “Princess, the Queen has requested that the child be brought to her immediately.”

The midwives' faces were etched with confusion and horror. Nobody dared talk while your daughters' cries filled the room. It was incredibly wrong of the queen to request such a thing, but who were you to refuse her? The maester clears his throat, “Perhaps I can take the baby to the queen while you rest.”

“I will take her myself.”

“Your body has just been through something traumatic; you shouldn’t need to do this,” he says, giving you a pleading look.

“No, I shouldn't. But I’ll take her once I’m dressed.”

The maester nods, knowing he couldn’t change your mind. He excuses himself from the room, and your eyes land on the knight standing in the hallway, and you silently thank the gods it wasn’t Ser Criston. One of the midwives takes your daughter from your arms while the others help you stand. You breathe through the pain as they clean the blood pooling down your legs along with any afterbirth that’s left.

They helped you step into a silver gown that was light and flowed around your waist. It was a gift from your older brother, Jacaerys; he knew how self-conscious you felt during your first pregnancy and had it made specially with the intent of hiding your bump. Your fringe is quickly braided so your damp hair is out of your face as your long locks are swept behind your shoulders.

The midwives return your daughter to your arms. You take a deep breath before slowly making your way to the queen.

—

Whispers filled the hallway as lords and ladies stopped to stare at you; a few of them congratulated you while the rest had a look of disgust on their faces. You momentarily stop at the bottom of the steps, already dreading the walk up them.

“Princess Lyarra,” Ser Erryk offers you his arm. “Allow me to help you.” You gripped onto his armored arm for support as you made your way up the stairs. He was patient with you every time you stopped and never questioned why you had to do this. He stays by your side until you reach the queen's quarters.

“Thank you, Ser Erryk,” you say sincerely. He was one of the few who had shown you genuine kindness since moving back into the keep. The knight looked as if he wanted to say more but simply nodded before announcing your arrival.

“Ser Criston,” you say politely when he opens the door. Sheepishly, you walk into the lions' den, hoping the questioning on the other side won’t last long.

Queen Alicent is seated beside her father and your grandsire, who looked paler than normal. Alicent stands when she spots you, but the amused look on her face quickly fades when she notices your weak appearance. “Lyarra! You should be resting after your labor.”

“I have no doubt that you would prefer that, Your Grace, but I do not wish to part with my daughter moments after I birth her.”

Alicent stares you down as her own father glares at her. Otto wasn’t a fool and knew his daughter's cruel treatment of you would spread quickly.

Seeing your grandsire in pain while standing, you go over to him and present him with his great-granddaughter. He looks at her proudly. “She looks just as your mother did when she was born. Such strong Targaryen features,” he says gleefully. “I can tell she’ll be a fearsome dragon rider one day.”

Alicent and Otto share a look. You were the only daughter of Rhaenyra and Laenor, and unlike your three brothers, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, you didn’t have ‘strong’ features. You looked like a traditional Targaryen, with silver hair and lilac eyes. The rumor was that while your brothers were fathered by Harwin Strong, your father was either Laenor or Daemon, based on how ‘Targaryen’ you looked. A rumour the queen never tired of circulating, even when you were forced into marrying her son.

Alicent clears her throat. “The maesters believed you were carrying twins. Was he wrong?”

“No, your grace, the maester was correct. Unfortunately, my first baby, a son, was stillborn.” You push down the lump forming in your throat; you wouldn’t allow yourself to cry. Although you felt a pain no parent should endure, you couldn’t show any weakness. You needed to be strong. “However, the gods have blessed me with a daughter, and I will be forever thankful they have.”

Your grandsire squeezed your free hand and asked, “Have you chosen a name?”

“Yes, her name is Aemma.”

Alicent scoffs into her hands, shaking her head. while your grandsire's eyes light up in a way that usually only happens when he sees your mother.

“Lyarra?” a familiar voice says from the doorway.

“Aegon,” you mutter, eyeing him suspiciously; he still appeared drunk from the night before. Forcing a smile, you ask, “Did you pick a dragon's egg?”

His eyes darted between you and his mother, and he nodded. “Yes, I chose three from Dreamfyre’s clutch for you to pick.”

Liars.

Lucerys had picked two eggs from Syrax's clutch many moons ago. Your husband has most likely returned from a tavern or a brothel; that’s where he spent most of his time. Even though your relationship with Aegon was far from perfect, you still found yourself trying to protect him from the queen's harsh treatment.

“The maester told me what happened. I'm sorry,” he softly utters.

Aegon looks down at his newborn daughter for the first time and remains silent. For a split second, it looks as if he might smile, but his bloodshot eyes well up. He blinks the tears away when Alicent hugs him; she kisses his forehead and says, “Do keep trying. Soon or late, You may get a son.”

—

“It was just meant to be harmless fun,” Aegon’s voice was deep and still cloaked in sleep, laced with a sense of entitlement. He was insufferable. “I didn’t think I’d be gone so long. If I knew... I would have returned sooner.”

“Of course.”

He looks around the hallway, making sure no one else is in his line of sight. “You didn't think to ask me what I thought before you named our child?”

You scowl at him. “I did ask you! And you told me you didn’t give a shit.”

“This is hard on both of us.”

“Only one of us is bleeding,” you hiss, clenching your teeth.

Aegon looks confused until he takes a step back to look at the back of your dress, seeing the dark shade of crimson growing on the fabric. He looks grossed out and asks, “Is that normal?”

“In the last hour, I’ve given birth to two children.”

The rest of your walk is in silence until you finally place your daughter down in her crib, which you had placed next to your bed. Once she is settled, you finally sit down, feeling a mixture of pain and relief. Two handmaidens hurry to get you a bath and fresh clothing. You look over your shoulder to see Aegon still standing by the doorway; the look on his face leaves you feeling uneasy.

When the handmaidens leave the room, he licks at his lips and asks, “What did you name him?”

“Rhaegar.”

Sighing, Aegon pours himself a cup of ale. The handmaidens must have assumed he would be joining you because you didn’t consume any ale or wine. He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve after downing his drink and asks, “What now?”

“Our previous agreement still stands. We will perform our duty when needed.”

“But continue to live separate lives,” he says sarcastically before pouring himself another drink.

“Dear husband, it was your idea.”

Aegon pouts at your words.

You didn’t have the energy to argue with him. When you were first married, you tried to build a basic friendship with your uncle, but he took every opportunity to tease you and humiliate you. Aegon would try to get a rise out of you by calling your brothers bastards. This unkind treatment only stopped after your first miscarriage; you weren’t sure if he took pity on you or simply grew bored because he no longer got a reaction. Watching him top up the cup with more ale, you knew he would soon need to leave before becoming too drunk to do so.

You clear your throat. “When I’m strong enough, I wish to take Aemma to Dragonstone to meet her grandmother.”

He looks puzzled by your words. “Why doesn’t she just come here?”

“She’s heavily pregnant.”

Aegon pulls a face and says, “I see.”

“I do not wish to keep you from your daughter; it would mean a great deal to me if you bonded with her. You could come with us to Dragonstone,” you suggest, mostly to humor him.

“No,” he laughs mockingly. “I’d rather spend my time with whores than bas—”

“By now you must understand you’ll always have whores but not children.”

He rolls his eyes and says, “When she’s older, I’ll introduce her to Sunfyre and take her riding on dragon back with me.”

“Very well,” you nod, knowing his words were empty. Before the conversation could continue any further, your handmaidens returned and Aegon excused himself.

—

You’ve been biting your bottom lip long enough that you can taste blood. Its sting was painful, but it was the only way you could stop yourself from crying out in pain as you rushed back to your bed chambers.

When the wet nurse took Aemma, you became restless, thinking about all the ways team green could screw you over, and you decided to find out for yourself. Using a secret passageway, you found yourself back at the queen's chambers, listening in on her private conversations. Alicent very colorfully shared her concerns about you taking your daughter to Dragonstone to her father. Fucking Aegon. She didn’t want her grandchild associating with bastards either.

“How do you propose to stop this?” Otto chuckles. “The princess isn’t a prisoner, and I don’t see Aegon rushing to stop her from leaving.”

“The princess can come and go as much as she likes, but her child will not leave the red keep. I will simply not allow it.”

“And why is that? You do not care for any of Rhaenyra’s offspring; why should this child be any different?”

“Because as of now, she is Aegon’s only heir!” The queen's face flushes red with anger. “And as long as she’s here, Lyarra will stay. The last thing we need is her reporting back to Rhaenyra and Daemon.”

Replaying everything you overheard caused your blood to boil. Your eyes turned towards the nursery, which was only next door to yours, but you noticed Ser Criston standing outside it. He must have posted there to stop you from taking your daughter during the night. You turn to open your chamber door, ignoring the knight posted outside your own room.

Once inside, you grab a pillow from your bed and scream into it. You were Rhaenyra Targaryen’s only daughter, and the blood of the dragon runs thick through your veins. Your once gentle nature, for which you named the heart of Dragonstone, has vanished, and all that is left is a burning fire filled with hatred and regret.

You should never have left Dragonstone. You should never have agreed to marry Aegon as a way to heal the broken bond in your family. Most importantly, you should never have let your inner dragon die. You had become weak and easy to manipulate, but you wouldn’t allow your daughter to suffer the same fate.

—

With your head held high, you stroll towards Viserion, who was lying upon a small hill, smirking as Ser Criston chased after you, “Princess! Princess!”

You stop momentarily and press your hand against your lower abdomen, feeling a cramping pain. It had been two days since you gave birth, but your son's funeral was only hours prior. It was no surprise to you that the queen organized it so quickly that word of what happened didn't reach the rest of your family. The only people that attended were the queen, her father, your husband, and his two siblings. Your grandsire was apparently too weak to get out of bed; no doubt it was from consuming an overload of milk from the poppy.

“Viserion, huha gevives.”

Since Viserion was the dragon to light your son's pyre on fire, he was already saddled, awaiting to be flown. At your request, your lady in waiting had a harness brought to you the night before so your daughter could be secured to you safely while riding on dragon's back.

“Princess, you cannot—”

When Ser Criston attempted to grab your shoulder, Viserion roared loudly, causing the knights to jump back. As your hand glides over the dragon's scales, you finally look back to see how many men have followed you. Nine. All of them, including the queen's favorite, looked petrified. The only one who seemed unfazed was your uncle Aemond, who had an amused expression on his face.

“What is it I cannot do, Ser Criston?”

His eye twitches with anger as he struggles to compose himself. “Prince Aegon—”

“He's too drunk to lift his own head,” you say. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am currently in the middle of something.”

“I cannot let you leave.”

Tilting your head back, you snort out a laugh. “And how do you propose to stop me?”

“On your return, you’ll need to ask for her Grace’s forgiveness.”

Something inside you snaps; you turn and stand toe to toe with the knight. “And whose forgiveness will you ask for?”

He scowls at you, “Lyarra—”

“Princess,” you correct him. “There are two ways this can go, Ser Criston. I can leave now without any more drama, or I’ll stay against my will.”

“I think the second option would be wise, princess,” he smirks.

“Hmm,” you step even closer to the knight so he could hear your words clearly. “I am the daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the throne. Granddaughter of the king and the sea snake. My stepfather is the Rogue Prince himself, Daemon Targaryen, and bastards or not, my brothers are skilled dragon riders, as is my Grandmother. So I’ll ask you again, Ser Criston: Whose forgiveness will you ask for when I tell them that you personally kept me here?”

Ser Criston clenches his fist in anger. Before the situation could escalate, he takes a step back, forcing himself not to reply.

“Also, next time you attempt to put your fucking hands on me, I’ll feed you to Viserion.”

You mount Viserion, ignoring how your hands tremble. Putting on a strong front while breaking inside was a lot harder than you thought it would be. You are about to tell Viserion to go, but hearing your name being called, you don’t.

“Lyarra.” Hearing your uncle's voice, you look down at him; he looks embarrassed. “Your um-leg.”

While mounting your dragon, your black dress caught on the straps, riding up far enough to expose the lower half of your leg, which was coated in dried and fresh blood.

“Let's jikagon lenton.”

—

Once in the air, you let out a deep breath, allowing your tears to fall freely.

Hearing soft cries, you look down at Aemma and smile. She was so beautiful. so innocent and full of light. You knew leaving was the right thing to do, but it didn’t shake the uneasiness you felt.

You felt your heart flutter when Dragonstone came into view. You were almost home. You were feeling hopeful at the promise of being reunited with the rest of your family, but when the sun started to disappear, the uneasiness washed over you again.

Confused by the sudden darkness, you look up and clap eyes on Vhagar.

Aemond had followed you.

Viserion, huha gevives - Viserion, my beauty

Let's jikagon lenton - Let's go home

[obae-me]

Yo! If you’re currently taking requests I have a hurt/comfort request with the bros for you :)

What about some headcanons where MC has a really bad and vivid nightmare and goes to one of the brothers for help to get out of their fear? To make it more interesting the nightmare can be about something like the infamous lesson 16 event too

That’s all, have a nice day/night!

Ooo hurt/comfort, you know exactly the way to get to my heart, anon! And as someone who used to experience awful awful nightmares, I can do this easily. And for some spice, I will make it about the infamous lesson 16. Angst is the spice of life. Hope you enjoy, anon! 

Another Day, A Different Dream Perhaps. 

Spoiler Warning for Events in Lesson 16! 

TW: Violence, Blood, Broken Bones, Mentions of Death and M*rder. As Always, Read Safely! 

__________________________________________________

Running. They were running again. Panting, crying, panicked. These halls that held so many good memories also kept haunting nightmares in their walls. They couldn’t breathe, feeling the faint touch of hands gripping around their throat, the joy in the eyes of the person who was watching them struggle. 

The others...they had to find the others. The shadow was behind them, bloody claws reaching out from the darkness to tear cuts into their skin. Running almost seemed useless, their feet hardly making contact with the ground. But they had to run, run faster. 

The halls they were so familiar with kept changing on them, shifting, twisting, betraying them, like the whole house was in on their demise. They didn’t know where they were...they didn’t know where to go. 

Then a hand grabbed them, pulling them back, pain searing into their body as they were flung harshly in the air. As they landed, a sickly sounding snap echoed in their ears. Their leg...they couldn’t run anymore. And their body...was warm...and wet. Crimson seeped out from under them, a seemingly impossible amount of blood flooded the floors. Figures rose from the dark liquid, looming over them, watching them writhe...watching them suffer with glowing eyes and crooked smiles. 

They could do nothing but cry as they crawled, trying to claw through the ever-rising blood, trying to escape, to get help. But they knew there was none. They knew this was their death. And as they tried to scream, they were only met with silence as the sea of red flooded into their lungs, the shadows leaning over to push them further under. 

As their eyes suddenly opened, they found their brain still filled with panic, confused. They couldn’t tell if this was still a dream. They were certain something would be back to kill them. The pain of death still lingered in their body. It had felt so real. What was reality? So once more, they ran, fleeing from their room, tired feet tripped over themselves as they stumbled. Their body seemed to be leading them where they needed to go, whether they were thinking about it or not. 

Weak fingers grasped at the doorknob, pushing their way through the door. Their leg gave out on them, still tingling from the feeling of being broken. As they fell to the ground, they seemed to finally find their voice, their lungs wheezing from the strain. They sobbed, gulping in gasping breaths of frigid night air. Please, this time, save them. Somebody save them! 

“Help me!” 

Lucifer 

He’s a light sleeper, so the noise of someone running through the halls had stirred him awake already. He was already in the process of sitting up, preparing to scold whoever thought it was wise to cause such a ruckus this late at night. 

That was until MC barreled into his room, immediately collapsing, in hysterics. Screaming for help. 

He’s seen a lot in his life. Nothing really gets to him anymore. But hearing MC like that raised every hair on the skin of his body.

His demon form came out immediately, wings pushing the comforter right off his bed, running out into the hallway to see what the problem was. Only...there was no one there. Rushing back into his room, he shut the door, getting to his knees, fearing he’d find them hurt. But there were no injuries. 

His hands cupped the side of their face, trying to get them to stop their frantic rocking on the ground. “MC...MC! What is it? What’s wrong?” As much as he hated seeing them so out of it, he hoped they weren’t paying enough attention to hear the worried crack in his voice. 

They grabbed at the front of his clothing, pulling themselves to him. “He’s coming! Please help me...” 

All at once he knew what was happening. Once more, the walls surrounding his heart chipped away as he was reminded of another one of his failures. One of the most terrible ones. 

With a hand against the back of their head, he rested them against his shoulder. “You’re alright. You’re alright.” He repeated to them, trying to keep his voice calm. “It was simply a nightmare.” 

He hated this. He hated that moments like these came about too often. He hated always being damage control. But...he mostly just hated seeing them this way, being able to do nothing about it other than holding them close, hoping the sound of his voice will eventually bring them out of it. 

He shushed them gently, stroking the back of their head while rocking them slowly back and forth on the ground, keeping the tune of a soft melody in his head. He’s reminded of several times where he’s had to do the same thing to his brothers when they were a bit younger. It’s been a while since he’s done this. Is he...doing it correctly? 

Eventually, he noticed that the sobbing has stopped. They still seemed to be crying, but softly this time, perhaps a bit more aware of their surroundings. “Come now, you’re going to cry yourself sick.” He patted their back and started to stand, carrying them in his arms. 

He brought them to a seat near the fireplace, settling them down, trying not to allow himself to be weak when they appear to refused to let him go, clinging to the fabric of his sleeves. “Hold on, I’ll be just a moment.” He has to take care of them first, no matter how much his heart is screaming to hold them just a bit longer. 

He leaves, gathering tissues and a cup of water. When he returns, he notices that their tears have almost completely stopped, but now they simply looked blankly at the flames dancing in the fireplace. He set the box of tissues next to them, reaching down to grab their hand so he can place the cup of water in their grasp. “Drink,” he demands, although there’s no hint of harshness in his voice, only concern. He stands there and waits till they take the first sip, not allowing himself to feel any sort of relief till they do so. 

He bends his knees, lowering himself so he can look up at their face, one of his hands settled supportively on their thigh. “Take it easy. Give it some time. Collect yourself. Shall I put on some music to calm the nerves?” They nodded, remaining silent. He straightened, heading over to his record player, his thumb brushing over the vinyl collection. He plucked out one that was dear to his heart. One MC had gifted him. He took it out with gentle fingers, placing it in the record player, settling the needle down, listening to the first few notes come through before he turned back to the human taking the chair next to them by the fireplace. The chair feels too far away from them now, even if he could reach over and touch their shoulder with his hand. 

There’s a question on the tip of their tongue, one he can feel. Their pride is getting in the way. As much as he would wish to hear the suggestion straight from their lips, he’s more than happy to bring it up. “Would you like to stay the night with me?” As they open their mouth, he cuts them off, already knowing what they would say. “It wouldn’t be a bother. I would even like to think that I would sleep better, knowing you were safe and sound right next to me.” 

They think about it, but eventually nod. If under better circumstances, he would be beaming. But he remains calm, standing up to extend a hand, waiting till they took it before leading them to his bed, tucking them in first. 

The back of one of his fingers ends up trailing down the side of their cheek. A gentle touch he could not resist. “Just sleep now, and do not worry, you won’t have any more nightmares tonight. You can rest assured, I won’t let measly dreams best me.”

They raised an eyebrow, clearing their throat before they spoke. “Did you just make a joke?” 

“Perhaps.” He got into bed beside them, and despite the grand size of the mattress, he moved to be right beside them. “I’ll find you,” he then promised. “In real life or in the hazy blur of your subconscious, I’ll find you whenever you need me. Don’t forget that.” The light of the fire and the sound of music seemed to dim. He shut his eyes, a subtle pleased smile on his face. “I will see you soon.”��

Mammon

He sleeps deep. But not that deep. If someone comes bursting through his door crying, it’s bound to wake him up. Scared the life out of him at first, nearly jumped straight out of bed. His first thoughts running through his sleepy mind was a ghost. 

But when he realized who it was...he almost wished it was a ghost. He’d rather be the one scared. 

He scrambled over to them, tripping on his own comforter that had slumped to the ground, crawling over the floor till he was near them, pulling them into his arms. “What is it?! Who hurt ya?! What happened?!” He yelled. He has to be careful, focusing on not greedily digging his own claws into their pajamas, trying not to growl at whoever would’ve done such a thing to them. 

MC could only speak in panicked statements, repeating the same phrase over and over again. “I don’t want to die...I don’t want to die...” 

It hit him much too hard. The memory. The way he felt when it happened...for real. When they said those same words to him right before the light left their eyes. 

He couldn’t help but cry. He’d seen it in his nightmares too. Over and over again. 

With a lowered head, tears managed to escape his eyes as the guilt seemed to tear him into pieces again. Why? Why couldn’t he have been there to help them? Why were they still feeling the pain of this? Why them? 

“I’m sorry,” he choked, his throat so strained with pain, he could hardly speak. He held them tighter, pulling them so close he was almost curved over them protectively. “I’m here with you now. I- I won’t let anyone hurt you again. Nobody. So please...stop cryin’. I’ll get you whatever you want! We can buy it right now!” His heart breaks further when they hardly seem to be listening. Money can’t buy their happiness right now...only he can. 

Only...what can he do? Right...he’s the joke of the family. Maybe if he can make ‘em laugh, they’ll stop crying! Just pull something from his stand-up comedy routine with Levi. 

“What- uh -” He clears his throat, trying to stop his own tears. He needs to be the strong one for them. They take care of him all the time, it’s about time he pays back his debt. “Why are relationships a lot like algebra?” He gave them a gentle shake, hoping to Diavolo that they were listening. “Be-because have you ever looked at your X and wondered Y?...Eh? Eh? You get it, because-” 

MC squeaked a bit, a noise made from perhaps a bit of bewilderment at the stupidity of the joke. Although, their quick change in breathing gave them the hiccups, or maybe it was caused simply from crying too much. However, the tears seemed to lessen. 

“Out of one problem, and into the next, huh? Can’t seem to keep yourself out of trouble.” He gave them a pained chuckle, knowing full well that most of their troubles were stemmed from him and his brothers. He felt their body make little jolts as the hiccups continued. He picked them up, letting their arms wrap around his neck as he brought them over to his bed. His demon form lowered, sharp wings and horns tucked away as he brought them underneath the covers. 

They continued to cling to him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel his heart grow warm. Unfortunate that they had to come here in a panic to get this way but...make the most of what you got, yeah? He let them sit in his lap, rubbing circles into their back as he wondered what Lucifer or Satan would say. Something smart and comforting. 

“I’d try to spook the hiccups out of ya, but I don’t think that would work seein’ as how you’re too good to be scared like that.” At those words, they seemed to shrink into him more. “S-so, how about we just hold our breath for a bit? I’ll do it with ya. Hold it in as long as ya can. Ready? One, two,” he sucked in his breath, waiting till they did the same. They sat there in silence, counting in their head, feeling each others hearts beat in each other’s chests. Then MC let it all out in a long shaky exhale. 

They both waited, hoping that the hiccups were gone. After a while of nothing, Mammon grinned. “There we go, we got it! All gone, see?... It’s all gone.” If only that were true for everything. If he could help them hold their breath and forget all their troubles, he’d never breathe again. A silly thought, one that didn’t make sense, he knows that, but...it’s an honest one. 

“How about we try to sleep again, huh?” He tucked their head under his chin. “I’ll keep ya in my arms all night so you know you’re safe...and if any nightmares show up, just dream of me and I’ll beat it away!” 

They finally let out a little chuckle. “Promise?” 

He gives them a little squeeze. “I swear. I won’t let anything harm ya. Not even in your dreams.” 

Levi

If even Levi is asleep, you know it’s late. He also doesn’t expect anyone to come to his room in general, much less in the dead of night. So when his door suddenly opened, he freaked out. He jolted up, climbing out of his bathtub-bed just to fall to the floor. 

And that was all before he heard the crying. 

He peeked around the porcelain curve of his bed to spot MC. His mind went blank, so many thoughts running through his head at once, his brain was shutting down. Why were they in here crying? Did he do something? Did someone else do something? Why were they here of all places?

“H-h-hey? MC?” He worked his way to his feet, coming over to them. “You...uh...you alright?” He hated how unsure and unsupportive he sounded. Of course they weren’t alright! He could see that! He needed to focus! They were in a much worse state than he was! Now was not the time to get lost in his own mind. Just...do what comes instinctively, don’t overthink it. 

He shut his door first, knowing that if it were him, he would appreciate the privacy. He then quickly stepped over to his bed, pulling the blanket out from in it. He placed it over their shoulders, slowly settling down on the floor to tuck it tighter around them. “Wh-what’s wrong? I’m here. You can- you can tell me.” 

They clutched at their head, trying to curl up into a ball on his floor. That’s usually his thing. He almost wishes he could claim it for himself, just so he didn’t have to see MC do the same. “I’m scared...I’m so scared...Don’t let him find me...” 

“Don’t let who--” And then it crashed over him like a wave, the memory he had already tried so hard to forget. He hadn’t done much...when it happened. He stood behind everyone else, only able to watch, frozen in shock. Like a coward. So why him? Why did they come to him now? 

Before he’s even fully aware he’s doing it, he’s stuffing his tub with everything soft he can find. Pillows, blankets, stuffed animals, the works. He’s not even fully aware of his tail slipping from it’s glamour, wrapping gently around their waist so he can be holding them while he works on this little nest of his. When he’s done, he uses his arms to lift them up, placing them in the cocoon of softness. Like a shelter, a safe space. 

If there’s anything he knows how to do well, it’s hide. So he’ll hide them away, tuck them against everything he loves, everything that makes him feel safe. 

The motion seems to pull them out of their state that they were in. They looked around, watching the light reflecting off the water in the fish-tank ripple across the ceiling. Then they turned their head to look at him. “Levi?” 

He quickly releases his tail from them, gripping the front of his shirt to keep his emotions from spilling out. “Y-you can stay here for the rest of the night. It-it might sound weird, but the bathtub can actually be pretty cozy. It feels like a nest, and sometimes, when I get too hot I--” He was rambling again, his mouth releasing the anxiety for him, but he stopped talking when he felt them tug on his sleeve. 

It’s not really made for two...it’s supposed to be a one-person sort of thing, since he’s always alone and all, but...he can feel them trying to pull them in. He...wanted to do that anyway but...he didn’t feel like he deserved it. This wasn’t about him though, was it? And that was okay. 

So, he got into bed, the both of them much too close as they were pushed together by pillow and plush. He didn’t have much of a choice other than to hold them now. Or perhaps that was just an excuse. 

He struggled to act first...always, it seemed. Especially when it was about something important. Just like before...and like now. Just once...he wanted to...he wanted to...

He settled his forehead against theirs. They were a bit warm, probably from crying so much. His heart nearly stopped in his chest from such a bold act, but he wanted to do it. So badly. To hold them, to make them feel safe, to protect them, like he should’ve done on that day, to show how much he cared. 

“When-whenever I get nightmares, I just squeeze something really hard till I wake up. You can try that tonight. If you start to get another bad dream, just hold...hold onto me.” He’s tempted to press his lips to their forehead, like in a perfect anime episode. It’s the pinnacle of comfort. But he doesn’t have that much courage for it, compromising with pressing his cheek to their forehead instead. “We can try as many times as it takes to get it right. A perfect run!” His heart isn’t beating as fast as he expected it would. This was...nice. It was something he’d imagined for a long time. “...A perfect dream.” 

Satan

He doesn’t sleep too heavily unless he ends up pulling too many late and sleepless nights reading his books. Tonight, fortunately, was not one of those nights. He wasn’t too far into his dreams, slightly waking up as he turned over on his other side, unable to fall into a deeper sleep with a book wedged under his back. 

It was one fateful circumstance, because anyone who had the misfortune of crashing into his room in the dark was bound to wind up hurting themselves. Have you seen the state of his room? One clumsy bump was all it took for there to be a literature landslide. 

Which was exactly what MC did. 

Still under the sleepy fog of fear, MC threw Satan’s door wide, stumbling in the dark, falling to the floor, their shoulder making contact with a tower of books. If he hadn’t already been somewhat awake...and if MC hadn’t wailed from the top of their lungs, he might not have made it in time. 

Dozens of book spines and hardcover corners pounded into his back as he covered MC with his body, trying to curl them under his frame despite not being nearly as large as someone like Beel would be. 

Once the dust settled, he shook off a few tomes that had settled on his back. Then he took MC by the shoulders, so filled with wild concern that he didn’t even notice MC’s tears. “What do you think you’re doing coming in here like that?!” He panted a bit, blood pounding through his body with adrenaline. He had to take a second to compose himself, taking a deep breath...and then he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t shaking their shoulders...they were convulsing with sobs. 

He quickly moved from above them, settling beside them instead, forcing them to sit up. “What? What’s wrong? What happened?” 

“Hurts...” They cried. “It hurts...” 

He was suddenly worried his quick action wasn’t quite quick enough. A book must’ve hit them, or maybe they hurt themselves when they tumbled. “Where?” He curled a hand around their chin, checking their face before tugging at their sleeves to check their arms. “Where does it hurt?” 

Their fingers moved up to grasp at their throat, hands wrapping around them in such a way to show...

He takes both of MC’s wrists and pulls their arms down, lowering his head, some of his fingers moving up to weave themselves between MC’s. He doesn’t need anything else to go off of. He knows what they’re talking about. He had been one of the ones to check them over when it happened. Every grievous detail of every critical injury was seared into his mind. 

He should probably make sure they weren’t hurt aside from...that. 

So, he picked them up, pushing some of his books away with his foot, still doing so with great care. He settled them on his bed, making sure there were no hidden novels under the covers. He found the one that had been bothering him earlier and set it aside. 

The light of the moon coming through his window provided adequate light to check on them with. Besides, doing a sort of check-up like this might bring them back to reality. 

“Can you move your arms?” He made them move their limbs, wiggle their fingers, stretch their neck, flex their feet, just to ensure they felt no immediate pain. Phantom pains would be...harder to deal with. But it seemed the more they moved, the more they were forced to focus on something else, and in turn cry a little less. 

He pulled the fabric of his long-sleeve cat-print pajamas over his hand, moving to dry their cheeks. “There, there. Still in pain?” They shook their head, which let him sigh in relief. “Not even a papercut?” They shook their head again as he lowered his hand, pleased to see the tears had stopped. “That’s good...Do you want to stay here tonight?” He could only hope they wouldn’t shake their head a third time. 

“...Okay,” they agreed. 

Calm. He had to remind himself, keeping himself from basically throwing himself beside them under the covers. He tucked them in first, joining in after, making sure they didn’t bonk their head against his headboard as they got down, placing his hand on the side of their face. 

“I’ll tell you a story while you fall asleep. Maybe then you’ll finish the plot in your dreams. So, with that in mind, I’m going to be in the story, obviously, and a ton of little fluffy kittens.” He pulls the blanket further up their body as they turn on their side to face him. He rubs up and down their arm, being incredibly gentle as he does so, trying to massage out the tenseness in their muscles. “I’ll dream the same, so when you wake up, we can compare how they ended. This time, it’ll end the way you want it to. I know it.” 

Asmo

He’s an early to bed, early to rise kind of person. When he’s not partying that is. Tonight he had nothing planned but a full night of beauty sleep for a more beautiful Asmo. 

That was till someone barged through his door. And unfortunately, not in the way he’s always wanting. 

As he heard MC shout and sob, he immediately sat straight up, wishful fantasies flying out of his head all at once. No...this was definitely far from what he wanted. 

He flicked on a little side light, casting the room in a warm pink-hue, but he didn’t really care how the room looked. With the light on, he could see in more detail how frightened MC looked, how distraught they were. It broke his heart. 

“Oh, hon,” he gasped, getting to his knees in front of them, holding their head in his hands, trying to almost frantically bush away the tears as soon as they dripped from their eyes. “What is it? Who did this? If someone hurt you I--” 

“Am I alive?” Their watery and confused eyes stared at him, focusing and unfocusing, perhaps still in the process of fully waking up. They repeated their question again as their voice cracked, their hands coming up to grab the front of Asmo’s pajamas, hands shaking. “Am I alive?” 

He couldn’t help but cover his mouth, eyes stinging as it all settled in. He didn’t want to remember it. He didn’t want to think about how they looked when... “Oh, MC...honey...” He wrapped his arms around them, pulling them into him, nuzzling his head against theirs, trying not to cry, feeling the warmth of their body, the beating of their heart, the sound of their breath so close to his ear. That way, he could say with absolute certainty. “You’re alive...you’re here, with me, right as you should be, okay?” His perfectly pitched voice was suddenly squeaking in odd places as his throat suddenly seemed strained. He didn’t want to cry. He wouldn’t. They both couldn’t be a mess. 

“Come on, no more crying, you’ll end up feeling awful.” He coaxes them up, guiding them over to his bed where he helps them sit down. He gathers a few things around the room to make them feel better. 

He is the king of pampering after all. 

He uses a room spray to make the room smell like their favorite scent. He grabs the comfiest fluffy socks. He always has a spare water bottle on hand for hydration. But best of all, he brings over little circular gel packs that he keeps in a small makeup fridge to keep them cool. They’re even designed like little cucumber slices. 

“Here you are, dear.” He does all the work making them comfortable, making them drink and then helping them lean back so he can place the cold packs over their eyes. “This will help with the swelling and puffiness...and probably the pounding headache behind those eyes.” 

He sits beside them on the bed, his hand over theirs, rubbing his thumb back and forth against their wrist. “Just breathe...it’s alright, your beautiful Asmo is here.” He was hoping saying that would make them smile or chuckle. He’d even take a groan or some reaction, but they just remained quiet. He...doesn’t blame them. 

After a few minutes, MC takes the packs from off their face, setting them aside. It did seem to help luckily, they didn’t seem as red as before. He can smile at that, although weakly, leaning forward a little to swipe away an eyelash that had come loose and fallen on MC’s face. He makes sure their cheeks are dry while he’s at it, rubbing the back of his hand up and down their face in soothing motions. 

“I think you should stay here tonight,” he states. “If you don’t want to sleep, we can have a little slumber party! But even I think you should get some more rest. I think you look absolutely exhausted.” He speaks in a soft and worried tone, not ashamed to still be petting their head, hoping it’s as comforting to them as it is for him. “What’ll it be?” 

“I’m tired...” They agree, but say so hesitantly, afraid of running into more nightmares. 

“Then bedtime it is!” He puts away any stray objects, turning off the light before joining Asmo in bed. He lays beside them, his finger tracing the outline of MC’s face over and over again, in such a slow hypnotic way that it makes their eyelids droop. “I won’t stand for unbeautiful things in my room, which means nightmares are absolutely not allowed. Just look at me while you fall asleep, and I know for certain your dreams will be just as beautiful as I am. I know my dreams will be amazing tonight too...because I’ll be looking at you.” 

Beel

Beel’s connection with his twin helps him sleep deeply at night, only waking when he’s hungry, and most times not even then. He’ll just eat in his sleep. However, tonight, it seemed Belphie was more active than usual, probably out star-gazing by himself. So, it was keeping Beel more awake than normal, only sleeping lightly, tossing and turning as he tried to not think about how hungry he was. 

Then the door slammed open. 

It’s not usually a sound he associates with Belphie, so his eyes opened, catching MC at just the right moment when they fell to the ground. 

His feet touched the floor before they could even scream. 

In fact, their ‘help me’ cry was muffled as he pulled them into his arms, careful not to crush them or squeeze too hard. It was difficult to control, but he was capable. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt them. 

“Why are you sad? Why are you crying?” His heart seems to break with each racking sob. He glanced over to his twin’s bed only to confirm that Belphie was in fact gone. He would have to comfort them alone...

They grip at his sleeves, seeming to grow ever smaller as they shrink into him. They struggle with speaking, almost hyperventilating, but finally able to speak the words he’d never want to hear again. “He killed me...” 

........

........

Oh...

He doesn’t always pick up on things quite like the others do, but this...he didn’t need to ask. That was about as straightforward as you could get...

He usually runs warm, but all the sudden his blood ran cold, goosebumps rushing over his skin, his stomach dropping. 

He felt sick. 

Even now, he still did his best to convince himself it never happened, that it was all a bad dream. But it wasn’t...he knew that. So in reality, it remained one of the worst days of his long life. How...how are you supposed to feel when...when your twin...when your family...

A pained groan rumbles in his throat, sounding almost like a whimper. It hurts. Their pain hurts him like it’s his own. That usually only happens with Belphie, but this time, it’s with MC. It’s awful...

He tilts their head back carefully, frowning deeply as he uses his thumbs to clear the tears from their face. His bottom lip almost quivers as theirs does, resting his head on theirs for a moment. He doesn’t think they want food to cheer them up...so he’ll have to do what he’s used to doing next. 

He picks them up, cradling them against his chest, taking them over to his bed. He only needs to keep one arm under them to hold them while he uses the other one to give his sheets and blankets a firm shake, removing any lingering crumbs. He then uses one of those blankets to wrap MC in like a little burrito. He won’t eat them, promise. He’s pretty nauseous right now anyway, something people only thought happened when Solomon’s food was involved. 

He settles them into his bed and lays himself next to them, placing himself lower than they were so his head was near their chest. He wanted to hear their heartbeat...every beat, every second, every breath was precious to him. 

“I think you’re so strong,” he says, wrapping one arm over them. “Stronger than me. You do so much for us all. You’ve been through so much because of us...” After listening to their heartbeat for a while, he pushes himself back up on the bed so he can tuck them against his chest this time. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry, MC...” 

He can’t help but feel like this is his fault as well. He should’ve known what was going on. How did he not know Belphie was in the House this whole time? His twin always gets too cranky if he’s by himself for too long, even if he’ll never say it. He could’ve done more...been stronger, been smarter.

Maybe not...he knows MC wouldn’t want him to think such things. He knows Lilith wouldn’t want that either. 

MC already seemed a little more at peace, not fully calm, but not crying anymore. That makes him feel a little better. “I’ll become even stronger so I can carry all the heavy things for you. I’ll stop whatever is hurting you too. Let me have it all so you can sleep good, okay?” He plants a kiss atop their head and runs his hand through their hair, sorta like Belphie likes. “Just think of pudding or cake or ice cream, that way you can have sweet dreams.” 

Belphie 

It’s hard to wake him up most of the time. He sleeps like the dead. So, when MC entered the twin’s room, he hardly stirred. If anything, he assumed Beel was the one making the noise. 

To be fair, he was dreaming himself. It was a pleasant one, one that he didn’t want to wake up from. He, Beel, and MC were enjoying a picnic under the stars. They looked so at peace, looking up at the constellations as he told them all about the stories. Then a leaf from a tree fluttered onto the human's shoulder. He reached a hand out to brush it away...and then...

“Help me!” MC’s cry rang through, even in his dream, forcing it to change in an instant. Turning it into a nightmare. His hands were around their throat. His fingers were squeezing them, hurting them. But he could not let go. Did he want to let go? Of course he does! He’s hurting MC! But that’s what he wanted. That’s what he planned. He didn’t know what he wanted! He was hurt! He was angry! He was desperate! Would he have cared if they weren’t connected to Lilith? That’s the only reason why he stopped. 

In the nightmare, he’s standing over their body, watching the human suffer. Watching his brothers suffer. Even Beel. Had he enjoyed his own twin’s sadness? All he could do was stand there and watch as each of his brothers turned to him with eyes filled with betrayal. It’s not fair! He was the one betrayed! But he was doing this for them! For everyone! Humans brought nothing but pain and suffering. 

“Don’t lie to yourself.” His demon form stood in front of him, like a twisted, bloody reflection. “This was never about humans in the first place. Something precious was taken from you. So in return, you wanted to take something precious from everyone else. Make them feel your pain. Make them suffer like you had suffered. Because that’s all you can do. Because you’re a demon. A monster.” The image changed to that of MC’s now, able to look at him with nothing but fear. “A murderer.” 

With that, he awoke in a cold sweat, trying to give his fuzzy mind the time to recall that it was just a dream. Only...he could still hear MC crying. Was he awake, or not?... He sat up, looking over at Beel’s bed. Empty. His twin was probably in the kitchen getting a late-night snack. So then the sound... With a glance, he could spot the very end of their head on the floor, right by the end of...his bed. 

The whispers of dreams and memories repeated in his head. Somehow, he knew. He knew they were crying because of him. He knew what plagued their mind at night. 

Why should he help them? Why should he comfort them? That would be too selfish of him. He should just lie back down, pretend like he wasn’t awake, and have Beel help them when he came back. 

So that’s what he tried to do, pressing his pillow over his ears to block the noise...to try to keep himself from crying with them.  

But then...he realized he was doing exactly what his brothers were doing. Ignoring things. Pretending like they didn’t exist. Sweeping problems under the rug...or locking them in the attic. That’s one of the reasons why he got so angry in the first place. 

So, he quietly got out of bed, dragging his pillow and a blanket with him. He stepped over to where they were curled on the floor, and sat beside them. He lifted their head and put his favorite pillow under them, throwing the blanket over their body. He pulled his knees up to his chest and started running his fingers through their hair, like he so often requested they do for him.

He won’t say sorry. Sorrys are saved for things like sleeping in and missing plans or eating someone’s snacks they’d saved for later. Sorry wasn’t good enough for this. Perhaps nothing would be. 

Eventually, MC’s crying dies down, far too exhausted to continue. “B-Belphie?” Their throat sounded scratchy. 

“Don’t say anything,” he demanded, both because it sounded painful and because he couldn’t stand to hear his name like that. He flopped over on the ground, turning so they were facing away from each other, the back of his head against theirs. “Try to get some more sleep.” 

“I...don’t think I want to...” They paused, sniffling and trying to get their breathing back to normal. “I’m sorry for...waking you up.” 

Hearing them apologize almost broke him. “Don’t be...I was having a nightmare too.” They both go quiet, and for a moment, he believes they’d fallen asleep. He did have a question, one he wanted to ask even if it never got answered. “Why did you come in here...where I was?” 

Silence. He closes his eyes, simply content with the way things were, but then he heard them move turning on their other side to look at him. “I...don’t really know. Maybe, I just needed to be with the real Belphie…Leave the other one to the nightmares...” He didn’t dare look at them, but he felt them push the blanket over his body as well so they could share in the warmth together. He could feel them bury their face in his back. They were cold. “I prefer this one.” 

He doesn’t understand...but...trying to understand was hard work. Not to be solved all in one night of guilt. Right now...MC needed him. He needed them too. “Are you comfortable on the floor?” 

“...Not really.” 

“Then get in my bed, silly.” He stood up, not giving them much of a choice, dragging them to his bed where they would be warm, tucking the covers around them. He sat beside them and waited...thinking. “I want to go on a picnic with you and Beel. Let’s go tomorrow.” 

“A picnic sounds nice...but we have class tomorrow.” 

“I don’t care. We’ll ditch classes. We’ll pack up the best food and the softest blankets and have Beel carry us to where we can easily see the stars.” He finally lies back down beside them. “That’s my dream. I want to make it come true. I don’t...” Again, this is selfish of him...but he’s the baby of the family, and a demon, so he can’t help it, right? “So you have to come with. I don’t want any of my dreams to happen without you...Think all about it tonight, so you can have something to look forward to tomorrow. So you can have good dreams tonight.” 

[cilil]

AN: Putting in an extra hour or two to get out my first contribution for @angbangweek today :D

⚡︎ Prompt(s): Injuries & haste ⚡︎ Synopsis: Mairon finds that Melkor has become just a little more mortal. ⚡︎ Warnings: Biting, scratching, some blood ⚡︎ Short oneshot (~600 words) | AO3

It had been a mere accident, a crime of passion so to speak. Between bruising kisses, teeth nipping at soft flesh and clawed fingers digging into exposed skin Mairon had no idea what had caused it, but even so he was alerted by Melkor flinching away ever so slightly, followed by the sharp stench of blood. 

"Precious? Are you alright?" 

It was an unnecessary question, for he could already see it. There was a wound on Melkor's cheek, like an angry red line that stood out against the cold, grey hue of his skin, and tiny droplets of blood oozed from it, slowly but steadily. 

"Am I... wounded?" Melkor asked, sounding just as confused. 

"You are." Mairon's mien shifted from desire to worry and his voice softened. "But I don't know how... well, I must have done it somehow, but why..." 

He trailed off. They both knew the unspoken truth that lingered between them — that Mairon shouldn't be able to wound Melkor. No one should be able to draw the blood of the mightiest of the Valar; and yet it had happened. 

Melkor lifted his hand to his cheek and gently touched the wound, then looked at his bloodied fingers in bewilderment. 

"I am bleeding," he confirmed, though more to himself. 

Mairon wondered if he had even seen his own blood before, considering how mighty and impervious to all harm he normally was. 

Gingerly, he moved Melkor's hand aside and snuggled up to him, leaning forward to lick the wound. It was the best he could do, having neither been instructed in the ways of healing nor access to any supplies, and he hoped that the fiery heat of his tongue would clean and soothe it. 

Any discomfort Melkor might have felt dissipated swiftly, and he allowed his lover to continue. Despite everything, Mairon felt a rush of joy and elation; the Vala was not in the habit of admitting when he needed help nor accepting it, and it was a sign of trust that he was allowed to take care of his wound. 

Even as he fell into a steady, calming rhythm, his mouth was filled with a metallic taste. Mairon had smelled and tasted blood before, mostly when he went out hunting, but the blood coursing through Melkor's veins had felt ever out of reach.

Not anymore. Now he could have it too. He could make even the mightiest of the Valar bleed, be it through his own strength or a moment of weakness on Melkor's part, and a rush of power went through him. 

Mairon stopped licking the wound and withdrew slightly. The bleeding had stopped, only a thin red line remaining. It would be healed very soon, perhaps within hours if the Vala's power allowed it. He looked at Melkor's face, his throat, his chest. All of his vulnerable areas were laid bare to him, and now the illusion of imperviousness and invincibility was gone. 

He wondered where else he might bleed. 

Melkor regarded him in silence, as if he was waiting for him to say something. Mairon met his eyes, then suddenly lunged forward to sink his teeth into the side of his neck, right where it met his shoulder above his clavicle. There was a grunt of pain, muscles tensing underneath and then warm, fresh blood filled his mouth. 

He was elated. Melkor was standing still, letting him do this, not even attempting to push him off; but most importantly, he was bleeding for him. By Mairon's hand, a god had become just a little more mortal, and he loved it. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

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