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nereidprinc3ss · 1 month

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please don't say you love me

in which fwb!spencer reid and fem!reader get into an argument about the nature of their relationship.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: friends with benefits arrangement, it goes bad, reader is so clearly anxious avoidant, reader is so me-coded, self-loathing, difficulties with emotional intimacy, arguing, derek and penelope make an appearance woo, a little dramatic, no happy ending (a nereidprinc3ss first!) a/n: it happened guys I stopped writing for a few days and last night randomly was inspired to finish this fwb piece and it essentially turned into a vent and went a completely different direction than i thought it would but here we are!!! i hope you enjoy, I loved writing, ilysm

“Are you reading it? Did you get to the part yet?” You ask, buzzing as you peer around Spencer’s arm to see where he’s at in the book you’d handed him. Sometimes you think it takes him longer to flip the pages than to read them.

He doesn’t answer, but you see the flickering quirk of his lip like something is amusing him. It’s been a few minutes and he’s maybe halfway through. He has to have seen it by now.

You’re clinging to his arm, eyes darting pointlessly between the text and his face, searching for a reaction. It comes in the form of a furrowed brow, a disbelieving smile, and something between a barking laugh and an exclamation of, “what?”

“You read it?”

His eyes narrow and he flips back a page, taking a bit longer to reevaluate.

“Our moans and grunts drowned out the screams of the dead and dying only a few hundred feet away.”

You giggle furiously, clapping a hand to your mouth when you snort, and you feel Spencer’s focus shifting to you, even with your eyes screwed shut.

“And you read this whole series?”

At that you sober up some, still hiding the bottom half of your face and brows drawn sorrowfully as mirthful tears well. You’re slow to admit your guilt with a nod, and his expression is somewhere between horror and fascination.

Your cheeks heat and you cover your face, laughing again and shaking your head shamefully as he ridicules you.

“Why? Why would you do that to yourself? I don’t even know if I can be seen in public with you, that’s—” he’s haphazardly tossed the book back on its display table and grabbed your wrists, pulling gently and laughing too. “No, show me your face. This is—you need to explain yourself. This is unforgivable.”

“No! I swear it was a morbid curiosity, I didn’t like it, I’m sorry! I—”

“Reid?”

You both freeze.

It’s not the most dignified position, admittedly—hidden among the shelves in a bookstore, pressed too close to be friendly, his hands around your wrists.

So you don’t mind when he drops them like hot potatoes and gives you a few inches of breathing room.

“Hey! Uh—you’re—”

Spencer is looking between you and two other people at the end of the aisle—a quirky bespectacled blonde in a flouncy polka-dot dress and her taller companion, ripped and head shaved, sporting some impressive eyebrows. Right now they’re conspicuously raised—his eyes are also pinballing between you and Spencer.

For a moment, everyone is just sort of… looking at each other.

It’s a little bit… awful?

Finally Spencer clears his throat.

“Um, what are you guys doing here? Just… looking at books?”

Something is off, and you feel like shrinking or running, but you just stay glued to your spot.

In sync, they hold up copies of the same book—and it takes you not a second to place the author’s name, in imposing red font at the bottom like it’s important. Rossi.

The pieces click into place. These must be Spencer’s co-workers—Penelope and Derek, if his descriptions of the team have served you well. Part of you is starstruck. Part of you is embarrassed. They’re clearly shocked to see Spencer with a girl in the wild, so you know he hasn’t told them about you—and why should he, you think, why should he tell his friends about the girl he’s been sleeping with for months now?

Finally, the blonder half of the duo speaks.

“You’re—this is a girl. That’s. Who is that? Hi! Who are you?”

She’s literally pointing at you, eyes drifting between you and Spencer like it just doesn’t make any sense. Derek gives her a look and gently pushes her hand down.

“Hey. That’s enough.” Then he offers you a polite smile, though you sense a bit strained, and his eyes too keep wandering back to the man next to you. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no! You’re not… interrupting…” Spencer trails off and you sense he’s looking at you and gauging a reaction but you’re just smiling idly at his friends and waiting for this to be over. He finally thinks to introduce you by name, and you offer a shy wave and a smile to your new acquaintances.

Penelope points (that damn finger again) but this time it’s less accusatory, and stays below chin level.

“Cool shirt. I love that band,” she offers genially. Your brows raise and you look down, trying to remember what shirt you’d tossed on before leaving Spencer’s apartment an hour ago.

“Oh! Thanks,” you smile, and you’re relieved to mean it this time.

Another frosty silence begins to descend, but Derek doesn’t let it settle so much this time, to everyone’s satisfaction.

“Alright, well. It was nice to meet you. Enjoy your date.”

There’s too much weight on the last sentence, and Derek gives Spencer a eyebrows-raised-meaningfully look you don’t understand. You’re just glad Spencer keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t immediately insist that it’s not a date, because it’s not, and that’s fine, but the vehement denial would bum you out.

The pair walk away in the kind of clenched silence that means they’ll start fervently whispering as soon as they are out of ear shot. You watch their retreating figures and chew your lip, sensing that the carefree and playful energy of five minutes ago will have evaporated by the time you turn back to face your companion.

“Strange,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, and you’re slightly jarred when Spencer replies from beside you.

“Which part?”

All of it.

Turning to face him, you smile, and it doesn’t reach your eyes but it doesn’t need to.

“Oh—nothing, sorry.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, only stares at a point somewhere above your head and narrows his eyes like he’s thinking unpleasant thoughts.

“Was I an asshole, to you, just now?”

It’s unexpected. You don’t have an answer prepared, so you say something that feels like a lie because you can’t prove that it’s not the truth.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I just… I don’t know. I get weird around them, sometimes. I don’t always know what to say, like, when my personal life and my work life intersect, because for a long time I didn’t really have a personal life. And I think they still think I don’t know how to talk to girls, so…”

“You don’t know how to talk to girls,” you remind him. “Let’s go look at the puzzles.”

Maybe you spend too much time with Spencer Reid. Maybe that’s the problem—too long in his presence and he’s eating away at your neural tissue like you’ve got cysticercosis and he’s the T. solium (a terrible thing he had explained to you a few weeks ago.)

Maybe you need a break from him, to stop breathing his air and sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothing, because you’re forgetting that he’s not the entire world and that is a very bad thing to forget in a situation like yours. The entire world cannot be the size of his apartment.

But you also just like him so much. As a friend, of course. That goes without saying. You like his strange sense of humor, and the way he lights up when you ask him an obscure question. You like your legs across his lap while you watch his old shows. You also like being kissed by him, and hugged by him. You like being taken care of like no one has ever taken care of you, and you like the way he always touches you, soft and kind and so on purpose.

You never meant to like him so much.

This affection—it has grown, insidious and parasitic, and now that it’s been pointed out to you like a lump in your side, it’s impossible to ignore.

What you and Spencer have works precisely because you’ve kept things platonic and casual. That way, there’s no worrying about emotional baggage or arguing about feelings because there are none to be found and no precedent that any such things should or need to occur. You can’t hurt each other’s feelings if your feelings aren’t on the table.

So why can’t you stop thinking about earlier?

Why can’t you help caring that he’s been keeping you a secret from the people he loves most?

“So, essentially the book is his first deep dive into meta-fiction. It was pretty revolutionary at the time, and while not his most celebrated novel, I’d argue it was his most relevant and culturally pervasive. I’d actually love to hear your interpretation of the story—it’s truly different for everyone. It’s a little like… like a literary Rorschach test. Do you wanna borrow it?”

You’re a tangle on his bed—arms, legs, sheets—it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins. All you’re sure of is his hand, tracing his fingers in chaste lines, feather-light up and down your inner thigh in the way he knows you like. Usually it’s so soothing you melt and fall asleep within minutes. Right now it’s only stoking some sparking electrical fire in your chest—the buzzes and bursts from which have you on edge. Ready to cave in at any second. You wish you could relax. You’ve been trying.

Spencer is in no hurry for you to respond, and so doesn’t seem to mind when it takes you a long while to find your answer.

“I think I need to go home.”

It comes out too scratchy, as you haven’t really spoken for several hours. Not as casual as you were going for. He angles his head down toward you and his hand stops and you realize it’s actually worse like that.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything is fine, I just… I wanna sleep in my own bed tonight, I think.”

It’s late and you shouldn’t be making him drive you across town, but he’s always amenable to what you want. This is the longest you’ve ever stayed at his place, after all—a rare long weekend—and before that a few weeks had passed with no cases to speak of, during which time you’ve been staying with him more and more. Spencer seems to be completely content letting you eat his food and use his shower if it means you don’t leave.

“I know the feeling well,” he admits, and your heart twinges with the care he takes to not bump or bend you or pull your hair as he shifts. He’s already been out of bed, and so is more dressed than you. Really, most people on the planet are more dressed than you, and you pull his nice sheet higher up your chest as he sits on the edge of the mattress, looking down at you and with a sort of worry in his eyes. He finds your knee through the fabric. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Stop paying such close attention, you want to tell him. And in the same breath, please don’t ever look away.

“I’m… good.”

It is easily the least convincing performance of your life. Either you’re self sabotaging or you want him to push you further, and you don’t know which is worse.

When his brow ramps just the slightest bit, you know you’ve fumbled it.

“I don’t believe you.”

You shrug. “I don’t need you to.” And then you sit up, still holding the sheet to your chest. “Can you hand me a shirt?”

Enough clothing has accumulated around the room recently that he could pretty much reach out in any direction and find something for you to wear. He grabs a sweatshirt hanging from the bedpost and holds it out for you, and you pull it over your head, before dropping your feet onto the cool wooden floor and grabbing the first bottoms you see—a pair of floral pajama shorts. How have so many of your clothes ended up at his apartment?

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

You scoop your bag up from a chair and flit around the room, haphazardly stuffing away discarded clothing to take back home. It’s true that it’ll be nice to get back to your stuff—your shower products and your closet and your silk pillow cases. You shouldn’t be spending so much time here. It’s not your space and you’ve been sacrificing your own needs to be closer to him, which is something you’d rather not do for any man.

“You can drive me home. I’ll send you gas money.”

“You don’t need to send me gas money,” he says, tacking your name on to the end of the sentence in a way that raises your hackles instantly.

“Yeah, I do. You drive me around constantly. I’ll pay you back and start taking the metro, or something.”

“I don’t want your money,” he scoffs.

“Fine. Then I’ll call a car.”

“That’s unnecessary. I’m happy to drive you.”

“Why?”

Silence hangs. Spencer has by this point stood up, and he’s watching you with a furrowed brow and slightly parted lips like he doesn’t understand where this animosity has come from. Honestly, you’re not entirely sure either. You didn’t realize you were harboring so much of it.

“Am I supposed to see you as an inconvenience?”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“No. You’re not. We have a relationship and I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but you sure as hell were thinking it.

It feels good to say, like stretching a sore muscle beyond its limits or pressing into a bruise until you get past the ache. Sometimes when things hurt, it’s best to feel the pain and move on.

He looks absolutely perplexed, the lines between his brows only ditching deeper.

“Is that what this is about?”

“Oh my god, Spencer, no, I don’t care—”

“Because earlier at the bookstore I asked you if I was being an asshole and—”

“I do not give a fuck about earlier at the fucking bookstore!”

It’s too late to be yelling, but he doesn’t scold you. He just sort of looks at you, like you’re something mildly unpleasant. It makes you feel worse.

A long moment goes by.

“Fine. I’ll take you home.”

You let him brush past you, nothing more than a breeze on your shoulders as he disappears from the darkened bedroom. For a moment, you can’t follow him. All you can do is stand there and try to contain that sour, stinging, crying feeling in your eyes and nose because there’s no reason for you to be crying right now.

From the living room, he calls, rather abrasively, “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” you huff, and it is as wavering as it is insolent, so obviously the only word holding back a full-fledged deluge of tears.

One minute. One minute to sniffle and take deep breaths and wipe abashedly under your eyes because you refuse to be dramatic about this. Refuse to get over-emotional. You will not let it matter this much to you.

When you decide you can show your face without making a scene, you march out of his bedroom and straight past where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, keys in hand, to the front door.

He doesn’t move. You burn smoking holes into the dark wood of the door with your eyes, and the two of you are apparently at an impasse.

“I’m ready,” you eventually snap, always the impatient one between the two of you, casting a sharp glance over your shoulder.

“I’m not.”

“You said you would—”

“I know what I said,” Spencer cuts you off and shuts you up, “and I changed my mind. I’d prefer to talk about it before I take you home.”

By the time he finishes the sentence you’re already wrestling your phone from the depths of your bag in search of a ride sharing app.

“Okay, well I’m done talking because I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, so—”

“No, you’re done talking because this is what you do. You can never admit it when you want something because that would mean acknowledging that you’re a human being with emotions, and that’s too scary for you.”

Surely you misheard him. You turn around, a deep frown contorting your features.

“Excuse me?”

He only looks at you in that expectant, knowing way of his.

“It’s too scary so you run away. You’d rather burn your relationships to the ground and rebuild them with a new person every time than actually let someone in.”

“You don’t know me!” You yell.

“Do you actually think that’s true?” Spencer says, pushing off his perch against the counter, voice shrilling and raised slightly as he gets visibly agitated. “You think I’ve spent hours upon hours with you and I don’t know you at all?”

“You have no idea what I’m like in a relationship because this isn’t one. You have no fucking idea what I want, so do not presume to,” you seethe.

“You want a relationship. You wanted my friends to know you and you didn’t tell me that because you’re fucking terrified of the fact that I do know you. You can’t stand the idea that regardless of how many times you tell yourself it’s just sex, you have been vulnerable with me, and you’ve told me things you’ve never told anyone before, like why your last three relationships really ended, and how you constantly self-sabotage when you’re on the verge of getting what you want because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up!”

“No. I’m not just going to let you walk away from me like you did everyone else who could’ve ever cared about you because I know once you walk out that door you’ll stop responding to my calls and texts and I’ll never see you again, which is a juvenile pattern and completely unsustainable if you don’t want to keep pushing people away for the rest of your life!”

“God, Spencer, stop!” You sob, staggering back like you’ve been stabbed.

The urgency, the raw, desperate scratch of your voice, stops him in his tracks.

Every place an arrow penetrated a chink in your armor aches, and it hurts so much worse because he knew exactly where they were. You don’t know when or how it happened, but he’s right. Despite your most valiant efforts, Spencer Reid knows you. Somehow he crept in and grew over every limb like ivy. It’s crawled over your feet and up your legs and it’s keeping you there, rooted in place in his apartment, sobbing silently into the crook of your arm because you feel utterly paralyzed with fear.

Just as he’d said.

It’s silent for a long stretch of time, unquantifiable the same way the distance between the beach and the horizon is unquantifiable. It’s sprawling and infinite and desolate. The only relief from the drowning quiet is the occasional gulp of air or gasp from you which furthers your humiliation.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer finally whispers, soft and unsure like rays of weak sunlight over staggered tides, in the grey morning after a raging storm. It’s an attempt. It’s earnest and afraid.

The energy radiating off of him is so tangible that you can sense his desire to come near. To hold you. But that would be your worst nightmare come to fruition. This—this warbling and crying in front of him in silence in his dark apartment is god-awful enough. But to be comforted? For him to bear witness up close and personal to your humility and your ugly, jagged pieces—that inspires true catatonia. That is everything he said you were afraid of, and he was right.

You resent your human nature, and the fact that you care how his friends look at you and that it stung when they did so with little more than apathy. You hate that you care that he hasn’t told them about you. You hate that you feel so unimportant—because more than anything, you want to be fine with being unimportant.

You want to be fine. Constantly.

You hate that you feel. You hate that you care.

But you always have. And so fucking deeply.

Somehow, Spencer Reid is the only one who has ever noticed.

Eventually, his self-restraint snaps and he surges forward at the same time as you take a shuddering inhale and step back.

“Please don’t touch me,” you whisper. Afraid that if he did, his fingers would only sink into your flesh like decaying fruit. That you would disintegrate in his hands, and he’d finally see you’d been rotten the whole time.

He speaks softly, holding his hands up to show you he’s not a threat.

“Okay. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“I need to go home.”

“I’ll—”

“No. I don’t want a ride. I’ll get a car.” You speak quietly. Efficiently. There’s no point in pretending this doesn’t feel catastrophic anymore.

His brows furrow. Like a moth to flame, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he draws nearer again.

“I’m not comfortable with you on the street at this hour.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” you insist, pleading, a wounded animal, because he doesn’t seem to understand how every casual notion of kindness is a violence, how he’s ripping into you and making it so you’ll never be able to put yourself back together. He can’t be kind like you’re easy to be kind to.

If you’re easy to be kind to, you are just as easy to hurt. Accepting that kindness is a sort of vulnerability you feel you can’t afford right now.

Another moment of silence, of stillness, as if you’re both bolted to the ground where you stand.

When he speaks it’s a blow to the chest because you’ve made him cry too.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, quietly, and a venomous self-hatred drips down your throat. Because you’re doing it again.

Maybe this is all you will ever be.

You fail to stifle a sob and Spencer steps closer still, saying your name desperately and so quietly like it’s his last rite.

And you try. You try harder than you ever have to stay in one place, to get a hold of your vibrating and to swallow all those slithery feelings and ignore every alarm telling you to panic when he reaches out to touch your arm because it’s never safe to let people in. But when his hand finally brushes you, it’s like a cow prod. You jolt backward.

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” you whisper all in one harrowed breath, and there’s so much you’d like to say—you’re right, about everything, you do know me, you know what I want, I tried, I’m ashamed—but none of it matters. None of it is enough. He’s backed you into a corner of your own making, and the only way out is by pushing him aside even if it hurts you both.

So you don’t say anything else. You leave him there, in the dark of his own apartment, and you disappear down the hall.

Maybe this is all you will ever be.

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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yzzart · 10 months

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"𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐨��𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞."

pairing: peacekeeper!Coriolanus x reader.

word count: 2.411!

summary: you would never think you would be brought to a filthy place by Coriolanus.

warnings: +18!, p in v, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, biting, mention of blood, possessiveness, pet names, dirty talk, explicit words, explicit content.

Lucy Gray's enthusiastic voice, used to captivating and enchanting the attention of anyone in the surroundings, was completely muffled and a little inaudible, but impossible to be silenced; the lyrics, which told stories she lived and told, remained understandable. — They were always understandable and manifested.

So, like the citizens, workers and survivors of District 12 who were present in the environment and sang, danced and got in sync with the girl. — Some were drinking, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere, without worrying about their lives and listening to singing.

Perhaps, you would be included at some table, drinking, or not, trying to put something reasonable in your unbearable mind or letting your pride, your envy for, respectively, the winner of district 12 and sing along with her. — And then forget what happened the next day.

Well, that is if Coriolanus hadn't dragged your hand and taken you to an empty, dirty and, terribly, poorly lit corridor with such an inappropriate and filthy intention. — Dirtier than that environment.

"Look at you." — His voice mixed in the song and against its pure poison, the one you were used to delighting in, and a false softness; pretending to care about your sly whining. — "Such a dirty girl, huh?" — A question you wouldn't dare answer, you wouldn't give him that taste.

You knew, he knew, that he was right. — Coriolanus was never wrong; not even when he wanted to be. — The delightful situation you allowed yourself to commit to was indecent, unworthy; risking all the good and distinguished manners he learned at home in the Capital. — And something that, clearly, your parents would be disappointed in their naive daughter.

Coriolanus held and pressed your delicate, vulnerable body on his lap, pinning your back to the old-fashioned, rusty, unfamiliar wall and imposing your legs around his waist. — With the peculiar fact that his cock is buried and so concentrated in your pussy; warming and enveloping him insanely. — The feeling of his clothing fabric caused distress and burned your skin a little, it didn't bother you at all. — His hands grabbed your thighs with determination, forcing, in the future, marks from his fingers in the region.

The young and current peacekeeper was marking every part of your body; even those spots that were not visible and so hidden with clothes.

But who are you kidding when it's a guy you sacrificed your exquisite life for? Even with him severely violating the rules imposed in the game and knowing the risks involved, what would he, in fact, lose in his life. — A proof of love like this was not seen or witnessed in times like these. — And you did it for Coriolanus.

Your conscience was against the fallacies uttered from the melancholic and questioning lips of your parents, who did not assimilate the reason for your decision and request to be transported to where Coriolanus was destined. — They denied it, at first, but they agreed in distress and begged for you to be okay; and even bribing some captain to pay attention and protection to you. — Honestly, you didn't need a miserable captain because you knew who you could count on and who could protect you.

These were the words of Coriolanus, upon learning the story, your first report and confession upon meeting him. — God, you remember every word.

"Did a bird bite your tongue out, my dear?" — He gasped against your sweaty and nibbled neck, and that, for sure, in the next few hours marks would appear on your sensitive area and you didn't know how you were going to hide them. — "Tell me, hm?" — Coriolanus, not satisfied with the previous and present marks, left a long and intense suck and lick on the marked spot.

"Coryo…" — You moaned in a drawn out, almost silent way, running one of your hands through his rough, cut hair; you missed your beautiful and soft curls, that change was terrible and so painful for your eyes. — "Can anyone…" — Taking a deep breath, you tried to find words. — "…appear here."

And you were right, at least there was a reasonable streak of awareness in your mind. — Coriolanus didn't matter, he didn't care, and he wouldn't listen to his words; This was, incredibly, unbearable.

It was a corridor that led to some rooms and, probably, small and mediocre rooms that held drinks and small, ordinary portions of food; therefore, someone could pass by there. — A drunk, a person looking for a calmer environment, a peacemaker or even sweet Lucy Gray looking for you. — Anyone could conceptualize that moment.

"Oh, but it would be quite a spectacle, wouldn't it?" — Coriolanus deepened, even more, his body against your; causing a more sudden and surprising contact of his cock against your pussy. — You two moaned together. — "And deep down in that silly little head of yours, you'd love it." — He took a deep breath, licking the bite he left on his neck. — "I know that, my dear."

Coriolanus deeply hated the attempt to be deceived; the dishonest and undignified way people believe they could lie to him or at least hide what is truly going on in their skin. — He committed such an act, it became too ironic for his tongue. — Snow felt disgusted.

However, he found your attempt to pretend to believe in a certain concern funny; he was delightful, exciting.

Coriolanus's reddened lips, mixed with the taste of your sweat, distributed wet and quick kisses to your lips, which were nibbled and had some rather discreet marks of blood; if he weren't so busy, your lover would scold you for hurting your bold and beautiful mouth. — Before deepening a contact between your lips, Coriolanus curved a sharp smile, as evil as his true thoughts, and releasing a brief laugh that vibrated his chest.

Coriolanus had you in the palm of his hand.

Wasting no time, Coriolanus joined your lips against his, crushing and sucking them; forming such an obscene and inappropriate kiss accompanied by wet noises and whimpers. — Coriolanus's poisonous tongue moved, abruptly and rudely, through your mouth, as if he didn't know it, and fought for space, a domination that had no conditions to exist. — There were quick and anxious contacts between teeth, but nothing that could interrupt you.

Your hand remained in his coarse hair, while the other rested on his clothed shoulder. — You wanted, more than anything, to mark that arrogant man; and you wanted until the end to be able to leave at least a simple scratch.

When disconnecting his lips from yours, Coriolanus runs his teeth across your lower lip, biting and pulling, not exaggeratedly, at it. — Your mouth is shining, his too, from the mixing and distribution of saliva. — And the deep, vigorous, petulant blue eyes of Coriolanus looked at them with insatiable desire; as if he truly wanted to devour them. — As if a serpent saw its fragile and naive prey.

That man, for whom you would destroy your life for, was the very plumbing and aspect of one of the worst things that world could fear and observe. — And Coriolanus will do everything to ensure that your exquisite presence is at his side.

"When i'm done…" — Coriolanus cursed, shaking his head, moving his hips and returning to continuing the slow, silent thrusts. — "…when i'm fucking done with all this shit." — He tried to form a concrete sentence, finding words, but not using them in an appropriate and understandable way. — "I will make you the first lady of Panem."

Coriolanus groaned, so loud and noisy, and without any kind of shame; feeling your greedy and delicious pussy squeeze his cock with pleasure, even in a somewhat compromising position. — His voice sounded so vulnerable, a little miserable, and feeling corrupted by the spasms you attributed to him. — For the satisfaction you gave with this, in the future, title.

A title so promising, prestigious and respectable that it would quickly become his alone; fitting your name, as if it were created just for you. — Perfect.

"My first lady." — Another thrust, this time, deep and sudden; you felt, insanely, the veins and pulsations of Coriolanus's cock, you felt him completely. — "Just mine." — Your lover's possessiveness exclaimed in your ears, releasing whimpers and moans so needy and tremulous from your lips.

The noise of clothes clashing with little noise between the movements of Coriolanus's hips against your didn't bother either of your, just a mediocre desire to feel your flesh struggle against each other, freely. — Oh, but this wish can still be fulfilled during the late night or early morning. — Your body was so pressed, dominated by the young peacekeeper; your needy little hole was crushing against his dick.

You were accepting of him so well, you always did. — Coriolanus did not hold back or hide his groans and grunts, and your name was hummed from his lips like a snowflake at his introduction; even he couldn't contain himself and it was, ridiculously, contradictory. — He felt sensitive, completely, enchanted by you, even though he didn't believe in such beliefs.

"Coryo…" — Your lips were half-open, so red and irresistible, it seemed like they had the intention and objective of driving that young man crazy, calling out his name. — "My love…" — Your head was dizzy, a pure mess.

Normally, Snow felt a deep, burning and bitter disgust at hearing those last words coming from other people's lips; hard to disbelieve that it was worth listening to or being called that way. — So much affection, passion and destruction at the same time. — But, hearing and witnessing your genuine and admirable voice calling him that? In such an erotic, promiscuous and libertine tone. — Coriolanus mentally desired more; like always.

A trembling sensation, almost a contraction in your stomach accompanied by a somewhat bearable and pleasurable tingling began to form; and your lungs found it difficult to breathe, turning you into a panting mess. — And your eyes, completely, heavy and almost closing.

Coriolanus recognized this. — First than you.

"Coryo, i…" — You paused, trying to breathe. — "…i'm so close." — It was stupid to warn him, or guide him, about this because that damned young man knew it; and he knew your body better than you did.

Coriolanus didn't utter a word, and preferred to remain still trapped and focused on you, feeling you. — The blue eyes contemplated your image, which remained majestic even in such an impure situation; wanting to engrave it in his mind forever. — Soon, he sank your lips in a wet and captivating kiss against his, swallowing your loud moans; this time, Coriolanus kissed gently, a little gentle with a touch of fervor.

The peacekeeper pressed your body even more against the wall, squeezing your thighs tighter, as if he was looking for firmer support; Coriolanus was also close to cumming. — The thrusts became more sloppy and dedicated to releasing your orgasm and you moaned uncontrollably against the man's lips. — No one cared anymore about the fact that someone appeared in the region. — Your body burned, and it wasn't just from the unmistakable and unbearable heat.

Your walls spasmed through your body and pulsed against Coriolanus' cock, and the feeling of relief formed in your stomach; the feeling of liberation. — Your eyes closed, tightly and forcefully, along with a small crushed scream that was released through your lips; you reached your peak, cumming on Coriolanus's cock. — Giving yourself completely to him; reveling in your pleasure and passion for Snow.

You would be the death of him, and at risk, Coriolanus would never admit it out loud, never could confess; but, he was sure that you were the point of his weakness, of his instability. — Coriolanus would risk arresting, preserving you so that nothing wrong could happen to you and, above all, to him. — And when he admires your pleasure dripping down his mediocre pants, that the only thing that came out of your mouth was his name, Coriolanus feels his blood heat, somewhat ironically.

He feels like he's in a place he's never been, never had the opportunity to be; if it was paradise, then you were his. — The only one that mattered. — Coriolanus' mind begins to weaken and weigh down, feeling increasingly tired; wanting to bury himself deeper into your pussy.

Feeling your fingers on the back of his neck, you lightly run your nails over the area covered in sweat and hot, bringing a shiver to the young man's body. — Your still dazed and confused eyes watched Coriolanus swallow hard, so tense and almost collapsing. — Soon, falling apart inside you.

Your walls were filled with Coriolanus' warm seeds, such a pleasant sensation, feeling so full and yet so safe in his arms. — Making you actually forget where you were. — And you choke when you feel another movement of Coriolanus's hips, he was pushing his cum into you even more.

The young peacekeeper still felt tense, basking in you, and not wanting to leave the position he was in; still, completely, grabbed and pressed against your body. — Feeling the spasms of your body that gave him.

"Your first lady?" — You whispered, a little breathless but regaining normality in your breathing, still so tired as you ran a hand over Coriolanus's red and bright face. — He grunted, sucking his teeth and swallowing once again.

"My first lady." — He confirmed, determined, with his deep and still rough voice, trying to compose himself and pretend a completely non-existent naturalness and that at some point, during dawn, he will have to return to his filthy and reckless work.

The music continued, but the voice was unfamiliar and a little out of tune and the instrumentals were much noisier and out of control. — Lucy Gray ended her performance, it seemed, and gave entrance to another voice; perhaps, it was someone from the Covey singing in her place for a short period of time. — Sometimes they did that. — It wasn't strange, however, the house was full and so welcoming and she was a special attraction; the only.

Something wasn't right, or it was just an intrusive thought wanting to run through your heavy head. — Where had that girl gone, then?

Until, at a certain and coincidental moment, footsteps were made and echoed through the corridor, causing an unconditional and alarming noise from the shoes; which, in fact, were heels, probably worn out and so well used. — Everything indicated that the person had left, leaving the place but with witnesses of her shoes. — And this caused an acceleration in your heartbeat.

Perhaps, that would have answered your question.

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moonselune · 1 month

Text

BG3 Crew reacting to runaway parent trying to get back in your child's life

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The quiet of the night was shattered by a loud, insistent banging on your door. You jolted awake, heart pounding, as the noise continued with an almost frantic urgency. Glancing at the clock, you realized it was well past midnight. Your child, already asleep in their room, was oblivious to the commotion. You hurriedly dressed and made your way to the door, the unease in your chest growing with every step.

When you finally opened the door, your breath caught in your throat. There stood your child's absent father, a man whose presence had long been a source of pain and disappointment. His disheveled appearance and haggard expression were a stark contrast to the composed demeanor you remembered from the past.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s the middle of the night. My child is asleep.”

He pushed past you, ignoring your protest. “I’m here to see my child,” he said gruffly. “I’ve come to make things right.”

You stepped in his way, blocking his advance. “No. You don’t get to waltz back into their life whenever you please. You had your chance, and you squandered it. Now, you need to leave.”

His face reddened with anger, and he sneered at you. “So, you think you can just keep me away? You’re nothing but a petty little obstacle. It’s my right as a father to see my child.”

Before you could respond, you heard the heavy tread of footsteps behind you. Karlach, ever vigilant and protective, had come to investigate the commotion. Her presence was like a storm rolling in, radiating an aura of fierce, unyielding strength. Her eyes locked onto the intruder with a look that could melt steel. Karlach stepped forward, her voice low and menacing.

“You’re in no position to make demands, buddy” she said, her tone cold and dangerous. “This is a warning. Leave now, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of a veteran’s wrath.”

The father’s eyes widened in shock as he took in Karlach’s formidable presence. She was a force to be reckoned with, her imposing frame and battle-hardened demeanor making her a terrifying figure. He took an involuntary step back, clearly unnerved by her.

Karlach continued, her voice like gravel. “I fought in the Blood War. I’ve faced demons and horrors you can’t even imagine. Do you really think you want to test me now?”

His bravado crumbled under the weight of her words. He stared at Karlach, then at you, and finally, with a defeated sigh, he turned on his heel and stumbled away into the night, leaving you with a mix of relief and lingering anxiety.

You closed the door with a trembling hand, your heart still racing. The fear that had gripped you was slowly giving way to a profound sense of gratitude. Karlach’s fierce protection had ensured that your child remained safe from harm, and her presence had been a steadying force in a moment of distress. Turning to Karlach, you took a deep breath and let out a shaky sigh.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice filled with both relief and admiration. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Karlach’s expression softened, though her fierce demeanor remained. She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re welcome,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “I’d do anything to keep both you and the little one safe. You don’t have to face this alone.”

You nodded, feeling a wave of appreciation for her unwavering support. “I know,” you said softly. “And I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. Truly.”

Karlach’s lips curled into a mile. “Well, then,” she said with a hint of her usual fire, “let’s make sure that anyone who tries to come near you both knows that they’ll have to go through me first.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at her resolute tone, feeling the last of your tension dissolve. As you made your way back to your child’s room, Karlach followed close behind, her presence a comforting shield against the uncertainties of the night.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The night was calm and still, the kind that promised peaceful rest, but that illusion was abruptly shattered by the sound of frantic yelling. You jolted awake, heart pounding, and glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. The cries and shouts came from your daughter’s room, and your immediate concern propelled you out of bed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you shook Minthara awake. Her eyes snapped open, her expression shifting from drowsy confusion to alert determination quicker than light. Together, you raced down the hallway, the sounds of the confrontation growing louder with each step.

Bursting into your daughter’s room, you were met with a sight that filled you with dread. Your daughter, barely able to contain her fear and anger, stood her ground against her father, who had somehow managed to infiltrate the sanctuary of her room. His imposing figure loomed over her, and his presence was both unsettling and unwelcome.

“Leave me alone!” your daughter shouted, her small voice trembling but filled with determination. “I don’t want you here!”

Her father, a grizzled mercenary with a hardened demeanor, looked down at her with a mixture of annoyance and condescension.

“You’re not in a position to make demands,” he sneered. “I’m your father, and you will listen to me.”

As you and Minthara entered the room, your daughter’s eyes met yours, and she bolted towards you. You wrapped her in a comforting embrace, holding her tightly and whispering reassurances. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” you murmured. “I’m here.”

Minthara’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the intruder. Without a word, she strode purposefully towards him, her demeanor cold and menacing. With a swift, practiced motion, she grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there with a strength that left no room for argument. The mercenary struggled, but Minthara’s grip was unyielding. He attempted to boast about his exploits, his voice full of bravado.

“I’ve fought in countless battles,” he said, his tone dripping with arrogance. “I’ve taken lives, dealt with worse than you—”

Minthara interrupted him with a harsh, mocking laugh. “Please. You’re nothing can even compare to me,” she said, her voice laced with disdain.

Your daughter, still clinging to you, looked up with wide, fearful eyes. “Can you make him leave?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You looked over to Minthara and gave her a slight nod, the type that Minthara takes as nothing is off limits. Minthara glanced at your daughter with a reassuring nod, then turned her gaze back to the mercenary.

“You heard the child,” she said, her tone cold and final. “It’s time for you to leave.”

As the mercenary started to raise his voice again, Minthara’s patience snapped. With a swift, decisive blow, she knocked him out cold. His body slumped to the floor, and she turned to your daughter with a gentle, reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I’ll deal with him.”

Your daughter’s face brightened with relief as she held onto you tightly, nodding her head eagerly at Minthara. Minthara gave you a curt nod before she dragged the unconscious mercenary outside, her expression a mixture of determination and satisfaction. As she left, you held your daughter close, whispering soothing words of comfort.

When Minthara returned, she found you and your daughter in your shared bed, your daughter nestled against you, her tiny frame trembling slightly from the recent ordeal. Without a word, Minthara climbed into bed beside you after, of course, washing off the grime from her... excursion. Your daughter, still shaken but comforted, immediately latched onto Minthara and snuggled into her, finding solace in her presence.

You watched as Minthara, despite her usually stoic demeanor, gently stroked your daughter’s hair, her expression softening as she comforted the child.

“There, there,” Minthara murmured softly. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

Your daughter looked up at Minthara, her eyes heavy with sleep but filled with trust. “Goodnight, Mother,” she whispered, before closing her eyes and curling up closer.

You smiled softly at the sight, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and warmth. Minthara’s actions had been more than protective; they had been a testament to her unwavering dedication and love for both you and your daughter. You reached over, careful not to disturb your daughter and took Minthara's hand, giving it a soft squeeze in thanks, forever grateful for her.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

At home, Lae'zel had been adjusting to her role as caretaker, the initial discomfort giving way to a surprising degree of warmth. Your son, now peacefully napping in his room, was nestled under a soft blanket, completely unaware of the impending danger.

The tranquility of the house was abruptly shattered by a soft but deliberate creaking of the door. The estranged father of your child, driven by a mixture of unresolved feelings and a twisted sense of entitlement, had managed to break into your home unnoticed. His presence a dark shadow against the peaceful setting as he made his way to the child’s room.

With a furtive glance around to ensure no one was watching, he slipped inside. The sight of your sleeping son stirred a pang of something akin to remorse in his eyes, but it was quickly overridden by a sense of possession. He reached down and scooped up the toddler, cradling him in his arms. The action was abrupt and rough, causing your child to stir and awaken with a frightened whimper.

The sudden disturbance woke Lae'zel from her own moment of repose. Her heightened senses detected the commotion in the room, and her instincts immediately went on high alert. She could tell immediately that this was not your son's ordinairy fussing, she moved swiftly to the source of the noise, pushing open the door with a forceful shove. Her eyes widened in alarm as she saw the man holding your son against his chest.

Lae'zel’s expression hardened into a fierce scowl as she took in the situation. Her hand moved to the weapon at her side, and with a practiced flick, she drew it. The blade glinted ominously in the light.

“Put the child down!” she commanded, her voice a growl filled with righteous fury. The man’s eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and defiance.

“This is my son,” he declared with a scoff, his tone dripping with contempt. “I have every right to him.”

But the reality of the situation was starkly different. Your son, still half-asleep and disoriented, immediately began to fuss and whimper, reaching out with tiny, pleading hands towards Lae'zel. The distress in his voice was unmistakable as he called out, “Mama! Mama’zel!”

Seeing the child’s evident fear and his desperate need for Lae'zel, the warrior’s resolve hardened. She took a step forward, her weapon poised with deadly precision. “You are not taking him. He needs to be with someone who cares for him, that is not you.”

It seemed the father had suddenly realised that danger he was in now he was at the blade's end of a Githyanki silver sword. In a panic and with a final, reckless gesture of defiance, the man threw your son into the air. The sudden action was shocking, and Lae'zel’s heart raced as she watched in horror. Without a moment’s hesitation, she dropped her sword and leaped forward, catching your child with a protective embrace as he fell. Her fierce determination was evident as she cradled him close, her blade still held firmly in her other hand.

The man, seizing the opportunity bolted for the door. Lae'zel’s focus was on your son, and as she made sure he was safe, she allowed the man to escape. She did not let her guard down, but her priority was to protect the child, and the man’s escape was a calculated risk she was willing to take.

Outside, the commotion had drawn attention. As Lae'zel made her way to the front of the house, her eyes fell on the scene unfolding before her. You stood over the unconscious form of your estranged partner, your knuckles bruised and bloodied from the confrontation. There was relief in your expression as you looked up to see Lae'zel, your son safely and happily in her arms. Lae'zel approached you with a careful but determined stride, holding out your son to you.

“He is safe now,” she said, her voice steady but laced with concern. “He was frightened, but I kept him close.”

“Thank you, Lae'zel,” you said softly, your voice filled with emotion after pressing a kiss to Lae'zel's cheek “You saved him.”

Lae'zel nodded, her face a mix of weariness and satisfaction. “It was my duty,” she replied simply. “I will always protect him.”

You took your child into your arms, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude. As you held him tightly, Lae'zel’s eyes softened with a rare gentleness, she had faced a thousand horrors but nothing was as terrifying as the thought of your child, her son, getting hurt.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the farm, where Shadowheart and your young daughter were enjoying a peaceful afternoon. The fields were alive with the joyful sounds of chirping birds and playful animals. Your daughter, her face alight with happiness, was darting around the farmyard, feeding the animals and laughing at their antics. Shadowheart, her demeanor relaxed and gentle, followed closely behind, occasionally helping with tasks and sharing in your daughter’s exuberant joy.

The scene was idyllic: cows mooed softly, chickens pecked at the ground, and your daughter’s gleeful giggles blended harmoniously with the sounds of the farm. Shadowheart’s protective nature shone through as she tended to the animals alongside your daughter, clearly enjoying the role of caretaker.

But this serene moment was abruptly interrupted when a familiar figure emerged from the edge of the farm. Your daughter’s father—who had been absent from her life—appeared with a look of determination on his face. His eyes scanned the farmyard until they landed on your daughter. Relief washed over his features as he strode forward, his expression a mix of desperation and authority.

“There you are!” he called out, his voice carrying across the open fields. “I’ve finally found you. Come here!”

Your daughter’s face went pale as she spotted her father. She immediately bolted behind Shadowheart, clutching at her skirts. Her small voice quivered as she looked up at Shadowheart with wide, frightened eyes. “Mama, make him go away! I don’t want him here!”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed, her protective instincts kicking in immediately. She placed herself between your daughter and her father, her stance firm and resolute.

“You need to leave,” Shadowheart said, her voice steady and commanding. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

Your daughter’s father scoffed, clearly irritated by the interruption. “Oh, come now. She’s my daughter. She needs to come with me, I want to spend time with her.”

"She doesn't need to do anything." Shadowheart’s jaw tightened. “No. I will not allow you to upset her further. Leave, now.”

The father’s eyes flickered with annoyance, but he disregarded Shadowheart’s command. He took a step closer, his intent clear—he was determined to take your daughter regardless of Shadowheart’s interference. As he reached out a hand toward your daughter, Shadowheart’s reaction was swift and decisive.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Shadowheart drew upon her time spent as a Sharran. Her movements were a blur as she executed a series of precise and powerful strikes. Your daughter’s father barely had time to react before he was struck down, collapsing to the ground in a heap, unconscious and defeated. Face first in the mud.

Shadowheart stood over him, her breath coming in measured gasps as she surveyed the scene. She turned to your daughter, concern etched across her face.

“Are you alright?” she asked gently. Your daughter’s initial shock quickly transformed into awe. Her eyes widened as she looked up at Shadowheart, a mixture of admiration and excitement shining through her fear.

“That was amazing!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with wonder. “Can you teach me how to do that? Please? Pretty please!”

Shadowheart’s concern softened into a smile as she saw the spark of admiration in your daughter’s eyes. She knelt down, placing a comforting hand on your daughter’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said softly. “But learning how to fight and defend yourself is not something to take lightly. You have to practice lots and lots.”

"I don't care!" Your daughter’s enthusiasm remained undiminished. “I want to learn! I want to be strong like you! That was so cool!”

Shadowheart’s smile broadened, touched by the girl’s resolve. "Okay, okay, little fighter, let's go ask your mother about it and see what she says, okay?"

Your daughter sprinted off, bellowing your name, the previous incident seemingly forgotton. Shadowheart couldn't help but chuckle and then sighed as she looked at the father's crumpled form. With a hand on her hip and a snap of her fingers a portal opened. Shadowheart was sure that he would have a much better time in the neighbouring farm's fertiliser tub. Maneure was so good for crops this time of year.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

Your daughter’s school fete was abuzz with excitement, the large open park filled with the chatter and laughter of parents and children. The annual talent show was in full swing, and each performance was met with enthusiastic applause. It was a time for the students to showcase how far their wizarding skills had developed. You couldn't tell who was more excited, your daughter or Gale.

You and Gale stood near the front, eagerly awaiting your daughter's turn to showcase her magic. The weeks of practice and preparation between Gale and your daughter had culminated in this moment, and both of you were a mix of pride and nerves.

Gale was showing signs of his own anxiety—fidgeting slightly, his eyes darting to the stage and then back to you. It was clear that he cared deeply about how this would go for your daughter.

Just as your daughter's name was called out to get ready to go on, she began making her way to the backstage area to prepare, until her face suddenly fell. You turned to see what had caused the abrupt change in her demeanor, and then you heard the unmistakable voice of your ex—her estranged father—cutting through the ambient noise of the school fete.

“Hey there, little one! Where’s my hug?” he called out, his tone laced with a mixture of familiarity and condescension.

Your daughter hesitated, her small frame visibly tensing as she reluctantly approached her father. With a forced, apprehensive smile, she gave him a quick hug. The look of discomfort on her face was evident as she pulled away, and with a quick look of worry to you, she darted to the backstage entrance where she began to prepare to perform with the other kids.

Confident your daughter was out of sight and earshot, you felt a surge of irritation and disbelief. You hadn’t expected him to show up here, let alone disrupt your daughter’s big moment. Turning sharply, you confronted your ex, your voice edged with frustration.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, crossing your arms. “Why show up now?”

His face remained a mask of faux innocence. “I’m here to support my little girl, of course,” he replied with a shrug, but his eyes betrayed a glint of something darker as he glanced at Gale. “Had to make sure that new boytoy of yours isn’t a bad influence.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you were about to launch into an argument when your daughter's teacher approached, her expression soft but serious.

“Excuse me,” the teacher said, addressing you and Gale. “Your daughter has developed a case of stage fright, bless her, and has asked for her father.”

Your ex immediately stepped forward, a smirk spreading across his face as he assumed the teacher was referring to him. But the teacher’s next words made it clear they were talking about Gale.

“I'm sorry, but I’m actually referring to Mr. Dekarios,” the teacher clarified, gesturing toward Gale. Gale’s face brightened, and flashed your ex a smug smirk, only for it to fade into concern as he followed the teacher, catching sight of your teary daughter waiting nervously backstage. She ran over to him, looking up at him with a mix of hope and distress.

“Gale!” she said, her voice trembling, “I need your magic!"

Gale knelt down to her level, his expression softening. “Sweetheart, I can’t help you with the performance,” he said gently. "I promise you will do amazing, you've been working so hard and-"

"-No, I need your magic to make him disappear!" Your daughter sniffed and Gale realised what she had meant.

"Ah, well that I can do," Gale whispered with a smile and your daughter’s face lit up with relief, and she threw herself into a hug with Gale.

“Thank you, dad!” she said, her voice now full of gratitude, those tears gone and a smile plastered on her face. With a renewed sense of determination, she ran back to the stage, her earlier anxiety replaced by a brighter, more confident demeanor. Gale watched her go, then returned to your side, where you will still arguing with your ex in hushed whispers. At the sight of him, you both quietened, keen to hear what had happened.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “But there's something I have to do.”

With a subtle flick of his fingers and a murmur of arcane words, Gale cast a spell. Moments later, your ex’s face appeared puzzled as he was enveloped in a shimmering aura, his protestations fading as he was magically transported away. Gale turned back to you, his face reflecting a blend of satisfaction and affection.

“One less distraction for her,” he said, giving you a warm smile.

You felt a surge of gratitude and admiration for Gale and without warning grabbed him, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I adore you, you know that".

"Not as much as I adore the both you," Gale assured you, “Now, let’s enjoy the show.”

You both watched your daughter take the stage with a confident smile was a moment of pure joy, made even more meaningful by the support and love surrounding her.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The schoolyard buzzed with the end-of-day excitement as children and parents alike gathered to leave. Astarion, impeccably dressed as always, stood near the gate, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of aloof interest one might expect from him. Today, he was tasked with picking up your daughter from school as you ran an errand.

As Astarion waited, he noticed a commotion near the gate. Your daughter, spotting him through the throng of people, waved frantically and beckoned him over with an urgency that immediately set off alarm bells in his mind. His instincts, honed by years of surviving in a dangerous world, quickly jumped to the worst-case scenario.

With an exaggerated flourish, Astarion swept toward the commotion, his cloak billowing behind him like a cape of night. He shoved parents and children alike out of the way, his expression shifting to one of fierce determination as he approached the source of the disturbance.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Astarion demanded, his voice carrying an edge of authority that was both commanding and melodramatic. His gaze fell upon a man who was arguing heatedly with one of the teachers. The man’s expression was a mix of frustration and entitlement.

The teacher looked visibly relieved upon seeing Astarion. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! This man claims to be your daughter’s father, but he’s not on the approved pickup list.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed in disdain as he took in the man’s appearance. “Really now? And just who do you think you are, daring to disrupt the well-being of a child? My child.”

The estranged father, clearly unperturbed by Astarion's theatrics, argued back. “I will have you know that, I am her father! And I have every right to pick her up.”

Before Astarion could retort, your daughter bounded over, her face lighting up with joy at the sight of her Papa. She launched herself into Astarion’s arms, who caught her with practiced ease.

Astarion beamed down at her and gave her a subtle wink before pretending to hear something you had said and then looked on to growing crowd with feigned surprise and distress. “Oh dearest, what have you told me, my little one? Did he say he was going to do something terrible?”

Your daughter, catching onto the game, nodded vigorously, a playful glint in her eyes. “Yes, Papa! He said he was going to kidnap me!”

Astarion’s eyes widened in exaggerated horror, and he tightened his hold on your daughter, pulling her close to his chest. There was a concerned murmur among the other parents as they looked at your daughter's father accusingly. “Oh, my gods! We mustn’t let him near you then. Neither should you fellow parents! Come, we’ll have to leave immediately!"

The father, growing increasingly agitated, protested loudly. “This is absurd! I’m her father! I am not trying to kidnap her.”

With a smirk, Astarion began walking away, your daughter securely perched on his hip. However the father began to follow the two of them. At this Astarion called out over his shoulder with a dramatic flair, “Help! Someone call the authorities! This man is stalking us!”

Your daughter, struggling to suppress a giggle, chimed in, her voice a high-pitched wail. “He’s following us! Help!”

Astarion shot her a playful but stern look. “Shush, darling. We mustn’t blow our cover!”

Despite her best efforts, your daughter couldn’t entirely suppress her laughter, and Astarion had to shush her with a gentle but firm hand on her mouth.

As they made their way towards the school gate, Flaming Fist had arrived, drawn in by the commotion. They quickly assessed the situation, and the paretns quickly took Astarion's side. He was the one afterall who would pick her up from school, he was the one who would begrudgingly sew the costumes for the school play - even when no one asked him to. He was the one your daughter called papa, not this stranger.

Astarion, still holding your daughter close, offered a graceful nod to the Flaming Fist as they dealt with the situation. With the father now in custody, Astarion made a clean getaway, carrying your daughter away from the scene. Once they were safely out of the school’s vicinity, Astarion finally allowed himself a genuine smile as he set your daughter back down on your feet. “Well, that went rather splendidly, didn’t it?”

Your daughter looked up at him with adoration, her earlier anxiety completely forgotten. “Thank you, Papa!”

Astarion’s expression softened as he looked at her, . “You’re welcome, my dear. Just remember, I’ll always be here to keep you safe.”

As they walked hand in hand away from the school, the sunset painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, a perfect backdrop for a day’s adventure turned into a cherished memory.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of spices and simmering sauce as you and Wyll busied yourselves preparing dinner. Your son sat at the kitchen table, deeply engrossed in his coloring book, his small tongue sticking out in concentration. The evening was shaping up to be a peaceful, if ordinary, family affair.

The pleasant hum of conversation and the clinking of pots and pans were suddenly interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Before anyone could move, the door swung open, and your ex, carrying an impressive stack of brightly wrapped presents, barged into the kitchen. His arrival was as abrupt as it was unwelcome, and his presence brought a palpable tension into the room. You braced yourself, a tight smile forced onto your face as you faced him.

"What are you doing here?" you asked through gritted teeth, trying to keep your voice steady. The birthday for your son had been last month, and you had hoped that was the last of these unscheduled visits.

“Better late than never,” your ex replied with a nonchalant shrug, as if the delay of several weeks was an afterthought.

Wyll, standing by the stove, appeared taken aback but quickly regained his composure. He extended a hand, offering a polite greeting. “Hello, I’m Wyll. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Your ex ignored Wyll’s outstretched hand completely, his focus solely on your son, who looked up from his coloring with a mix of curiosity and confusion. "Hey little man look what I've got for you! From your good ol' papa!"

“Thanks for the gifts,” your son said, his small voice full of genuine appreciation. “But I have a new dad now.”

Wyll’s face brightened with a mix of pride and relief and he placed a proud hand on your son's shoulder. “That’s right!... I’m his new dad now.”

Your ex’s face darkened, and he tensed visibly. “Wyll isn’t your real dad, kid. I’m your real dad.”

Your son, still focused on his coloring, paused to think. “Nope, Wyll is my dad. He picks me up from school, reads me bedtime stories, and he loves me. That’s what a dad does.”

Your ex’s face flushed with anger, and he started to call your son ungrateful. However, before things could escalate further, Wyll stepped in, his tone firm but calm.

“Let’s settle this outside,” Wyll proposed, his expression resolute.

Your ex, who was taller and bulkier than Wyll, agreed with a snort of disdain. You watched with a mix of apprehension and curiosity as Wyll winked at you before stepping outside with your ex.

You followed them to the door, your heart racing as you anticipated the confrontation. As the door closed behind them, you heard a sudden, odd sound—a poof of magic followed by the unmistakable bleating of a sheep.

Confused, you stepped outside to see Wyll standing there, looking smug and decidedly pleased, while your ex was transformed into a sheep, bleating in protest. Wyll turned to you with a grin, clearly proud of his handiwork.

“I knew I held onto that polymorph scroll for a reason,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your tension dissolving into mirth. “What am I supposed to do with a sheep now?”

Wyll’s grin widened. “Well, you could always sell him to a butcher, if you’re feeling particularly adventurous.”

Your laughter rang out freely now, the absurdity of the situation breaking through any lingering stress. The evening’s peace was restored, and as Wyll and the transformed sheep made their way inside, you felt a renewed sense of warmth and relief. The family dinner would go on as planned, now with one less complication and a story for the ages.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. You and your son had spent a pleasant day foraging among the underbrush. Your son, his spirit as free as the woodland creatures around him, had been frequently shifting in and out of his wildshape, delighting in the thrill of his magical transformations. You watched with a fond smile as he scampered around, shifting effortlessly between human and animal forms, the laughter and joy in his eyes brightening the entire forest.

As you crouched to inspect a patch of herbs, the distant sound of wheels on a forest path reached your ears. Your heart skipped a beat, a gnawing sense of unease creeping up your spine. The sound grew louder, and you recognized the unmistakable clatter of a carriage—a carriage that seemed all too familiar. Your pulse quickened as you straightened and scanned the surrounding trees.

You spotted the carriage as it emerged from a narrow forest trail, its ornate design and gilded trimmings unmistakable. The insignia on the side confirmed your worst fear: it was indeed from your ex’s noble family. The wheels crunched over the fallen leaves, and you felt a cold wave of apprehension wash over you.

With a determined, but calm demeanor, you called out to your son. "Sweetheart, you need to go back to the grove right now. Run to Halsin and stay with him, okay? Mama has someone she needs to talk to."

Your son’s face, still flushed from his wildshaping fun, looked up at you with wide, uncertain eyes. "Mama, what’s wrong?"

"Just go quickly," you urged, kneeling to meet his gaze. "I’ll explain later. Go, now."

Hesitantly, he nodded and bolted down the forest path, his small figure quickly disappearing among the trees. As your son sprinted, his tiny feet pounding against the earth, the distant sound of the carriage faded into the background. The urgency in his heart spurred him on faster, each step propelled by a mix of fear and determination. His breath came in quick gasps, the forest blurring by as he made his way back to the grove.

The grove came into view, and your son’s eyes scanned the area frantically. He spotted Halsin, who was tending to a small group of the squirrels, and ran up to him, his face flushed and eyes wide with panic.

“Papa! Papa!” your son called out, his voice trembling as he urged himself forward. “Mama needs help! My evil papa is here!”

Halsin’s expression shifted from calm to concerned in an instant. He dropped what he was doing and knelt down to your son’s level, his eyes searching your son's face. “What happened? Where is your mother?”

Your son, barely able to contain his anxiety or catch his breath, explained hurriedly. “This big carriage came, and-and Mama told me to run back here and-and she said she needed to talk to someone, but-but I know it’s my evil papa who’s come. 'Cause I only see Mama that upset when- when he’s around.”

"Take a breath, little one, it will be okay. Stay here and stay safe, go play with the other children” he instructed firmly, giving your son's shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

“No!” your son protested, his small fists clenched. “I’m coming with you!”

And as if to make a point you son clung onto Halsin's leg, Halsin looked down at him with uncertainty, he knew he would get an earful from you later, but your son really cared. Your son’s determination had won out. Halsin let out a sigh and nodded. “Very well. Hold on tight.”

Meanwhile, you continued to argue with your ex.

"So, here you are," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "I must say, I didn't expect to find you in such... rustic surroundings."

You squared your shoulders, fighting back the rising tide of frustration. "What are you doing here?" you demanded, your voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath.

A haughty smile curled on your ex’s lips. "My family is pressing me for an heir. The pressure is mounting, and I’ve come to collect my son. It’s time he fulfilled his role in our family’s legacy."

The words felt like a physical blow, each syllable carrying the weight of his disregard for your family and your son's well-being. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "You can’t just waltz in here and demand him like he’s some sort of accessory. You’ve been absent for years. You have no right to claim him now."

Your ex’s gaze hardened. "I have every right. I am his father, after all."

"You have no understanding of what it means to be a parent," you said sharply, taking a step closer. "You think you can just come and take him after all this time? You’ve done nothing but make his life more difficult."

Your ex’s face twisted into a sneer. "And you’ve done a remarkable job of corrupting him with your… unconventional lifestyle."

The words stung, but you refused to let them show. You took a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "If you think you can just come in and take him away, you’re mistaken. He has a family here who loves him and a home where he belongs."

Your ex’s face twisted with disdain. "You think your little forest dwelling and its inhabitants can replace what I can offer him? He needs to be in a proper environment, one befitting his heritage."

The sharpness of his words cut through you, but before you could respond, the situation took a dramatic turn. The footmen who had been idly standing by suddenly turned aggressive, encircling you with threatening movements. Just as you prepared to defend yourself, a small, but fierce bear cub you recognised skidded into the clearing. It growled and snapped at the footmen, causing them to flinch and hesitate.

"It's only a cub! Kill the little beastie!" your ex barked, his arrogance masking his growing anxiety. He turned to retreat, but was abruptly met with a much larger, imposing figure.

A massive grizzly bear roared ferociously in your ex’s face, its powerful form blocking his escape route. The footmen, their bravery crumbling in the face of the beast, fled into the forest with cries of terror, leaving your ex isolated and vulnerable.

You let out a relieved laugh as you scooped your son up in your arms. He had shifted back to his human form, his face alight with mischievous joy.

"You’re safe now," you murmured, holding him close as he giggled.

The massive bear continued to roar, rising up on its hind legs in an intimidating display. Your ex, panicked and covering his face, braced himself for an attack that never came. Instead, the bear suddenly shimmered with a golden light and, in a swirl of magic, Halsin emerged from the transformation, his human form standing tall and resolute. His stance, however, was no less aggressive. Halsin’s eyes locked onto your ex with a steely, unyielding glare.

“You’re not welcome here,” Halsin’s voice rumbled, each word measured and threatening. “You are not taking my son. I suggest you leave before something unfortunate happens.”

Your ex, shaking with a mix of fear and anger, attempted to regain his composure. “This is outrageous! I have every right to take him. I am his father!”

Halsin stepped closer, his presence radiating a potent blend of authority and menace. “You have no right to disrupt his life after being absent for so long. He is my son, and you are trying to take him from his home, from the family who loves and cares for him. You have no claim here.”

Your ex’s bravado faltered as he looked around at the animals—deer, wolves, and other woodland creatures—gathering once more, their eyes fixed on him with a watchful, protective intensity. The forest itself seemed to close in around him, adding to his sense of encroaching dread.

“You can’t do this!” he shouted, his voice rising with desperation. “This is a matter of family legacy and honor!”

Halsin’s gaze remained unyielding. “No, this is a matter of what is best for my son. You are an intruder here, and if you do not leave immediately, you will face consequences beyond your understanding.”

Your ex’s gaze darted around, his composure crumbling as he realized the gravity of his situation. The animals’ eyes glinted with an unspoken threat, and Halsin’s unrelenting stance made it clear that he would not back down. With a final, resentful glare, your ex backed away, his movements hurried and clumsy.

“This isn’t over,” he spat, before turning and stumbling back to his carriage. He climbed in hastily, his footmen still cowering in the forest, and the carriage lurched away with a trail of dust.

As the carriage disappeared from view, Halsin let out a long, slow breath, his form relaxing as the immediate threat passed. He turned to you and your son, his face softening with concern.

“Are you both alright?” he asked, his voice gentle now, though still laced with the remnants of his earlier fury.

You nodded, your heart still racing but calming with each passing moment. “We’re okay. Thank you, Halsin. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

Halsin reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “No need to thank me. We are a family, and we protect each other.”

As you all made your way back through the forest, the weight of the day’s events began to lift, replaced by a profound sense of relief and solidarity.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Rolan:

The market was a bustling tapestry of colors and sounds, a vibrant mosaic of stalls and vendors peddling everything from fresh produce to handcrafted trinkets. You, Rolan, and your young toddler son meandered through the market, enjoying the lively atmosphere. Your son, perched on Rolan’s shoulders, was giggling and pointing at the various sights and sounds, his eyes wide with wonder.

Rolan had a firm but gentle hand on your child’s legs, ensuring he was secure while still allowing him to enjoy the view. You walked beside them, occasionally glancing at the stalls, picking out small treats or intriguing items. The air was filled with the delightful aroma of fresh bread and spices, mingling with the cheerful chatter of vendors and patrons.

As you approached a stall selling brightly colored fabrics, a familiar yet unwelcome figure emerged from the crowd. It was your ex, looking disheveled and distraught. His clothes were tattered, and he seemed to be making his way through the market with an air of desperation.

“Please!” he cried out, dropping to his knees in front of you. His voice was choked with emotion, a stark contrast to the authoritative tone he had once used. “Please, I’m begging you. I want to be a part of our child’s life. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m ready to make things right. Just give me a chance.”

You stopped in your tracks, your heart hardening at the sight of him. The memories of his absence and the pain he had caused surged up, making it difficult to maintain your composure. You took a deep breath, summoning all the resolve you could muster.

“You had your chance when our child was born,” you said firmly. “You walked away, leaving us behind. You don’t get to waltz back into our lives now just because it suits you.”

Rolan, standing close by with your son, nodded in agreement. His face was set in a serious expression, his eyes reflecting the protective nature he had come to embody.

“You had no part in his life before,” Rolan said, his voice calm but unwavering. “And you’ve shown no effort to make amends until now. It’s not fair to our family to let you back in on a whim.”

Your ex’s face twisted with a mix of desperation and anger. “I’ve changed,” he pleaded, his voice rising with frustration. “You can’t just shut me out like this. I’m his father!”

Without warning, he lunged towards you, a sudden movement fueled by desperation. The instinct to protect surged within Rolan. His eyes narrowed, and with a decisive flick of his wrist, he cast a thunderblast. The crackling burst of energy erupted with a deafening roar, sending your ex stumbling backward.

Your ex’s eyes widened in shock and fear as the spell hurled him through the air. He landed with a splash in the nearby fountain, the water erupting around him in a frothy surge. The sight of him floundering in the fountain, soaked and sputtering, was both dramatic and almost comical.

Amid the chaos, your toddler, who had been watching the scene unfold from Rolan’s shoulders, burst into fits of uncontrollable giggles. His laughter was a bright, musical sound that cut through the tense atmosphere, his tiny hands clapping with glee at the sight of the man he had only heard about but never seen in such a state.

You couldn’t help but smile at your son’s reaction, the tension of the moment dissolving into a shared moment of levity. Rolan, still standing tall and composed, watched as your ex scrambled out of the fountain, his dignity as drenched as his clothes. The crowd that had gathered looked on with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, whispering among themselves.

With a final glance at your ex, who was now pulling himself out of the fountain with an air of defeat, you turned to leave.

You and Rolan guided your son away from the market, his laughter still echoing in the cool evening air. The market’s lively bustle continued around you, but you walked with a renewed sense of security and unity.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Raphael:

The weight of the day’s stress seemed to settle heavily on your shoulders as you sat in the study of the grand estate, trying to focus on the papers spread before you. Your ex had reappeared in your life with a demand that rattled you to your core: he wanted to see your daughter more often, and, worse, he was insistent on having a greater role in her life. The mere thought of him attempting to insert himself into her world again filled you with a sense of dread and frustration.

Raphael, who had been surprisingly supportive of your emotional turmoil, took it upon himself to reassure you. Despite his usual aloofness, he had shown an unexpected level of concern. Yet, as you talked through your frustrations with him, you noticed a shift in his demeanor—a subtle, almost imperceptible pang of hurt hidden behind his devilish exterior. The notion of your daughter potentially calling another man "papa" seemed to strike a chord with him, even if he refused to vocalize it.

Of course he had to do something about it, somebody had to save your wretched little souls and why shouldn't it be the devil that loved you both?

One night as you held your daughter close to your chest, worst case scenarios tearing through your mind like a nightmare on repeat, Raphael took a seat necxt to you and placed a hand on your thigh.

“It's been dealt with, dearest,” Raphael said, his voice smooth and reassuring. “You needn’t worry about him any longer. He’s been… persuaded to leave you and your daughter alone.”

His words were confident, but you sensed an undercurrent of something more complex, though Raphael’s expression remained inscrutable. You chose not to press further, trusting that he had the situation in hand. Days passed, and true to Raphael’s word, your ex disappeared from the scene, making no further attempts to contact you or interfere in your life.

You couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and unease. The problem had been resolved with unsettling speed, leaving you feeling as though a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. One evening, as you and Raphael relaxed together, you finally broached the subject of your ex’s sudden disappearance.

“What exactly did you do to get him to leave us alone, my love?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, though a thread of curiosity laced your voice.

Raphael’s smirk was back in place, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. I made a deal with him.”

His casual response did little to quell your lingering curiosity. “A deal? What kind of deal?”

Raphael’s expression remained carefully neutral, his voice maintaining its smooth, unaffected tone. “Just a little something to ensure his cooperation. You know me, darling. I always have my methods.”

You couldn’t pry further, and Raphael’s words left you with more questions than answers. You did notice, however, that your ex was no longer a problem—an outcome that seemed almost too convenient.

Unbeknownst to you, the deal Raphael had struck was far from ordinary. Raphael had promised your ex immortality—a promise that seemed generous at first glance. In reality, Raphael’s “gift” trapped your ex’s soul in a form of eternal confinement, bound within the House of Hope—a luxurious prison within the estate.

In the House of Hope, your ex found himself a mere spectator, condemned to watch as Raphael embraced the role of father to your daughter. He was forced to endure the sight of Raphael’s effortless integration into your family, witnessing the tenderness and affection Raphael showed to your daughter, which he could never again claim for himself. The once-dreaded presence had become a ghostly observer, unable to interfere but ever-present in the periphery of your life.

Raphael’s decision, though cloaked in his usual bravado, was driven by a complex mix of feelings. The thought of another man being a father figure to your daughter stirred a pain he struggled to admit even to himself. Yet, by ensuring your ex’s permanent removal from your lives, Raphael had also managed to secure his own place in your family, albeit in a way you would never fully comprehend.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Oof this was a big one, I have been binge watching dexter which definitely inspired this. I hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

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dontbelasagne · 7 months

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desperately need to do a presentation on why the Twelfth Doctors journey perfectly represents the transfem experience

their previous eleventh incarnation being suave and hypersexual (i know moffat is mostly to blame but!) is reminiscent of attempts to fit into heteronormative ideals of masculinity. whilst it is not completely insincere, there are obvious signs this does not fit you as a person, it is acted out of desperate need to being seen. as Vastra put it, eleven wore that face, and subsequently that form of masculinity, to be accepted. on becoming twelve, realising even an "idealised" masculinity does not inherently serve them, they retreated into themselves as a person for self-reflection and trying to understand why they feel so detached from who they are.

the "am i a good man" arc mirrors being closeted and having to present as something not inherently tied to your sense of self, but still wanting to be the best of your perceived gender as any failure could leave you spiralling into self-doubt about simply being like any other "man". you ignore your gender dysphoria/questioning by trying to claim a moralistic view of gendered expression. made even more clear by Twelve rejecting Clara's heroic view of them, establishing that even though they have made efforts to be a "good man", that is just a placeholder for their loss of identity.

Missy appearing as she does, who as a character serves as a parallel to The Doctor on what they could become, and her eventual arc in trying to become good is symbolic of the fear around transition regret that internalised transphobia can create when you are closeted. Missy never gives importance to their fem existence other than nonchalant jokes, rather showing a more free and expressive personality devoid of any frustration. this immediately dismisses the transphobic assumption that trans people are only focused on their gender. also, Missy representing trans femininity is inherently tied to chaos and upsetting the status quo, she is the embodiment of what society considers accepting your womanhood as someone previously labelled masculine. what many others, and The Doctor themselves, saw as a need for attention and senseless disruption is Missy not needing to serve a false version of who they are, that they can now focus on becoming whoever they want to be now without losing energy to performing a gender that society has imposed on you. Missy could never have made the decision to stand with The Doctor if she had not given importance to her own queerness.

it wasn't coincidence with meeting Bill, she was the perfect foil for The Doctor to finally let go of their anxious attachment to masculinity. i would even argue for the majority of s10, The Doctor is largely ambiguous in their gender identity and does not fit into any construction of masculinity or femininity. whilst they still present as something socially labelled as masculine, they do not internalise that gender expression. they are uncaring about and not needing the validity that comes with heteronormativity, and thus is free to finally accept the decision they have to make. as Bill says, it is so hard to let go of The Doctor, and that rings true for twelve themselves. but they begin to realise The Doctor can be anyone. yes, they are tired, it would be so easy to simply rest and not give value to who you can become. but choosing to let go of everything you once were to survive is better than oblivion. it is better to let go, to choose another lifetime where the only person that dies is your falsity, to finally get it right and choose kindness. for yourself and for those who you love. they regenerate, not just into another person, but into someone who (if only tv scripts...) can now move forward.

#can you tell the only thoughts i have are of twelve?#this is why im kind of disappointed with the thirteenth doctors arc #like sure they're allowed dimensions as a character and to have dark moments #but there was a chance to show the nuances with relearning how to live and accept joy for yourself #as someone who has grieved and suffered loss and is detached #i know these themes arent just about transhood but dont you think they fit so beautifully?#this makes me want to bounce off the walls #doctor who #dw #twelfth doctor #peter capaldi #12th doctor #thirteenth doctor #jodie whittaker #13th doctor #long post

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evolnoomym · 1 month

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I’ll Make You Love Me💋

Bfd!Joel Miller x f!reader

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Summary: In Joel’s eyes you are an unpleasant person. Yet he has to pretend as if he would not want to get rid of you for Sarah’s sake, she loves you so much you are her best friend. Well Joel also feels terrible for the rather unethical thoughts he has of you.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni !!!!!

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: no y/n, introducing “Lucky”, female oc character, Sarah is 18, Lucky is 21, Joel’s age is not mentioned but he’s at least double Lucky’s age, degradation, humiliation, Dark, Joel is mean, he calls you Bitch/Slut/Junkie, spanking, dub-con, Daddy Kink, Manspreading hehe 😉, pervy!Joel, tears, Joel enjoys her tears, manhandling, hair pulling, weed consumption, alcohol consumption, a tiny fluffy moment, alludes to BJ, Joel can also be nice,

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Authors note: this is for @toxicanonymity ‘s manspreading olympics. ❤️‍🔥

Shoutout to @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️

Big thank you to @jennaispunk and @joelmillerisapunk for beta reading ❤️‍🔥🌙

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 💋

Songs I listened to while writing:

What You Do by James Gillespie

Bad Girls by M.I.A

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

Salvatore by Lana Del Rey

Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey

Waiting Game by BANKS

Into It by Chase Atlantic

You should feel bad for thinking of him in such a peculiar way. You should be ashamed for even considering him an option. He is totally off limits considering he’s much older, a busy mature man and most importantly Sarah’s Dad. Sarah the sweet girl that has been your Bestfriend for over 2 years.

It excited you in the beginning how much Joel hated your presence in his daughter’s life. He didn’t approve of this friendship ever since Sarah at 16 years old first brought you, her 19 year old friend, over for the first time.

In front of Sarah he tried his hardest to appear polite but you could see right through his facade from the beginning. And one evening when Sarah was already fast asleep you gave Joel a piece of your mind in the kitchen.

“Mister Miller let’s stop these silly games we both know what’s going on…you don’t like me and I couldn’t fucking care less.” You scoff and get off the counter, slowly drawing closer to Joel “You hate me so much but Sarah loves me soooooo much and imagine how upset she’d be to know that her Daddy doesn’t want her to be happy. Wouldn’t that be a shame,huh?” You question with an enticing head tilt.

Now you’re right in front of him, toe to toe with big bad imposing Joel Miller. You can feel the pulling in your lower belly from being so close and most importantly smelling his manly musky scent. You remind yourself that you gotta stay focused if you want to win this game.

You get even closer until your able to place your hands on his warm broad chest sliding them slightly upwards his shoulders. “What the hell r ya doin?” Joel hisses.

You lean up to whisper in his ear “Nothing, just letting you know that I eat guys like you for breakfast, I chew you up and spit you out. You’re not a threat to me, old man.” You pull back and give him a sinister sickly smile.

The wickedness in your tone causes goosebumps to prickle on his flesh.

You feed off of seeing him scared. You enjoy knowing what kinda effect you have on this usually so collected man.

“Goodnight Mister Miller, better start sleeping with one eye open from now on.” You giggle while skipping up the stairs.

That was the start of it all.

Now 2 years later with Sarah just having turned 18, Joel realizes that you two are gonna keep him on his toes even more than already.

The 18th birthday celebration was already a disaster, what Joel assumed would be a relaxed family gathering turned into you crashing the party and taking Sarah out, of course Sarah was excited so how could Joel say no.

Well when you two didn’t return at 12 pm like promised he admittedly got worried, but he wanted to trust Sarah so he tried to stay calm.

At 3 am he hears the screeching tires from some show off guys car and loud drunkish giggling. The princesses have officially arrived back home from their trip, almost 4 hours too late.

When Joel opens the front door he sees you and Sarah practically half draped over your shoulder stubbling up the starirs in sloppy drunk steps. You two are giggling and mumbling at each other in a language Joel does not understand, it certainly can’t be English.

You immediately glock his disgruntled face, the alcohol cursing through your system emboldens you so you haphazardly shove him out of the way. You sigh loudly and obviously annoyed at his antics all while herding Sarah up the stairs.

Joel cannot believe that after dragging Sarah off, taking her to god knows where, letting her drink and god forbid smoke… you still have the audacity to behave so entitled.

You put Sarah in danger and don’t feel an ounce of remorse. Joel hates your guts, in his eyes you are an entitled little brat that desperately needs to be put in her place.

Even though Joel hates you, he at the same time cannot keep his head clear of dirty images of your young and tight body. He thinks about the pool day where you showed up in the tiniest bikini he could think of.

Prancing around all while he had to resist the urge to just tear it off. You knew he was looking and he knew that you enjoyed his eyes flitting all over your enticing figure.

The both of you were tethering on a dangerous line, that could cause big trouble. How would Sarah feel knowing this is happening behind her back.

You constantly antagonize him like that wearing short skirts and tight shirts with no bra because apparently it’s too warm for that. Running into him, pressing your perky tits against his bicep in passing, coincidentally bending over in front of him. Joel was quickly approaching a breaking point, his resolve crumbling more and more with each time that he had to tug at his throbbing length all while thinking about you.

Joel clearly underestimated how much you’d play him and how much better at it you are. At this rate you’ll win this game. He however has a plan, that might even after everything still save him the success.

Joel only has to wait for the right time to attack, catch you off guard and use that to his advantage.

He gets pulled from his thoughts when he hears something that confuses him, you are singing and it sounds beautiful.

Joel creeps up the stairs as quietly as possible to not alert either of you.

The closer he gets to Sarah's door the clearer it becomes. Joel pushes the bedroom door open by only a few inches to get a look at the situation and it makes his heart roar. You sit on the side of the bed we’re Sarah is nicely tucked in, your body facing Joel but your eyes locked on Sarah’s face. Softly singing a lullaby in a language foreign to him while gently stroking over her cheeks, smoothing the hair out of her face, almost like a mother would with her baby. Something Sarah never got to experience in childhood since her mother left so early on.

Joel realizes that despite the rough exterior you put up there’s more to you than just a cold hearted homewrecker, you care for Sarah, you take care of her and watch over her wherever you two run off to. Joel feels gratitude for someone he admittedly doesn’t know a whole lot about.

Joel has seen enough and retreats back downstairs.

When you stumble into the living room to bid your goodbyes Joel looks like he’s deep in thoughts.

So you announce “Sarah is sleeping, make sure she drinks lotssssssss of water when she wakes up and takes more aspirin if needed. I’m out.”

You turn to walk off when Joel gets up “Hey ya sure bout walkin home now? I can drive ya.” He offers but you decline “Nah it’s alright Mr. Miller I can protect myself, I’ve always done it. Besides, why do you suddenly care,huh?“ you sarcastically laugh while slipping out of the house.

When you’ve turned away from him the snarky smile falls right off your face.

Joel actually felt somewhat sorry that night for the way he treated you all those times before.

That lasted until you decided to smoke weed with Sarah in his lil work shed that was situated in the back of his garden.

Joel would’ve realized either way if not by the smells wafting up his nostrils the moment he entered the shed later in the evening, then surely by Sarah’s unstoppable giggling, her slow mumbled speech or by the food flash she got.

When the two of you begged him to let you sleep over he eagerly agreed. Chalk it up to the weed that numbs your brain that this quick reaction didn’t seem suspicious.

Joel knows you will find him, you’ll see the open back door and walk right into his trap. You never sleep the night through when you spend it over at the Millers, he can hear you getting up and wandering around the house. Sarah on the other hand has got to be blessed with an extremely deep sleep.

The thought of overpowering you makes him smile giddily into the darkness of the shed.

As usual you wake up in the middle of the night, ever since being a little child the sleeping became a struggle and nothing works except tiring yourself out.

You get up out of Sarah’s huge plush bed, slip out into the hallway and down the stairs. There you immediately catch the wide open back door leading to the garden. Odd, Mister Miller would never in a million years leave that open.

You walk up to the sliding doors and when you stand in the threshold staring into the dark backyard you see that the shed is left open too.

Out of stupid curiosity you decide to investigate, not the smartest to perhaps walk right into a burglar who has a weapon but you don’t really care.

So you pat the way across the cold grass, it tickles the sole of your bare feet and the fresh midnight breeze actually feels awfully pleasant on your heated skin. Halfway you stop and glance upward at the beautiful full moon shining down on you.

After taking a deep breath you continue onward towards the shed.

When you reach the opening of the shed there’s really nothing you can see or hear. So you step further into it, carefully putting one foot in front of the other.

You feel like someone is watching you but you are unable to pinpoint where it’s coming from. It’s unsettling so you do something considerably stupid “Hello, hello is there anyone? Mister Miller are you in here?” You call out with a shaking voice.

No response.

A light flickering in the center of the room catches you off guard and now you can see him, the one that watched you.

Mr.Miller is sitting on a bar chair behind him is his working table, he leans his back against the edge of the table.

Your eyes immediately go to his slightly sweaty face -the Texas heat is unrelenting even in the middle of the night- he looks gorgeous illuminated by the tiny lamp glowing behind his shoulder on the cupboard. He’s smirking sinisterly at you.

You let your eyes wander over his broad shoulders that are clad in a green flannel. Inevitably your eyes slip down to his wide spread jeans covered thighs, they look so big and muscular.

He catches your staring and drops a hand on his thigh that slowly starts stroking up and down. Making you gulp audibly.

“M..M-..Mister M..Miller what are you doing here?” You stammer out.

“I was waitin for ya to come find me.” He huffs gruffly.

He continues “Close the door behind ya Lucky.”

You feel somewhat hypnotized by his slow calculated words as you, out of pure reflex, reach for the handle behind you.

As you shut the door, effectively trapping yourself with him he murmurs “That’s a good girl. Ya do know how to listen Lucky Girl.”

Hearing Joel call you a good girl in his signature dark molasses like voice had you squeezing your thighs together.

“Hmm ya like that baby, huh?” He inquires

“N..no, that would be fuckin weird.” You try sounding sincere but to no avail Joel has seen through you a long time ago.

“Lucky you are liar, a slut, a junkie..-“

You hiss “What did you just say?” While stepping closer to where he sits.

“Ya heard me right Lucky, you are a fuckin junkie, smoking weed in my shed with Sarah. Are ya outta your mind?” He throws back

“You gotta be kidding me, right? Big Bad Mr Miller is shitting his pants cuz of a bit of weed.” You wheeze.

“That’s enough.” He decides, getting up in one swift imposing movement. Suddenly he’s the one towering over you and he looks pissed.

He’s on you in the blink of an eye threading his hand through your hair grabbing a decent amount by which he pulls you with him.

“Ouch…ouch what the fuck let me go.” You huff while trying to get his hands out of your hair. But he doesn’t appreciate the disobedience and starts pulling even harder, which brings you to tears from the pain.

“Ohhh poor baby Lucky, look at those tears, ya not havin’ fun huh? That’s too bad darlin’ but I don’t care.”

He sits back down on the chair and in one swift motion pulls you over his thighs. Your belly rests on his crotch and your whole world is turned upside down.

“Clearly no one has ever taught ya a lesson, that’s why ya always behave like a bratty bitch.”

His free hand flits to your sleeping shorts and practically tears them off of you. At the ripping sound you yelp.

“Hmm look at that plump ass and those sweet lacy panties…ya always wear this slutty underwear when ya have a sleepover?” All while he’s groping you.

“What the hell are you doing Joel?”

“Aw is it not Mr.Miller anymore? Have we lost our manners lil girl? Or is there a better name for me, hmm?” He inquires.

For some reason you know exactly what he wants to hear but you're not inclined to give in. Yet.

“It’s fine baby ya don’t need to say it now, I’ll make you scream that goddamn name you fucking slut.” He pulls on your hair “Ya hear me bitch.?”

All you manage is a meak nod before he lets go off your face.

You can feel his warm and calloused hand on your cheek squeezing, stroking and poking. Then his hand is gone but not for long. You can’t even react. He's that fast in delivering the first smack to your behind.

“Ya gonna take what i give ya and behave cuz you wanna be a good girl, right? Ya wanna be my good girl,hmm?”

“Y..y-yes I do Mr.Miller.” You say defeated.

“Atta Girl. I think 10 should do it, for now, until ya feel like acting up again..”

He is unrelenting when it comes to punishing you, each time the impact is harder and more unexpected than the previous. You have to bite your lip in order to suppress a moan, even though it hurts it’s incredible. You can feel yourself becoming wet, with each time that his hand collides with your behind more slick gushes out of your pussy. At this point there must be a wet patch visible.

His bulge pressing against your stomach tells you how much this is affecting him too.

“Lucky I know ya try to hide it but I can smell how she’s leaking and if I check I’m sure I’ll find that cunt all sloppy for me, right?”

“Y..y-yes.”

“That’s what i thought.” And with that he continues the assault on your cheeks.

And it may be only ten but he makes them count, the blows are measured and hard. You guess your cheeks must be glowing at this point.

When he finally reaches 10 it feels like hours have passed since you decided to go wander around. He’s massaging your bruised ass. You finally feel like you’re getting a moment of peace but that couldn’t be further from the truth, because Joel threads his hand back into your hair and yanks you to face him.

He’s just staring at you, accessing you and then he kisses you.

It’s rough, teeth clashing, tongues swirling around, his hands urgently grabbing your face, your fingers tangled in his graying curls.

Though the kissing is over before it can escalate too far, Joel is once again pulling you by your hair, this time he’s more gentle, he pulls you off of his knees and pushes you down on them in the space between his spread thighs. You’re at eye level with his crotch now that looks painfully hard.

As you peek up at him through your lashes you muse “Looks like you got a problem, a big problem…Daddy. You want me to help you?” All while innocently tilting your head at him.

He grabs your face roughly “Shut up Lucky and put ya smart mouth to better use.”

“Don’t underestimate me Daddy. I’ll make you love me.” You say while giving him a cheeky wink.

Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI, thank you 🙏🏻

Npt: @toxicanonymity @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelmillerisapunk @joelslegalwhre @joelsdagger @tonysopranosrobe @luxurychristmaspudding @mountainsandmayhem @moonlitbirdie @joelalorian @sawymredfox @thundermartini @ace-turned-confused @almostfoxglove @pedropeach @joelsgreys @joelstummy @ovaryacted @iamasaddie @wintrwinchestr @littlemisspascal

#Joel Miller #manspreading olympics #Joel Miller Fic #bfd!joel #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller tlou #joel miller age gap #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #kinda dark #My writing #Mina Writes

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starlit-typewriter · 5 months

Text

Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 4

So fun fact, I got Lyney on 12 pity, with no guaranteed after posting that previous section, so uh. He doesn’t need to be jealous of his siblings anymore I guess.

Warning for Spoilers up to 4.6

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

~~~

Cold

It was very cold,

Freezing actually, numbingly cold and frigid. The icy hands of hypothermia creeping up your legs to encase your body into an icy coffi-

Ok, well maybe that’s a step too far.

But it’s cold.

Why is it cold?

Oh it’s snowing that’s why.

You look down at your feet.

Yep, there’s snow.

You wiggle your toes, and see the snow on top if them shift.

You giggle to yourself at the amusing sight. You look up to see if there’s anyone else.

It’s empty, just a vast expanse of snow and wind.

Wait, no it’s not. There’s a building right over there, it’s massive, tall and imposing with gigantic walls and windows.

Oh there’s a person in one of those windows, hopefully you’re not trespassing.

You can’t really make out who it is, their black and white figure is blurred by the heavy snow and wind, but you try waving to them anyway.

If there’s so much snow and wind shouldn’t you be colder than this?

You blink,

“- gnoring me, I swear,”

You turn your head, and your friend is there.

“Hellooo, why do you keep spacing out?” she complains, taking a sip of her drink.

The two of you are at a cafe.

She proposed that the two of you meet up now that the weather is nice and take a walk together and get some exercise. Somehow that exercise ended with the two of you sitting in a heavily air conditioned cafe.

You blink, weren’t you just cold.

Oh right, you look over to your side where the AC is blasting on full volume.

“Why don’t we move to different seats,” you offer, “The AC is giving me a headache.”

~~~

“Another successful day of adventuring completed!” Paimon cheered, spinning around as the Traveler handed in the receipts for all their completed commissions.

The Traveler smiled at her enthusiasm as they accepted their reward from Katheryn, before heading over to where Paimon was floating.

“Hungry for dinner?” They asked, knowing the answer already.

“Of course!” Paimon exclaimed, “As if that’s even a question.” She paused, bobbing slightly as she stared the Traveler down.

“Hmm, Paimon can’t help but feel you’re up to something, but she can’t figure out what.”

The Traveler takes their time, hemming and hawing as they stroll down the streets of Fountaine with Paimon floating closely behind, riling her up with frustration.

“Grrr, c’mon just tell Paimon, or I’m gonna burst,”

The Traveler laughed at their companion’s frustrated face, before turning to face them with a cheeky smile on their face. “Well, I’ve got a bit more energy than usual, so why don’t you choose a restaurant for us to visit,” they proposed cheekily.

Paimon’s eyes opened wide with anticipation, “really!” She exclaimed, shooting up with anticipation, “you better not be messing with Paimon,” she threatened, eyes sparking.

“Nope,” the Traveler drawled, as they made their way over to the nearby waypoint. They placed their hand on it meaningfully, and extended the other to Paimon. “Where are we going tonight?”

Paimon squealed with happiness, shooting into the Traveler’s arms. “ Komore Teahouse please,” she begged, “We haven’t had hotpot in so long,”

“As you wish,” and in a burst of energy the two disappeared from the streets of Fountaine.

The smell of sweet Sakura blossoms greeted Paimon's nose as the two appeared in Inazuma.

Thankfully there weren’t too many gawking standerbys, many of them having gotten used to the Traveler's unique ability of traveling through waypoints.

She quickly darted out from their arms and turned to check on them. While it may look effortless, she knew that teleporting took a lot of energy out of the Traveler, and as their traveling companion it’s her responsibility to make sure that they don’t overwork themselves.

Their breathing was fine, but their head rested on the waypoint, eyes closed. Paimon gave them a moment to collect themselves, hovering anxiously. Within a few seconds their eyelids opened, sending Paimon a reassuring smile.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Paimon asked, feelings slightly guilty at how enthusiastic she was at coming to visit Inazuma, even though she knew how much energy it would take.

“Of course, I did offer after all,” the Traveler replied easily.

The two made their way to Komore teahouse, Paimon made sure to float a bit slower than usual, just in case the Traveler was still tired.

She’s sure they noticed, since they bumped her playfully before whispering “race you,” into her ear and darted off.

“HEY NO FAIR,”

The two adventurers raced each other down the streets of Inazuma before skidding to a stop outside Komore Teahouse, the Traveler slapping their hand on the sign triumphantly as Paimon panted behind them.

“No, huff huff, fair,” Paimon complained, pointing their finger at the Traveler accusatorially.

Before the Traveler could gloat about their victory, a familiar voice interrupted the duo.

“Woah woah what happened here,”

“Thoma!” Paimon exclaimed, perking back up.

The Traveler exchanged warm greetings with the Kamisato housekeeper, as the three headed into the teahouse to catch up.

“-lace flooded and then!” Paimon paused mid story, mouth hanging open.

“And then what?” Thoma asked eagerly engrossed in the story.

The expectant silence was interrupted by a loud stomach gurgle.

There was a moment before all three of them burst into laughter.

“I think Paimon got so engrossed in story telling that we forgot to order food,” the Traveler commented between giggles.

“Hey!”

Thoma took the initiative to stand up and order food for the group. The Traveler tried to get up as well, but was ushered back into their seat.

“C’mon, it’s already bad enough manners that I made guests wait this long without food, at least let me order it for you,” Thoma pleaded playfully,

“I think we’re more friends than guests at this point, ” Paimon chimed in, floating up from her seat.

“You know that’s not what I mean. C’mon, you guys save me some face here.”

After some light heckling and teasing, Thoma darted off to grab some dinner for them.

The Traveler leaned forward in their seat, face still a little pale.

Paimon floated beside them anxiously. “Are you feeling ok?” She asked quietly, the Traveler doesn’t usually take this long to recover from a teleport trip.

The Traveler hummed lightly in agreement, now fully leaning on the table, “just a bit drowsy.”

Paimon bit her lip nervously, she floated around the Traveler’s head anxiously.

It seemed as if her hovering was annoying them since they soon tilted their head up to gaze at her with slight annoyance. “I’m okay, Paimon, honest.”

Paimon didn’t believe them.

“Are you sure, because -”

“I’m fine,” they cut her off, “I’m more worried about you.”

Paimon blinked, “Me?”

“Do you think I haven’t noticed how much hovering and how anxious you’ve been? I just wanted to- ” they cut themselves off in frustration.

Paimon sagged a little, she didn’t like making the Traveler worry about them.

The Traveler sighed, “If this is about the Kn-”

“No,” Paimon interrupted, “It’s not.”

A disbelieving face was her only answer.

She bit her lip. Maybe she wasn’t as good of an actor as she thought, or it was just the Traveler being able to see through her.

She didn't really want to explain, but considering that they were willing to push themselves in order to try to cheer her up, well. Paimon felt guilty for keeping it from them.

“It’s just not fair!” She burst out, a scowl painting itself on her normally cheerful face.

“Her being blessed you mean?” The Traveler confirmed, sitting up properly to face Paimon.

“I don’t trust her,” Paimon admitted, her hands twisting together. “She’s so scary and we never know what she’s going to do next, or who she’s going to hurt. Not to mention she’s Fatui Harbinger!”

“So are Childe and the Wanderer,”

“That’s different and you know it! Wanderer’s working for Nahida now and Childe might be a Harbinger but he won’t hurt us, you can beat him up any day!”

The Traveler sighed, “this is because I lost isn’t it.”

“That’s -” Paimon couldn’t refute that.

The two fell into a bit of an uneasy silence.

“I’m not the strongest person in Teyvat Paimon. I never have been,” they explained gently.

“I know,” Paimon mumbled, “I just, don’t like the fact that she’s now going to get stronger because of us.”

“You don’t know that- ”

“Yes I do!” She shot back, “So many people we meet just get inexplicably stronger and they all think it’s thanks to us but we haven’t done anything and it’s been fine so far because they’ve all been our friends and have been really nice to us but-”

She gets cut off when the Traveler pulls her into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” they apologized, “I didn’t know you’ve been struggling with this.”

Paimon relaxed in their hold, “It never really bothered me until now,”

“Me neither,” they admitted, leaning into their hug more.

“Food her-” Thoma paused in the doorway at the sight of the two hugging. “Uh, did I barge in at a bad moment, because I can- ”

“It’s fine,” Paimon exclaimed, flying out of the hug. “We were just uh-”

She looked over to the Traveler for an excuse, but they just shook their head and shrugged.

“Practicing what we’d do if there was an earthquake,” she finished lamely.

Thoma blinked at that admittedly pretty bad excuse, but thankfully knew not to push.

“Alrighty then, well who’s ready for- ”

“HOTPOT,” Paimon’s eyes widened to the size of Dinner plates as the smell of the tray in Thoma’s hands finally reached her nose.

The rest of the meal proceeded merrily as Paimon got to fill her stomach, Thoma got caught up with all their recent adventures, and the Traveler got to bask in good company.

They were pretty quiet, as is the norm, since they prefer to let Paimons speak for them.

Until, well.

“Thoma, what did it feel like when you got blessed.”

The other two fall into silence at the Traveler’s question. Thoma swiveled his head to see the Traveler staring at him with an uncharacteristically serious look.

Their golden eyes bored into his face, it was easy to forget when they were chatting over a meal or talking walks together, but the Traveler was famous for more than just their adventures.

Despite their young appearance, they’d always held themselves with an innate grace and authority Thoma had rarely ever seen. A kind of aura that made you wonder whether they were secretly an ancient powerful Yokai in disguise.

“Uh, well,” Thoma stammered.Even though he could confidently say they were friends, and that they would never lay a hand on him, the fact that the Traveler was so much more powerful than him was hard to ignore at this very moment. “Haven’t you gone through it yourself?”

The Traveler shakes their head, “I don’t remember being blessed,” they responded shortly.

“Well,” Thoma scratched his head, mulling over his words, “I can’t really compare it to getting a vision-” he trailed off, deep in thought.

He looked around before his gaze settled on their empty hotpot bowl.

“I think I'd compare it to drinking a warm bowl of soup on a freezing cold day.”

The Traveler quirks a brow, surprised.

“I thought it’d be more dramatic than that,” Paimon added, looking slightly disheartened as well.

“Sorry,” Thoma scratched his head, slightly embarrassed. “That’s just the best way I could think of to describe it.”

He paused, before angling himself towards the pair to better explain his train of thought, “You know there are some days where it all feels a little overwhelming and exhausting,”

The two nodded in response.

“Think of it like that, its been a super long day, the weather’s a mess, you’re cold and tired and you just want to crawl to bed.” he gestured, trying to convey what a busy day would look like.

“Then you go inside, and there’s this warm bowl of soup waiting just for you, it’s the perfect temperature so you don’t don’t need to worry about burning you mouth and it just warms you from the inside out and give you more energy to keep going.”

By the end of his story the two were nodding in unison.

“Does that make sense to you,” he finishes weakly.

“Better,” the Traveler commented, looking over at Paimon who was nodding enthusiastically.

“Sorry, it’s just that no one’s ever really asked me about that before.” He laughs sheepishly. Internally grateful that the Traveler’s gaze had directed itself elsewhere.

“Really?” Paimon exclaimed, “I’d have thought um-” she trailed off awkwardly.

Thoma knew where they were going, “Lord and Lady Kamisato never mentioned such things to me, they know about my blessing of course, but they never tried to pry into the specifics.”

“Ahh, gotcha,”

The table lapses into an awkward silence.

“Is there a particular reason why?” Thoma asks eventually.

The two look at each other for a bit before turning back to him.

“Just a bit of investigating,” the Traveler responds vaguely. “It just seems weird to us that this has been happening for years now and now one is really sure why.”

“Well, most of us assumed that you were the one doing the blessing,” he responded, stacking some of the empty plates together.

“WHAT!” Paimon exclaimed, flying backwards in shock.

“You didn’t know?” Thoma looked surprised.

The Traveler shook their head alongside Paimon’s vehement denial.

“Oh, well that’s a bit awkward,” he laughs, “But don’t worry, we soon realized that you had no control over it,”

“Good,” Paimon nodded, “The last thing we need is people thinking we’re intentionally withholding a blessing from them, or worse people trying to get close to us for the blessing.” She shuddered.

The Traveler nodded in agreement, yawning slightly.

Thoma, perceptive as always, offered to get them a room at the Kamisato estate, only to be met with polite refusal.

“Thanks for the offer Thoma, but we’re probably gonna head out first thing tomorrow morning,” Paimon said, “Plus it’s not like we’re camping outside with our teapot and all,”

“That’s true,” Thoma noted, “then pass on my regards to you Teapot butler for me.”

“Will do, and pass on ours to Ayaka and Ayato.” The Traveler responded kindly.

~~~

Later that night, Paimon and the Traveler were getting ready to sleep.

“Ooof, Paimon is stuffed,” she stretched, floating down towards the bed.

“Satisfying meal?” the Traveler commented wryly, tucking their legs under their chin from where they were seated on their bed.

“Mmhmm,” Paimon agreed, curling up under the blankets.

“Thank you,” she said, after a short pause.

She didn’t need to elaborate, the two had traveled together for far too long for that. Despite how it may look to outsiders, and how the Traveler might joke about her being emergency food, she knew how much the Traveler treasured their relationship and vice versa.

She remembered the darker days at the beginning of their partnership, when the Traveler would wake up in the middle of the night screaming for their sibling, or days when they could barely talk, overstimulated by the world around them. Whilst Paimon was no expert doctor, she knew how to bring the traveler out of their shell and what they were comfortable with.

She knew that the Traveler still had a difficult time meeting new people, and that even though that had a near total mastery of Teyvat’s language, its not one that they enjoyed using.

There were still bad days of course, and bad nights, but Paimon knew how to deal with them better now.

A soft snore interrupted her train of thought.

She looked over to see the Traveler comfortably asleep.

Yeah, things are good the way they are.

She curled up in her own blankets and let darkness overtake her.

~~~

Poke,

Poke, Poke

A soft giggle.

Paimon scrunched her nose and turned to her other side to avoid the poking, to no avail.

The soft pokes to her squishy cheeks continued.

Paimon became fed up before long and shot out of bed, ready to yell at the Traveler for waking her up like that, only to be faced with, not the Traveler.

A stranger stood in front of her with a confused look on their face.

“You weren’t supposed to wake up,” they muttered in confusion.

Paimon stared at them for a brief second before bursting into a scream.

~~~

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

~~~

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If you'd like the join the taglist, please send me an ask, it's a lot easier to keep track and I'd hate to miss anyone.

Or if you just have any questions or comments, my ask box is open!

#genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin cult au #My writing

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cloudshuffle · 7 months

Text

an arrow, a spark. yan!childe

index / next / beta reader @malewifeharem

When they assign you to a new division in the Fatui, you think nothing much of it. People were always being moved around in the organisation, people disappeared under mysterious circumstances, new recruits were popping up out of nowhere.

What was strange, however, was whose division you were assigned to. Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, all the way in Liyue, no less - or Ajax, as you knew him better.

“I'll be sorry to see you go,” Signora says from behind you.

You jump, nearly dropping the stack of papers in your hands. She stands in the doorway, imposing as always, yet the air she gives off implies she's left off a “darling” at the end of her sentence.

Madame Signora's always been fond of you for reasons you've never known, though that often meant being stuck in dull, dull meetings and organising her paperwork for her.

You salute her, then laugh nervously. In the midst of your packing, your office looks like a hurricane hit it, stacks of books and papers scattered everywhere. Not the best look to put forward to your boss.

“So, Liyue.” She takes a step, placing her right inside the threshold of your office. Behind her, her new bodyguard slash secretary shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Quite a ways from home, yes?”

“It is.” The land of the Geo Archon, Morax, but most importantly his creation of mora. A warm place by far, considering Snezhnaya's standards, but its trade sector was coldly competitive.

“How do you feel about it?”

How did you feel? The question catches you by surprise, much like her appearance in your office. Never before had you been asked your personal opinion on anything before, least of all by a harbinger.

It’s just work.

“It’s a great opportunity to expand my horizons and learn about another culture, ma’am.”

She chuckles elegantly. “A textbook answer. Good. It’d be useful if you kept those same wits around Tartaglia.”

You blink, a cloud of dust distracting you briefly from what she’d just said. “...Tartaglia, ma’am?”

“Oh, yes.” Her red lips curve into a wry smile. “He requested for you specifically. He’s been pestering me, in fact, to let him have you.”

You remain silent, unsure of how to respond.

“But look at me, holding you up. I do hope you have fun while in Liyue - it can be quite the interesting place, after all.”

────────────

You don’t quite know what all the fuss about Tartaglia is about till lunch, when you venture into the mess hall with Nadia.

She doesn't even wait for the two of you to sit down before broaching the topic. “Did you know the eleventh is back is Snezhnaya?”

“He is?” You stab at your potatoes with your fork, eyeing her cheekily. “And I don't suppose you're in the market for a partner at the same time, are you?”

“Oh, not a harbinger.” She laughs. “That’s way too high profile for me.”

You eye the raised platform at the front of the hall where a long table’s been set. It’s more for show than anything else, seeing as how the harbingers have never once found themselves privy to dining with you common soldiers. There are twelve high-backed, intricately carved mahogany chairs, and one in the middle, larger than the rest, gilded with gold and complete with red velvet cushions. The Tsaritsa’s. Yet another reminder of who you all served.

Nadia's chatter washes over you like a soothing wave. You're grateful to have a friend when you go abroad, if only for distractions like this if nothing else.

She wants to marry and settle down already - a noble sentiment for a young Snezhnayan lady. You think any man would be lucky to have her.

For yourself, you're not so sure.

“Ooh!” She nudges you. “Don't look, but Vlad's over there. Isn't he cute?”

Against her wishes, you turn your head. He looks like any regular Snezhnayan man to you, blonde and with an angular face that could’ve been carved from the frozen earth itself. “Well, I guess. He looks kind.”

“And he's coming to Liyue too!” Nadia stage whispers.

“Exciting.” You raise an eyebrow.

You excuse yourself from your meal after a while, leaving the mess hall alone. Nadia's conversation was entertaining but exhausting, provided one could keep up with her endless stream of news and gossip from various sources.

But it's from this river of information that you sift out a tiny gold nugget: that Harbinger Tartaglia would be in the archery fields if he weren't busy preparing for his return to Liyue with his new crew.

Perhaps it's curiosity, or pure boredom that drives you outside into the cold.

The walk is familiar, ice crunching under your boots. It was admittedly difficult to walk on snow and ice - if you were anything but Snezhnayan, born and raised.

Your fingertips tingle with the phantom itch to hold a bow. It'd been a while…

You follow the path, rounding the building to a frozen field. A number of wooden targets and straw dummies are lined up, some in varying states of disrepair. A small hangover, an incline, really, provides minimal coverage against the wind like a very tiny rock against a great river.

As expected, there’s no one there. You feel a small sense of relief at having missed that chance encounter.

The new recruits train elsewhere. It’s a place only for those who want to exercise the muscles you rarely get to use, being cooped up in front of a desk all day.

You take up position at the edge of the field, summoning your bow and fixing three arrows to it.

They arc in a graceful, shining line, each landing perfectly in the middle of its respective target board.

You affix another arrow to the shelf, taking a deep breath. The world narrows to the point of your arrow and the fletching on the arrow you landed.

Dimly, you’re aware of the shuffling of feet behind you, quickly hushed. Probably just another of your fellow soldiers who wanted to get out of the noise of the mess hall. You pay them no mind.

You release the arrow, reload, release, reload. Three arrows land in rapid succession, splitting each of the previous arrows neatly down the shaft.

You exhale, and your senses return to you. The cold embraces you again, and you shake the tension out of your shoulders, putting your bow away. You can almost feel its sigh, already impatient for the next occasion it could perform.

Slow clapping. “An impressive show, soldier.”

You spin on your heel.

Tartaglia stands at the top of the incline, flanked by two bodyguards. As if he needed them within the walls of the Fatui stronghold, the youngest of all the harbingers, who single-handedly dug his fingers into the fabric of Liyue to get the Tsaritsa a foothold.

It’s been quite a while since you last saw him, you realise. He looks a little sharper, a little leaner, his gaze perhaps a little more complex, as if he were thinking of the future while simultaneously discerning all your secrets. The hydro vision on his belt winks at you in the cold light.

Standing on the incline, he looks like a conqueror, surveying his land. It's a good look for a harbinger to have.

“My lord.” You salute him smartly, tamping down your embarrassment at noticing them late. “My apologies for taking up your time.”

“Oh, no need for all that, padruga.” He comes down the slope, the bodyguards following a respectful distance behind. “It's always a delight to watch you in action.”

What had Madame Signora said? “He requested for you specifically”?

Ajax- no, Tartaglia, is a good head taller than you, maybe more. As he approaches, you have to incline your head to meet the unfamiliar gleam in his blue eyes. Whatever could he want from you?

“You've been well, I trust?” He summons his bow, and you take the cue to move a step backward, leaving him room to shoot.

“Well enough, may the Tsaritsa continue to watch over me.”

To your surprise, he snorts a laugh, loosing his arrow. It strikes deep into the wood, igniting a spark as it scrapes against yours. “A devotary? Some things certainly have changed around here.”

One of the bodyguards shifts his feet. You glance back at him, then at Tartaglia. “Is a harbinger not also subservient to her majesty?”

He chuckles. “Of course he is. I’m just… surprised.” Another arrow, another target. “You never struck me as the type to believe.”

You remain silent as the last arrow hits its mark. All just to the right of your own arrows, pressed so close they seem on the verge of falling off.

“Excellent marksmanship, my lord.” The impersonal compliment comes easily to your lips. You clasp your hands behind your back.

A gentle breeze begins to blow (the kind that might have killed a man in lesser clothing), unsettling his already unruly ginger hair. The bodyguards adjust their stances, as if roused by the cold wind.

“Certainly.” He grins, a self-assured smile, unhidden by a mask. You’re grateful for yours in that regard - no need to hide your emotions or expressions too well when all Fatui are shrouded in uniform secrecy. “Nothing but the best to serve her majesty.”

Somewhere deep within the halls, a bell begins to toll.

You snap to a salute. “Thank you for your time, my lord,” you say, as if he hadn’t been the one to seek you out for conversation first. “I must be taking my leave now.”

padruga: friend (female) according to google

— word count: 1598. thank you for reading!

#cloud writes #yandere genshin #genshin #childe #yandere childe #genshin childe #yan!childe #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #tartaglia #genshin tartagalia

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tonowaritrash · 1 year

Note

I’ve never done an ask before, but I’d love to see a smut fic of young Tonowari with reader. Where she thinks he’s going to be with Ronal so she tries her best to avoid him, no matter how hard he tries to get her attention. Then her heat starts unexpectedly when he finally gets a hold of her so she runs away, but he follows her fed up with the running. Finds out she’s in heat and wants to mate with her but she thinks it’s just a duty to him as future chief. Hopefully this makes sense in some way.

A HEAT FIC! YES! nonny i hope your dreams come true

slightly different turn of events at the end, for added drama, but the spirit is the same methinks.

pairing: tonowari x reader

tags: heat, feelings of inadequacy, p in v sex, praise, gentle dom!tonowari if you squint, porn with feelings

a/n: this fic…it ran away from me

minors dni

it’s not that you’d wanted to avoid tonowari, not truly anyway. you’d grown up together as your parents were close to each other, and he’s always been protective over you. fussing over whether you were truly ready for joining the others for hunts, giving other men a glare when they’d approached you, soothing you when you cried about whatever had hurt you that day. but he was like that with your siblings too, and all his friends really. the treatment you got wasn’t special but every softly spoken assurance, every gentle smile, every soothing touch, even, had taken a hold on your heart.

but you couldn’t do anything about it. he would soon take over as olo’eyktan and all the tribe whispered and gushed about how ronal would be the perfect tsahik. and who could blame them? she was fierce, intelligent, loyal, loving and dedicated to the tribe. the younger members often sought her out for guidance when they were too scared to go to elders.

it only made sense, then, that tonowari spent less time with you as time went on. as you got older and more mature you’d noticed how he and ronal were often nowhere to be seen. you wouldn’t dare impose yourself upon them. it just didn’t feel right. no matter how much your heart ached for him.

so when he appeared in front of you while you and the tribe were deciding hunting parties for the day you were surprised. he was smiling, turquoise eyes sparkling. “looks like we’ll be together for the day,” he said.

you nearly frowned, having not heard the olo’eyktan’s announcement of parties during your musings. ronal had apparently been assigned to another one.

“just like old times, eh?” he asked.

you nodded, forcing a smile. you couldn’t hunt with him. it would hurt too much to have him fuss over you when you were like this.

he gave you an earnest look and placed a hand on your shoulder. “listen, i-“”

suddenly someone called out to him and he turned to see his father, a dear friend of the oloeyktan, motioning for him.

tonowari looked at you apologetically. “we’ll talk on the hunt,” he promised.

again, you could only nod and sighed in relief when he left. the place he had touched you burned and your heart seemed to think your chest was a drum.

quickly you ran to find another close friend of yours before the hunt started.

you found him sharpening a spear, face contorted in concentration.

“not now,” he muttered, immediately knowing it was you. “i gotta get this ready before we head out.”

“switch hunting parties with me,” you blurted in a rush.

ralak sighed and placed the spear down. “what’s this about?”

“nothing, i…” you paused and gulped, nothing how shaky your breath was. “i just…the west side of the reef isn’t that pretty this time of year is all.”

ralak studied you steadily before sighing and continuing with sharpening his spear. “fine. but you owe me.”

you beamed and hugged him. “thanks!”

“yeah, yeah.”

-0O0-

the hunts were successful and without incident. tonowari had managed to catch a large fish that would feed the tribe well for two nights. the celebration was boisterous and the cheerful sounds of your fellow metkayina floated into the night sky.

there were drums being beaten on steadily and flutes were played as the tribe danced. you were sitting next to ralak who was telling you about the hunt and how tonowari had led them, speaking above the roar of the fire and the songs being chanted.

you laughed along at his tale, only to be distracted by a glimpse of tonowari who was making his way through the crowd as though looking for someone. your eyes caught each other and a smile graced his face before he made his way to you, causing your good mood to sour immediately.

“i need to go,” you said suddenly, standing up.

ralak was surprised but didn’t say anything, only offering a small wave. you smiled back reassuringly and melted into the crowd. the whole tribe was there so it was easy to blend in and have tonowari lose track of you.

you turned and saw him speaking to ralak with a quizzical look but saw ronal approaching them as well. you heart lurched and your eyes burned, hot tears threatening to fall. you looked away before you could see them talk to each other and made your way back home.

the night air was cooler now that you were away from the flames, but you noticed your body was still quite warm. a dull ache, barely noticeable, sat at the bottom of your stomach.

it was early symptoms of a heat, but it was still days away. your scent hadn’t changed yet, ralak would have pointed it out if it did, so it wouldn’t be a problem for another few days.

-0O0-

“so will you tell me what’s wrong now?”

two days later you were sitting with ralak at a cliff, taking in the breeze and watching the waves crash into stone below you. the day was warm and you were sharing fruit between the two of you.

“i don’t know what you mean,” you said coolly before taking a bite. the fruit was juicy and you wiped your mouth when you felt some of it trickle down your chin.

ralak gave you a pointed look, clearly unimpressed. “i’m not stupid, you’ve been avoiding tonowari for months, now. what’s going on?”

you frowned at him. ralak was always so observant, wise beyond his years it seemed too. “i haven’t been avoiding him.”

he clicked his tongue and shook his head as he stared into the horizon. the sea was so beautiful like this, glinting under the bright light of the star in the sky. he was concerned, but he didn’t prod.

“your heat’s coming,” he murmured now.

you choked on the fruit that was currently in your mouth at his bluntness. “you can’t just…a little tact, please!”

he chuckled. “there’s no one here, and i can guarantee everyone in the tribe will be able to smell it on you in about a day too.”

the only reason ralak knew was because he was around you so much. when people were close to each other it was far easier to smell the subtle differences in scent.

“so? any plans to have someone help you?”

“are you volunteering?” you teased, but the look he gave you was a serious one. you shook your head. “i’m used to going at it alone.”

“you sure?” he asked. “you were joking but i don’t mind helping you, you know. i get…i just…” he trailed off, wringing his hands.

you knew what he would say, and you were flattered really. heats were a difficult time and usually it was encouraged at an unmated woman have a trusted friend help her through it until she was bonded. going at it alone wasn’t impossible but it was harder.

“i’m used to it,” you reassured. “don’t worry about me, ralak.”

he shook his head again, though not at you it seemed. perhaps at something he himself was thinking. “alright. but you’re gonna have to find a mate soon.”

when the two of you arrived back at the tribe, eclipse was close at hand. ralak left, mentioning something about spears again before giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as though to reassure you.

you were alone in the bustle of the village and tried to find something to keep your mind busy for the rest of the day.

before you could even think however, you bumped into tonowari who steadied you before you could fall. his hands were hot against your skin and you jumped away.

“you alright?” he asked. “i was looking for you.”

you looked up at his concerned eyes and could feel your stomach curl in on itself. “i…i’m fine. i need to go—”

“i wanted to talk to you about something,” he said, quickly grabbing your wrist before you could make your escape.

that touch seemed to burn through you, your heart raced and you could feel your skin getting hotter by the second.

no, this wasn’t right. your heat wasn’t due for another couple days at the very least. you didn’t even have a strong scent yet. what was this? what was happening?

“i really need to go,” you said again, fighting with yourself to move away from him.

his eyes narrowed in concern. “what’s…” but after a moment he inhaled deeply and his eyes widened.

you used this moment to break away from him and ran to the other side of settlement where the heat huts were. your heat was coming early and since you were unmated, it would be difficult to handle it at home especially because you were so unprepared.

seeing ronal at the front, tidying up almost made you trip in surprise.

she looked up at you and frowned before ushering you inside without another word, closing the curtain behind her as she did. this hut was in the shade for most of they day, making heats somewhat bearable, and you were relieved at the cool air against your skin.

“it’s early,” she said muttered, smelling you.

“i was fine thirty minutes ago, i swear.”

she tutted and fussed about you, bringing you water and a plate of food, ever the picture of calmness as you fidgeted, already feeling a wetness soak through your clothes. the cramps were beginning and you squirmed and the uncomfortable sensitive feeling you had in your intimate parts.

“relax,” she said. “i’ll leave in a moment but i’ll be close by. do you have anyone helping you through this?”

you shook your head and she nodded. normally people didn’t go there if they had someone to help them.

“i’ll come in every few hours to give you food and water,” she said. “if you need anything, tell me.”

she left you then and you were alone inside a hut in the early throes of a heat. it didn’t take you long for you to start touching yourself, eyes pricking at the feeling of pressure against your clit. it didn’t take long for you to come either from how sensitive you were, slick gushing out of you as you gasped.

it wasn’t nearly enough, you knew that, and you whined, lying back now and putting two fingers inside. you were burning everywhere, and it was almost unbearable.

the world around you because a blazing haze as your thoughts melted together. your fingers thrust into you pathetically and you whined as you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to think it was someone else doing it. imagining soft words of praise and affirmation and strong arms cooling away the burning as you were thrusted into.

“that’s it,” the imaginary voice said, softly. “take my cock. that’s a good girl.”

you sobbed, you walls squeezing around empty space sound your fingers. “wari, please,” you said softly. “wari, need you please. please.”

and you came again. but something was clearly wrong. everything still burned. there wasn’t the usual respite, the moments of calm in a frenzy. your mind was foggy and your cunt still dripping and wanting. it burned, it all burned.

-0O0-

it was like this for two days. you could barely sleep from the heat and eating was difficult. ronal expressed her concern the first time she checked in on you and noticed you hadn’t touched the water, and now she seemed genuinely frightened.

you were too. your heats usually calmed down after the first three days, but it seemed only to worsen as time went on.

you whispered tonowari’s name repeatedly, his figure was the only one you saw when you fell into one of your fantasies. but he wasn’t there and every time you realised this, you cried.

right now, though, you were on your hands and knees, ass up as you fucked your fingers. vaguely you heard loud whispers floating into the room. you couldn’t tell what was being said, and you didn’t care as you whined at the burning feeling.

“need you, wari,” you mumbled as imagined him taking you from behind. “hurts so bad.”

you could hear the sound of cloth moving and footsteps somewhere far away. you didn’t pay it mind, however as slick gushed out of you once more and tears fell from your face. it just wasn’t enough.

you heard your name being called and you looked, peering through the haze at the voice. it sounded so real, was your imagination really that strong?

“look at you,” the voice said, concerned. you saw tonowari kneeling next to you and you squinted.

“wari?” you asked and you reached out. his skin was cool under your palm, soothing, like a gel on a burn. “you’re here?”

“i’m here sweet girl,” he said, cupping your face. “gonna take care of you.”

something in your brain raised alarm bells and you would have protested but his hands were so cool, they offered the only respite you’d had from the burning from the last three days.

without any delay, he replaced your fingers with his own and —oh!—it was…it felt…

you sobbed at the way his fingers felt inside you, stretching you and curling into you. it was infinitely better already, they were so thick and long.

he swore at the slick that came out of you and licked it off your thighs. you shivered as he trailed it up, lapping at everything before giving you cunt a long lick.

it was like an explosion erupted through you as he circled your clit with his tongue. then he gave it a tentative lick and you came, the haze and the fog in your mind clearing somewhat.

he licked you clean before straightening himself behind you. “gonna fuck you now,” he promised. “gonna make it feel better, okay, sweet girl?”

you barely answered before he thrusted into you. the feeling was incredible, you had no idea that you could feel like this during a heat.

“fuck,” he said softly. “fuck, you’re so perfect around me. you’re so tight.”

you felt him grip your hips tighter as though to control himself.

“wari, gonna cum,” you sobbed. “wanna cum on your cock.”

he grunted at that and gave two particularly hard thrusts which made you cum harder than you’d ever in your life. he swore as slicked rushed out of you and came inside you soon after.

the fog cleared enough that you were lucid and you blinked, turning to tonowari who lay down next to you in exhaustion.

“wari? it’s you?”

he nodded. “it was easy to convince ronal since your heat had gotten bad. why didn’t you ask for help?”

“i…” you trailed off. “ thank you, for coming here.”

he nodded and helped you sit up. a bowl of water was at your lips before you knew it. “you need to drink.”

you did so happily, but the ache in your heart came again. he was once again fussing over you. this wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“ronal is kind,” you said, “letting you come here.”

he looked at you quizzically. “it’s to be expected. we look out for each other as a tribe.”

again your heart panged. you couldn’t bear to look at him as he fed you some dried fruit from the bowl, but the familiar tingle began to rise again. soon your body burned once more and you are panting and whining.

the bowl was put aside as tonowari grasped your hips and manoeuvred you onto his lap. his hands cooled the unbearable heat on your skin as he reassured you.

tonowari took you while you were on his lap this time, rocking into you as you whined at keened. soft words were shared in your ear and you swore as he thrusted up into you. “good girl,” he said. “take what you need from me. there you go…”

you gripped his shoulders as you rode him, back arching as he rubbed your clit. you came again and collapsed into him as he stroked your hair.

“ralak said you were avoiding me,” tonowari said after some silence. “he didn’t say why but…” he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “i was worried, truly.”

“you and ronal need to focus on each other.”

“ronal and i?”

you nodded and he frowned. “you’re just as important. you should have said your heat was going to be bad.”

you smiled now. “even now the future olo’eyktan thinks of his people. i’m impressed.”

“i’m not…this isn’t…” he paused to collect his thoughts. “i’m doing this because you’re…i…fuck. i want to.”

you’d never seen him look so frustrated and you were all the more confused for it.

he saw your expression and furrowed his brow, thinking deeply. then as though he’d made up his mind, he kissed you.

it took you by surprise. normally it wasn’t necessary for people who helped during heats to kiss, at least that’s what you’d heard. but this kiss, it soothed you, and you relaxed as tonowari wrapped his arms around you. it was nice and you felt as tonowari let a content purr out, a thing you’d never heard him do. you broke apart and he trailed some kisses down your neck, suckling softly at your collar bone.

it seemed like he genuinely enjoyed this, that he cared. about you. but that wasn’t right. ronal she was just outside…

“wari, i can’t…ronal might…”

he paused. “ronal?”

you fidgeted. “she’ll be your tsahik. you’ll be mated, it’s not fair to her.”

he blinked, and a rush of understanding washed across his face. “ronal and i…we’re not together.”

the words were like a punch in the gut. “what?”

“she’s helping me get more in tune with eywa,” he said. “i thought it would be good for me once i’m olo’eyktan.”

you took a shaky breath. “but she’s…so perfect. everyone thinks so.”

he chuckled. “she would be a formidable tsahik. but she’s not…” he sighed, rubbing your hips. “how could i mate her in a world where you exist?”

you gaped at him, the familiar heat returning now. you pushed it down, pushed away the hazy fog that came with it. “i don’t understand.”

he hummed, taking your hands. “how do i say this…? i see you. i see only you. it’s always been you.”

you understood the words fundamentally, yes, yet they made no sense. “you’ll be olo’eyktan.”

“yes.”

“i don’t—wari, it’s not me. please, don’t do this. my heart can’t take it. don’t lie to me like this. it’s hard enough that you’re with me during my heat.”

he kissed you again and you reciprocated. his lips trailed down to your neck and suckled and you gasped as he nipped your skin.

“it’s always been you,” he whispered.

you lay back against the blankets as he licked your torso. he gently cupped one of your breasts and sucked the nipple.

your back arched, skin alight with soft flames as he made his way down to your now sopping core. he kissed your lower lips once before straightening himself and stroking his erection.

you whined out for him as he teased your entrance with his tip. finally he slowly entered you, stretching you out. the brain fog that came with your heat was minimal and you felt all of him.

he rocked into you slowly, bending over to kiss you again as he moved his hips. your cries were swallowed by him and a shiver shot through you when his tongue explored your mouth.

the pace was slow and deep as his mouth trailed down to suck your breast, to nick at your neck, to kiss your shoulder, to worship your body as he gave you soft praises.

“my good girl,” he said. “my sweet girl.”

his words caressed you and the pressure in you rushed out. you trembled in his arms as a powerful orgasm shook you.

“yes, just like that,” he grunted, moving a bit faster now. “can you do it again? cum like this?”

you nodded, already feeling the telltale signs of another orgasm tingling in you.

“good,” he said before kissing you again.

he groaned as he felt you squeeze his cock with your walls. “just like that, yes, good girl.”

you were absolutely drunk on his cock, loving how it got harder the more turned on he got. it felt far too good.

“gonna cum wari,” you whined.

“cum for me, sweet girl. makes me so happy to see you cum,” he said.

you came again, the pleasure so great you saw only white. you heard tonowari swear as his rhythm stuttered, biting into your neck before he came inside of you.

the bite was hard, but didn’t hurt. not too much. but it took you a minute to realise what he had done, to realise he marked you as his.

he kissed you for what felt like the millionth time, deeply, feeling every part of you with his hands as though committing your body to memory. you kissed back, heart feeling light for the first time in what felt like months.

“it’s always been you,” he said when he broke the kiss. “i’ve wanted to ask for ages but i never could.”

you caressed the bite mark, it was a promise, a vow. “how long?”

he chuckled. “from the moment i met you, i think. it was admiration back then, but when we got older…”

you laughed at how similar you were. at how silly you’d been. but that feeling of unworthiness, it lingered still.

“i’m not…”

“you don’t have to be,” he reassured. “it’s always been you, remember. and it always will be.”

#atwow #avatar the way of water #atwow smut #tonowari #atwow tonowari #tonowari smut #avatar smut #tonowari x reader #tonowari x you #this uh…this ran away from me lmao #tonowari x y/n #ask box #omegaverse

849 notes · View notes

witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

(slightly different to the one bed trope - you’re already in a sort of established relationship. And this is the very first time you’re sharing a bed as a couple).

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: tell me what you think about adding in the character photos, do we like it or not?? Because I can’t decide...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢

・You know his sly smile? Yeah... he did that ... a lot.

・It wasn’t that he had somehow tricked you into staying over. No, no, if anything you imposed yourself onto him.

・But his smug smile never left his lips, not for one goddamn second.

・It made you weak at the knees, but your relationship had been built on this love/hate, back and forth, bantery thing. Where you sometimes pretend to ignore the others advances; but you both know you want each other so goddamn badly

・His sultry voice is like a siren’s song, you couldn’t help but go along with whatever he had to say. It was one of the things he loved to tease you about. Which drove you insane.

・On certain days you’re able to ignore it, or give him a bit of his own medicine. But sometimes you just want so desperately to be near Loki

・There’s something about him that just makes you feel so many things at once. Annoyance, desire, anger, excitement.

・For most people, it just stopped at annoyance and anger. But for you ... because Loki loved you, yes, loved you, he let you see a side to himself that no other ever had.

・And when you said you were sleeping at his place because yours was compromised, he was elated.

・Did he clean up his house, deep clean everything and change the bed sheets? Yes.

・Surprise surprise, his bedroom was in black and green with hints of gold. His bed king size (obviously)

・By the time you got to Loki’s place it was dark outside, and he made you dinner. Trying your best not to scoff it down, you could feel the tension radiating off of him

・Even though you weren’t tired, you followed Loki into the bedroom just because he wanted you to fall asleep beside him

・As if he could tell you weren’t tired, he started to hum. A tune from his childhood that his mother would sing to him at night when he couldn’t sleep

・You rolled over onto his chest, your leg covering his.

・The soft thump of his heartbeat made it so easy to relax. Loki’s hand slowly ran up and down your back, while the other held your own.

・Loki is a night owl rather than a morning bird, so the next morning - he was very grumpy

𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚

・So excited about it. She couldn’t wait to watch movies with you in bed, all cuddled up and cosy

・Wanda changed the sheets and pillow cases (even going out to buy new ones - in your favourite colour) and got a few extra pillows to make it cosier

・Of course the majority of this was done using magic so it didn’t tire her out by the time you came over

・Excited! Excited! Excited!

・She wants to show you the room as soon as you walk in but doesn’t want to make a big deal of it at the same time?

・When you finally make it to the bedroom, you’re both a bit shy as to who slept on which side.

“On the count of three, we’ll say whichever side we want. Okay?”

・You nodded and turns out you both wanted the other side. So it was easy sorted

・You both couldn’t stop talking, it was like a proper sleepover. And whenever you wanted a snack, Wanda would make it appear right before your eyes (perks of having a magical s/o)

・Her hands are constantly running through or over your hair

・Even though you’ve been in a relationship for a few months, she suddenly becomes very self-conscious and blushes at nearly everything you say

・Likes when you initiate affection, especially hand holding or kissing

・The tv is on all night because you both fall asleep watching your favourite shows

𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

・Awkward about it!!!

・Hasn’t been able to sleep in a bed for a long time. Usually he lays in his loungeroom, on the floor, the wall against his back.

・Since you came along, he’s been staying on the lounge, feeling a bit more at ease whenever you’re near

・When it was the first time for a proper sleepover, Bucky was ... so ... unsure of what to do.

・He didn’t know if you wanted to sleep on the left or right, so he said you can pick

・He was fine with whatever decision you made. Bucky just wanted you to be comfortable

・And because Bucky isn’t used to the company at his place - he usually just shows up at yours. Because there’s something about your place; it warms him, makes him feel bright

・So when you get into Bucky’s barely used bed, he took off his arm and felt ... so vulnerable

“Hey, it’s okay,” you whispered in the dark, almost knowing what Bucky was thinking.

・You fall asleep facing each other, your hand on his cheek, and his on your waist.

・You didn’t know how long it took for either of you to fall asleep. But for Bucky... it was very quick. Something that hadn’t happened in ... well, since the 1940s.

𝐍𝐚𝐭

・Outwardly confident, inside she was so sensitive about this

・It’s the vulnerability for her. She doesn’t let people get this close, and yet here you are. In her home, seeing the real Nat.

・She honestly didn’t think your relationship would go this far. But somehow you got past her defenses. YOU made her feel safe. Which was a nice change - and something that didn’t happen very often

・She was always the person who saved others, who was the one to protect. And now, to feel protected, it was an amazing sensation.

・But it did take a long time for her to let you into her home. And then sleepovers would happen but rarely. Now they became more frequent - but she always took the couch.

・You never challenged her on it, knowing that it was a big move to sleep in the same bed as someone.

・Because as she explained before, she would have one night stands; but never at her place.

・It would be a breach of security and put the other person at risk

・But having you here meant you had great power yourself, and no one wanted to fuck with you

・So, finally. After all this time, she agreed to let you into her room, into her bed. Nothing sexual, only to sleep.

・You let her make the moves, because you didn’t want to push her in any way possible.

・But she led you upstairs and opened the door to a simple yet stylish room. A mixture of deep colours; maroon, emerald, deep blue. It had a royal essence to it.

・And you walked in, admiring everything. Because a person’s room shows a person’s soul.

・For a moment she just stood in the doorway, just admiring you. Nat was so overwhelmed with love

・When you were both ready for bed she turned off all the lights and got into bed

・You were automatically the big spoon

・Wrapping your arms around her, she let herself be cuddled. Which was also very new.

・Cuddling was something that was foreign to Nat. Not having it in her childhood, or teenage years ... or adulthood.

・She felt both overwhelming happiness and sadness for her younger self. And for one moment, she shed a tear

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞

・Very much the gentleman everyone thinks he is

・Even though you had been in a relationship, and for quite a while, it was the first time you guys were ready to share the bed (he wanted to take the relationship slow. He called it, ‘going steady’)

・Even after all this time together, he still insisited that he can sleep on the couch

“Steve, we’re in a relationship. I think it’s okay if we sleep in the same bed.”

“I just don’t want to make you feel pressured, or uncomfortable.”

“Do you think I would ever let someone make me feel pressured, or uncomfortable?”

・One look at you - from anyone - and their answer would be a firm ‘no.’ There was a reason you were a high risk on every countries radar.

・Who thought Steve liked the badass type?

・But when it came to him...well, Steve was your weak spot.

・So, when you agreed to go steady, a lot of people were shocked. (Not Nat though, she knew you two were made for each other.)

“Okay, you got a point,” Steve replied, looking at you from across the couch.

・Movie nights were a regular thing with you two. And this one was long awaited - you finally got to show him your favourite movie of all time.

・When your eyes started to droop, and Steve couldn’t stop yawning, he took your hand and walked you to his bedroom.

・It was immaculate. Everything was in its place, nothing was out of order, not even the pencils on his desk. He was the complete opposite to you. And yet, somehow you two worked.

・After taking a shower (he let you go first and while he was in the bathroom, you couldn’t help but take a look around his room)

・Steve came out with only a pair of pajama pants...no shirt. And you nearly gasped. Of course you had seen him without a shirt on plenty of times, but usually there was other people around

・But now ... it was just you and him.

“Ready to ... go to bed?” Steve said with a soft smile.

𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤

・A lot of ‘umming,’ and ‘ahhing,’ and moving things out of the way.

・He didn’t expect you to sleep over, but you were too tired to go home, so you asked if you could stay

・Frank was ecstatic, and offered to sleep on the couch (he just couldn’t wait to have someone else in the house. To make food for someone else; especially breakfast)

・You huffed a laugh and shook your head

“Are we not ... you know ... together?”

“Ha, yes, yes we are,” he replied gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck.

・He knew this moment had to come, but he just didn’t know when. Frank did want to take the relationship slow, and you both agreed to do just that.

・So at four months in, you thought it would be okay to have your first ... sleepover

“Here,” Frank had disappeared from the loungeroom for a few minutes, and you were wondering where the hell he had gone.

・But he came back with a shirt and a pair of pajama pants

・Your neck felt red as you realised they were his clothes, but your heart fluttered because...once again he was thinking about you. That’s all Frank seemed to do - was think about you and what you needed

・Once you were both ready for bed (brushing your teeth & having a shower etc)

・He walked you into his room, where he had already made it spotless and pulled back the covers; waiting for you.

“I wasn’t sure which side you wanted, hell you can sleep in the middle if you want,” he chuckled and gave you a half-smile

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭

・100% more awkward than Bucky

・You know all about his background, Marc and Konshu. So you aren’t afraid or taken aback when you see the ring of sand around his bed

・Although he doesn’t need to tape the door shut anymore

・And he said that if he does leave, then he’ll leave a note

・You’ve slept over a few times, but he’s always taken the couch in the other room

・But you thought this would be another step in your relationship and he agreed (you’re really transparent with each other. If you’re not comfortable with something, said person feels safe to say what is on their heart)

・The way each of you acted was so sweet.

・He was tentative, gentle, even asking if you need a cup of tea or a hot water bottle. He really sees you as the best thing in his life, and he treats you with so much love.

・When you both got settled; the silence felt defening.

・But when Steven went to talk, you shushed him.

“It’s okay not to talk, don’t feel like you have to.”

・He nodded and you could only see because of the light coming in from the windows

・You rolled over and backed against Steven. He turned and nuzzled into your back, wrapping his arms around you.

・Within 10 minutes you were asleep and within 20 so was Steven.

・And when he woke up the next day ... he was in the exact same position

𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫

・It was you who wanted to take your relationship a bit slower - not wanting to be another person that Thor kept for a short period of time before he had other things to do

・But your relationship started strong and remained strong; to the surprise of both Thor and yourself

・He’s very proud to call you his. You’re a brilliant person, and he thinks that you make him better

・So, he’s very ... proud that he gets to sleep beside you.

・ When you entered his chambers, he ran and jumped on the bed, beckoning you to do the same

・It creaks and for a second you’re scared it was going to break

・It wouldn’t be the first time that Thor had broken something

・TAKES UP THE MAJORITY OF THE BED

・Lays side by side with you, like an excited kid on his first sleepover

・Asks you all these random questions and you’re so taken aback but go along with it

“Do you ever think about your destiny and why you were put on earth?” “Have you farted in public and blamed it on someone else?” “How many books have you read?”

・And ends up being a blanket stealer; not meaning to though, he just moves around a lot in his sleep. So, he gets tangled in the blankets.

・SNORES SNORES SNORES. You ended up asking if he had a medical condition...

・Wants to cuddle with you but the next morning you woke up unable to breath because Thor was completely on top of you

・Thor falls asleep very easily, and it takes a lot for him to wake up. But he is an early bird, unless he’s been drinking

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dooblebugss · 2 months

Text

as requested, I wrote up some of my more...not-nice headcanons. Content Warning for suicide idealation, injury, and food issues

Hornet:

I've mentioned before that she has some issues with food. Thanks to surviving in the apocalypse she has some issues with just...not eating. And when she does, she will cut her portion to give to others. She's the Protector, and as protector, her needs come last. (During the height of the infection she went days without eating and is fully ready to do it again if she feels she needs to.)

Speaking of her title as Protector, it's self appointed but comes with a ton of self-imposed expectations. She's a bundle of anxiety and fear and worry that something will happen to her siblings, her sort-of friends, and Dirtmouth. Honestly, you should go read "Etching of Storms Weathered" on ao3, it's perfect and beautiful

She hates how much she resembles the Pale King and not Herrah. She doesn't think highly of her appearance. She thinks herself kinda ugly tbh. Hornet tries not to let it bother her, but she's just as susceptible to self esteem issues

Hornet honestly thought that Tiso and Cloth were going to die. She treated them kinda poorly because of it, not wanting to bother getting attached to "fools with a death wish who regret their decision". Something she regrets, but isn't sure how to apologize.

Quirrel:

He came very, very close to just walking into the Blue Lake. He doesn't like talking about it.

As much as he loves the Archive, sometimes he has a hard time dealing with just...all of his coworkers and Teacher being dead. Sometimes he'll find bits and pieces written by Monomon, and it's always a little rough.

His amnesia is not fun to deal with. A good chunk of his life is just...not there. He's surprised when his age catches up to him, because he doesn't feel it until it happens

Hornet was too young to remember, but Quirrel does remember what the Kingdom looked like in its heyday, and it depresses him. He knows it was flawed and broken, but the memories always look better in his mind.

Tiso:

Phantom pains :))))) on bad days he can't even get out of bed. The brooding mawlek crushed all of him, but especially his left side. Some days it still feels like he can't breath right

He genuinely does not understand why Ghost saved him, and it kind of eats at him. Tiso was kind of a total dick, and he doesn't understand what Ghost saw in him.

Part of him is a little afraid to make new friends, after the death of his first ever friend (the one who he turned into a shield). He tries to push bugs away by being an asshole.

MAJOR inferiority complex. He wants to make a name for himself and stand above the crowd so so bad. He wants to be more than just 'a worker ant', and its why he went to the colosseum.

Cloth:

Phantom pains 2!!!!!!! Being literally skewered and all. On bad days she might literally cough up blood

She was 100% ready to die to Traitor Lord. However very close to the end she realized that would leave Ghost all alone, and she didn't want that. (Of course by the time she came to this conclusion, she got stabbed)

She misses Nola terribly. So much so she was willing to die to see her. Sometimes, when things are rough mentally, Cloth honestly considers it again...if only for a moment.

Hollow:

PHANTOM PAIN 3!!!!! Hollow was so monumentally fucked by their time in the Temple and with the Radiance. Vessels are sturdy, but it took Hollow nearly a month to recover even slightly. Hollow had a terrible crack in their mask (leaving them blind in their right eye), they were missing an arm, and a good portion of their abdomen had been caved in.

Hollow struggles with...a lot. Mentally. The lie they had to swallow for years about being a Pure Vessel, wanting to make their Father proud, wanting to save everyone and failing...it's a lot. And Hollow hates themself for it.

Hollow remembers Ghost as the little vessel they abandoned at the top of the Abyss...and they feel immense Guilt for it. Ghost seemingly has no hard feelings, but that only makes the guilt feel worse.

When especially upset - or when something might 'trigger' the behavior - they will instinctively revert back to how they used to act as the Pure Vessel: emotionless and needing commands to do anything. They might also fall back on old 'programming' the King gave them

#hk #headcanons #this is a small selection. I have more (especially for Hornet)

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vibratingskull · 4 months

Note

Hello ☺️

I love your work, your stories. They are absolutely amazing. 🤍

Could I request a story with Samakro x reader (female)? Something about the way he falls in love with her.

Thank you my dear, have some Samakro the ride or die man ❤️

art by @jun-c

Samakro x F!reader

“You are a human, you are feeble, you are weak.” Samakro hisses.

“I am... not weak.” You respond back, completely out of breath, sweaty, and hands on your knees.

“You are weak. You cannot even last a training session.”

You straigthen your back and crack your neck, getting back into position.

“I am not weak!” You repeat with more force and anger in your human eyes.

“Prove it to me.”

You launch yourself on Samakro again, punching and kicking his gloved hands as he showed you too.

“Harder!” He orders.

You increase your strength, hitting away as hard as you can, as fast as possible.

“Keep going.” He demands, “Harder!”

You feel your lungs burning and your muscles screaming in pain. You are not used to such intensive exercises. You are a civilian, not a military member. But the rules are simple: adapt or get debarked on the first planet you come by.

You don’t know why Captain Thrawn is imposing such rules on you, but since they found you wounded and drifting in space he dictates your life and you have no choice but to abide by his rules. Mid-Captain Samakro is now your new tutor on the Springhawk, spying on what you do at all hours of the day and night. He is merciless, imposing the strict Chiss military lifestyle no matter how tired you appear.

“Again!” He hisses.

You give him two powerful punches and a spin kick right into the targets he’s holding. He seems taken aback for a split second before recovering his hard expression.

“Better. Give me more of that human.”

You throw your last strength into it until you hear the liberating timer.

“Time out.” Samakro announces to your relief.

You fall to your knees, drenched in sweat and without any more breath. You cough painfully, feeling on the verge of passing out after such intense exercises.

“Hey!” Samakro calls for you.

You raise your head towards him only to receive a towel in the face.

“Do not stop like that, it is recovery time. Go on the treadmill.”

You groan, painfully raising on your feet and leaving the ring to hop on the treadmill. You feel your pounding heart pumping blood furiously and painfully. You hold the two bars on the side so as not to fall as Samakro hops on the treadmill beside you.

“You did a good job today.” He lets you know after five full minutes of complete silence.

“Thank you, sir.” You nod.

“Do not forget to take out the electrodes and the monitor once you’re done.”

You nod again. You jump off the treadmill and take off the monitor's electrodes off your chest and stomach. You turn to Samakro for further instructions.

“You have the rest of your day.” He simply announces not even looking at you as he keeps walking on the mill.

“Oh... Thank you sir!” You answer joyfull and heads toward the communal showers.

Samakro keeps walking rapidly on the treadmill until he hears Thrawn’s steps pattern entering the gym of the Springhawk.

“What are the results today?” Captain Thrawn asks evenly.

“Let’s discover it.” Samakro responds.

The two men approach the laying monitor and plug it into a questis, running the data on the screen.

“This is her results on her first session and here is her progression’s curb.” He explains to his Captain.

Thrawn remains mute, observing the data on the screen, detailing every high and low, the picks and the depressions.

“Fascinating.” He finally lets out, “Almost the same as a Civilian Chiss curb.”

“Indeed, the results are uncanny.” Samakro adds, scrubbing his face with a towel.

“And what of her mental? Her dispositions?”

“She did not understand the necessity of the exercises at first, and I think she still does but she submits to it.”

“Do you push her to her limits?”

“Yes. She doesn’t like to be looked down upon, it gives good results.”

“Do not destroy her mentally. I have more tests to run on her.” Thrawn advises.

“I am careful, she seems to hold on well.”

Thrawn looks back at the results with interest in his inquisitive red eyes.

“Humans... Fascinating.”

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

Samakro silently looks at you over his questis. You are fully focused on your test on your own questis.

Obviously, you don’t know Cheuhn, but you are proficient in several trade languages and writing systems the Chiss use outside of their realm and displayed your polyglot talents early on. He concocted a series of tests to measure your mental plasticity and I.Q. And you’ve been going at it since 6 am.

Some maths and logic problems with dissertations in different languages, a philosophical question, and a moral dilemma.

It is actually an IQ test that the entire Springhawk crew had to take at some point in their career, he simply translated it into a trade language and script and took the liberty to take out the General Knowledge questions about Chiss culture and literature for obvious reasons.

He is already checking your responses from this morning, comparing them to the average Chiss responses.

Your I.Q. is average, nothing really special to note, but your way to the responses is truly... alien. You are coming from a completely different thought system and it shows, you are creative in your responses in a way that the Chiss test has difficulty measuring. Your responses to the philosophical and moral dilemmas are completely misaligned with Chiss values but are terribly interesting if they are standard for your human species.

When he thinks back Chiss and Humans used to trade and exchange millennia ago and everything stopped after the supernova explosions, erasing all hyperspace lanes of the Chaos and cutting all communications.

How did humans evolve deprived of the wisdom of the Chiss?

“Five minutes left.” He announces.

You grumble, taking your forehead in your hand, he can almost see the smoke of focus escaping your ears. He should compare your responses to the archives about humans they have, Captain Thrawn will also be interested.

Samakro wonders for a second what was his results for those tests, they never communicated them to the candidates. If he reached the rank of Captain it means he must have done good.

You would never reach the rank of Captain. You are not made for war, neither in body nor in mind. You would surely be a good historian or archivist, a scholar career where you classify data seems perfect for you.

But on a Chiss warship, you have little to no value. The only civilian job in it is caregiver for the skywalker and they surely won’t let an alien approach their precious little girl any time soon.

He keeps looking at you discreetly. He remembers lying to you, telling you that if you didn’t obey they would debark you on the first wild planet they found and leave you to die there.

Which is obviously false for several reasons. They are not barbaric monsters and mostly Captain Thrawn and the UAG are terribly interested in meeting a Human after so many millennia. All your test results are sent to the UAG for them to get a foretaste of what they will work on once they send you there.

But you refused to obey and sit down and he had to resort to menace to force you to submit. Are all humans that rebellious? Do you all have problems with authority? A Chiss would have never posed such problems...

If the current mission wasn’t capital for Chiss security, Thrawn would have ordered the Springhawk to go back to Csilla to offer you to the lab as his new catch. But fortunately for you, they must keep going, you escaped the rat lab existence.

But for this time only.

The scientists of the UAG are drooling at the idea of studying a human after so much time and they keep sending them new tests and procedures to experiment on you. Samakro doesn’t understand this fascination for aliens, for him they are all the same:

Not worth his time and attention.

But Thrawn thinks differently and locks himself with you in his office for long discussions every day. He is learning the maximum he can on this “new” species, evaluating the level of threat you will pose or not. He is less invasive in his questions and remains courteous with you but you shouldn’t get used to it.

“Time is over.” Samakro says.

You sigh and fall back in your chair with a defeated look. Visibly maths is a serious adversary for you.

“May I go now?” You ask, visibly tired.

“No. Remain.” He orders sternly.

He looks at your new results while you are forced to wait in silence. It is obviously another test, how well do you do when things don’t go your way?

He takes is sweet time comparing the results with the archive and while he isn’t a scientist something is very clear to him.

You’re going to be a problem. All humans will.

You are unruly and disorganized, messy and libertarian, prone to rebellion.

He hardly sees what good would come up for the Chiss to align themself with humans.

You’re just going to be a pain in more ways than one.

He now knows how humans evolved without Chiss’ wisdom...

“Senior Captain Samakro? (Y/n) (L/n)?” Thrawn enters the little conference room, “I need you.”

Samakro jumps on his feet, ready for action while you look put out, only wanting to enter your bed for a good night’s sleep.

“Is there a problem, Captain?” Samakro inquires.

“We crossed paths with new aliens. I would like to have a word with them to test the water.”

Samakro frowns turning his head to give you a look.

“Is her presence necessary?” He asks in Cheuhn, earning a bad look from you.

“Indeed. She is more fluent in their language than I am and I would like to observe their reaction to a near-Chiss individual.” Thrawn responds in the same language, “Who knows, maybe humans already are in contact with this species.”

Samakro nods obediently.

“Follow us (F/n)” He orders you.

You sigh but obey.

“I need your talents in a specific language.” Thrawn lets you know in a trade language.

“Other humans?” You ask, accelerating your pace to place yourself next to Thrawn.

Samakro fights the urge to grab your shoulder and yank you backward. Nobody walks alongside a Captain, even his bodyguards remain two steps behind. But Thrawn doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.

So Samakro remains silent but mentally adds “Impertinent” and “unable to follow protocols” to his list of cons about humans.

“Unfortunately no. A group of alien nomads of whom our archives are incomplete.”

“Nomad? Are they numerous in the region?” You inquire curious.

“Indeed there are a few clans. Most of them are bounty hunters and mercenaries, selling their services to the most generous.”

“Oh... I mean... Should I really be here?” You worry.

“Everything is going to be fine. I simply need you as a translator no harm will come to you.”

Samakro remains silent. A group of mercenaries with whom the alien they happened to have rescued and helped can speak with? The timing is a bit suspicious. He received the orders to tutor you but he also had to honor his duties as Mid-Captain, who knows how efficient the officers he gave you to were in their surveillance?

Did they invite a snake in?

Thrawn must also have these suspicions and take the opportunity to test you.

You all enter the new conference room where the Aliens are waiting. Samakro remembers reading some archives about them but they are quite obscure, but he remembers them being known to undergo heavy surgical operations to make their entire bodies a weapon.

And evidently, Thrawn lied to you. He mastered this language years ago, Samakro heard him use it so many times as he is himself quite fluent in this one. It allows them both to fact-check what you are translating to them and to the Aliens.

Hum...

Up until now, you have diligently reported the correct info, not trying to subtly twist Thrawn’s words or veil info from the aliens... But that is not enough to erase suspicion.

As for the aliens’ pretense as to why they are on Chiss territory, it is clearly a lie. Those have something behind their minds. Samakro subtly caresses his charric at his hips. They took out the Aliens’ weapon but something in his mind was telling him to be cautious.

“They ask if you could draw them a safe route for their travel. Their navigator died.” You explain.

Bullsh...

But Thrawn takes out his questis where a map of the Chaos appears. He hands it to Samakro to give it to the Aliens that are on the other side of the room, a long table separating them from the Chiss. Samakro takes it and heads toward the group.

Suddenly, when he is mid-way through and away from Thrawn the aliens jump on their feet with their hands in their mouths, dislocating their jaws in an impressive fashion, to take out hidden miniguns off their throats.

And fires.

And in a flash, it is over. When Samakro recovers his senses he has his fuming Charric pointed at the now-dead aliens, the questis now exploded on the floor.

A suicide commando. Surely the Grysks.

A good chance Samakro and Thrawn’s bodyguards are fast.

He spins towards Thrawn to see if he is all right. He discovers him kneeling with you in his arms.

“What happened?” He asks kneeling next to his superior.

You have been hit, the smell of burning flesh rising to Samakro’s nose. It is not pretty. They both lay you down on the ground, Thrawn taking his comm to call for the medics while Samakro applies pressure on your bleeding wound.

Warrior, if they lose the UAG’s new toy...

If they lose you...

“She took the fire for me.” Thrawn explains.

Samakro freeze.

You what?

He raises his eyes to his Captain, incredulous.

“An alien did that?”

“Apparently. Keep applying pressure Mid-Captain.”

Quickly the medics comes to take you away in the medbay, leaving Thrawn and Samakro to investigate the scene.

But Samakro’s mind keeps coming back to you.

Why did you do that?

It doesn’t make any sense.

Why would an alien risk its life to save somebody else? He wouldn't have taken a fire for an alien.

“Mid Captain, you are not listening.” Thrawn’s voice calls Samakro back to reality.

Samakro shakes himself.

“Sorry Sir, you were saying?”

Thrawn lets go of the alien’s shoulder he was holding to get a closer look at their face.

“Go to her.” He simply orders.

Samakro raises an eyebrow.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you are evidently disturbed and unfocused on your task.”

“I am mostly disturbed I wasn’t able to protect you.”

“You shot them. You did your job.”

“An alien had to protect you and this is a failure.”

This time it is Thrawn who raises an eyebrow.

“After all this time you are still calling her an ‘alien’?”

“This is what she is.” Samakro responds, not understanding his superior puzzled expression.

Thrawn tilts his head.

“Is she now?”

Samakro opens his mouth to close it back immediately. Where is Thrawn going with all of this?

“How curious... I thought your relation deepened after all this time.” Thrawn ponders.

“She hasn’t been here long.” Samakro argues.

“She has been with us for 8 months.” Thrawn informs him.

8 months?!

No.

Impossible. He feels like they discovered your ship three weeks ago, how has it been already 8 months?

Samakro remains mute in shock, taking the info in.

“Time flies in charming company, does it not?” Thrawn notes with a tight smile.

Samakro exhales though his nose. Ridicule!

Absolutely ri-di-cule!

“She is a task you gave me, nothing more.”

“I asked you to look over her not send me an extensive list of her food’s likes and dislikes.” Thrawn says almost mockingly.

Almost.

“I thought you would have appreciated to learn humans’ nutritional habits.” Samakro defends himself.

“I would have simply asked her, Mid-Captain.” The Captain tries to gently guide him to the obvious conclusion. “I also heard you kept deterring colleagues from her.”

“I was not going to let them defile themself with an alien sir!” Samakro explains like his outrage made sense.

“Why immediately assume they had a romantic or sexual interest in her?” Thrawn asks more and more amused.

This is a new side of his Mid-Captain he is discovering, and he is terribly curious.

“Because she....! Because...” Samakro tries again to justify himself only to have no sound arguments.

Indeed, why his first fear was that his Chiss colleagues would be interested in her? For what possible reason? Why did it displeased him so much he had to push everyone, male and female, away from you?

Samakro stretches his lips in a thin line at that bomb, trying to make sense of all the moments he had with you.

Could he...?

“Go see her Mid-Captain. I can investigate the scene by myself.” Thrawn finally says, turning his back to Samakro signaling him that his words are final.

Samakro bows and leaves the room.

He entered confident and exited it in shambles.

Obediently, he goes to you, trying to silence that little voice bugging his mind. Of course, he isn’t smitten! That’s ridiculous! What does Thrawn even know about love anyway?!

He enters the med bay ready to chastise you for merely existing and being in his way but he looses all of his energy seeing you in this state.

You are dressed in bandages, lying on a bed with a painful expression on your face.

Maybe... this is not the right time for chastising. Later. Yes... later.

Surely...

You wave at him forcing you to smile through the pain. He comes close, sitting on a stool next to you.

“Why?” He asks.

“Why what?”

“Why protect him? Why not let him die?”

You look at him confused.

“Isn’t it your job too to protect him? Why are you mad at me?”

“I am not mad. I am trying to ... Understand.”

You shrug like he isn’t making any sense. That’s the second person looking at him like that today and one was already enough...

“Do I truly need a reason to save someone in danger?” You ask him, genuinely confused.

“We are not the same species. You had no interest in protecting one of us.”

“I don’t need to be part of the same species to empathize. Captain Thrawn is an honorable man, it would pain me if he died.”

“Really? Would you have done the same for any of us?”

“Why not?”

“Even... me?”

“Yes. Every life deserves to be protected, alien or not. Do you not think the same?” You look at him with a clear gaze.

He purses his lips. No, he doesn’t think the same, he is a warrior, a cannot fodder meant to die in battle, Thrawn too.

But you’re a civilian.

You’re what they die for. So why put your own life on the line for them? The roles are reversed.

Does he have to add ‘selfless’ to his list of pros for humans now?

“We are soldiers. Dying is our job.”

“Your job is to protect, not die.” You counter with a soft voice.

“Easy for you to say.” He grumbles.

You take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it with a contrite smile.

“Yes, I would take a hit for you, Mid-Captain Samakor.” You repeat.

He snarls a scoff, incredulous.

Why would you do that? Since the first day he had the bad role, ordering you around, forcing you to obey him, imposing you a lifestyle different than yours, prevented you from forming meaningful relationships with others. He is a jailor, your torturer.

You must hate him. And he is fine with that, Thrawn ordered him to look over you and he will do it even if you despise him.

And then...

Your hand releases his to cup his cheek gently, inviting him to raise his head and look at you.

“Come on now. This is not you Mid-Captain Samkro.” This time your smile is wide and franck, “Where is your Chiss attitude?”

He can’t help but chuckle before quickly hidding his mouth.

“You call that an attitude? I call this honor.”

“Meh. I’m not big on the military things. Call it what you prefer.”

He should push your hand away, not tolerating a single act of promiscuity or even friendliness.

But he likes the warmth of your palm... It is incredibly soft and smooth.

When was the last caress he received, and when was the last tender act toward him? Long ago in his childhood.

Maybe he will not add “selfless” to the pros human list, but yours.

And this one is longer...

@bluechiss @Thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil_urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @leo4242564 @davesrightshoe

#samakro #samakro x reader #samakro x f!reader #ufsa'mak'ro #thrawn ascendancy #thrawn #fanfic #vibratingskull

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murdrdocs · 5 months

Text

fever all through the night

description. you can only dance like this against JOHNNY CASTLE for so long without doing something about it.

includes. dirty dancing typical horny dancing, oral (f receiving), hints of pleasure dom johnny

a/n: not a full fic, not a drabble, but a secret third thing. title from fever (peggy lee vers. i think). barely edited. for those two anons.

wc: 1.2k+

even though you've been away for a while, a self imposed exile with hopes of ridding your feelings, the muggy shed still feels the most like home out of this entire camp.

if the music wasn't so loud, you would have been able to hear the sound of your heels clicking against the wooden floor with each step you took. but the records were hot tonight, nearly too loud for you to hear your partner speaking in your ear. nearly is the key word, as his voice carries more than you could handle.

he doesn't need to speak though, especially when his words become redundant whenever his hand slinks around your waist and he pulls you to him, back to front. with him, you move together easily. a bond formed between you two that doesn't exist elsewhere is what keeps you together, it's what sends his hips right and yours follow. it's nice, it's practiced, but it's lacking something, something that you'll never have with him, and something you never want to have with him.

because you want it with him.

johnny's eyes stare at you from across the room as he leads penny in a swoop that briefly gets her out of your field of vision. it's just a few seconds, no more than a couple really, but in that time frame his one look tells you: next dance.

it's not question, it's not up for debate, and even if it were, you don't think you would go against him.

that's the thing about you and johnny. you could pretend to not like him as much as you wanted. you could avoid this shed and your closest friends to try and push down your feelings for him. but you always ended up right where you belong, pressed up against him as a slower, more sensual song roars throughout the small space.

with johnny, there's a discordance to the way you move together. his hips move right, and yours hesitate before moving left. not because he's an incompetent leader, but because you don't want to follow. you resist and resist and resist, because it gets him here. flaring his nostrils and glaring down at you, shaking the sweat-soaked strands of chestnut out of his face and moving so close that the tip of his nose bumps against yours.

"stop," he tells you. he doesn't have to yell over the music, not only because of his vicinity but because you know what his line is. he didn't even need to say it. this right here is a routine in and of itself, one you know as well as you can merengue.

you don't say anything. your lips tug up and your hands dangle from his neck. his arm around your waist hooks you tighter, he pulls you closer, he moves you both slower. and you can feel so much.

the muscles of his thigh confined in his slacks pressing against your bare leg under your dress. the taunt feeling of his abs pressed against your abdomen. his cock, poorly concealed beneath the unforgiving material of his pants, probing at your hip.

in a swift movement he sinks down, palms gliding along your body and taking in copious amounts of handfuls. his lips brush against your knee, and you assume it to be accidental. nothing but a light touch that wasn't intended to make your head spin, but it does. that's until he keeps his lips there, sticks his tongue out just enough, and glides back up with a warm and wet patch in his wake. your dress has already been ridden up from your grinding, which gives johnny easy access to slip his head underneath and continue his path until he settles on the edge of your bottoms, right beside where you want him most.

it really isn't any surprise when the song ends and johnny has your hand in his, pulling you away from the crowd which cheers as another song—a crowd favorite as it appears—gears up.

outside, the weather isn't much better. hot in the same ways the shed were, but the breeze gently blowing across your stripped body is severely appreciated. you need as much cold as you could get right now, or else you might collapse and ruin a moment that has finally came to fruition.

johnny is in a position similar to before—kneeled in front of you, his head beneath your dress, but nothing is stopping him now. under the light fabric, you're bare. above it too. the straps of your dress have been long pulled down by johnny's overeager hands, even if you don't understand why it's necessary for your tits to greet the night. not when his eyes and hands and lips are all down south.

his lips part as his tongue works you in ways you wouldn't have expected from him. johnny is messy. he licks and slurps and sometimes pulls back to spit on your cunt, only to flatten his tongue out and clean up his work. through the wall pressing against your back you can hear another track playing, one of your personal favorites, and you almost whine for johnny to hurry up and make you cum so you can go back inside. almost.

johnny moves a little lower, he throws your leg over his shoulder, and he sticks his rounded tongue into your entrance and jesus, how could you ever even consider rushing an artist when he's so devoted to his craft?

you lift your dress with one hand, keeping it bunched against your waist while your other hand pushes through johnny's hair. he's let it grow out a bit, and you don't fail to notice how it's the perfect length for this. your fingers easily curl around the strands and you pull him closer to you, moaning when his nose bumps against your clit just right. you expect him to chastise you for trying to control him, just like he did earlier in the night. but he doesn't do anything other than wrap his hand around the knee that dangles on his shoulder and continue his work with more vigor, if even possible.

it doesn't take much longer for you to cum. not when you've been specifically holding out in hopes that something even similar to this, with him and only him, would happen this summer. when you do cum, your legs shaking and the heel of your foot digging into the center of johnny's back, he helps you through it. he leads you, just the same as he does when you're dancing together. he doesn't stop and just when you think he won't stop at all, he does.

he stands, stares at you long enough for you to notice the glisten on his pretty lips and along his chin, and then he kisses you. his lips move along your mouth the same way they did on your cunt.

he presses his tongue into your mouth, gliding it along yours, letting you taste yourself and the flavor isn't unenjoyable when it's coming from him. he pulls back, his nose bumping against yours again as you breathe together.

he gears up to say something, probably something smug if the look in his eye is any indicator, but he's interrupted by the clear sound of music and two voices, one distinct and the other unrecognizable.

johnny presses his lips to yours one final time, this kiss much softer and leaving more to the imagination, and then he realigns your underwear, pulls your dress down, and puts his hand in yours.

"c'mon." he pulls you in the opposite direction of the shed.

#patrick swayze #johnny castle x reader #johnny castle #johnny castle smut #dirty dancing smut

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magicalbats · 1 year

Text

Kinktober Day 7: Stuck In Wall

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7468

Warnings: Afab! Reader, master/servant dynamic, stuck in wall, age difference, dubcon, reader is a rabbit illuminated beast, vaginal fingering, bareback, no protection lol no gendered terms but he does call us “little one” because that is what I am personally weak for

A/N: alright so I definitely got a little carried away with this one but in my defense … in my defense Zhongli is my favorite character. I started playing specifically FOR him. So I think my bias was going to show no matter what 😂

⭐

Peering out from your hiding place behind a wide, red painted column, you secretly observe your lord and master while he sips his afternoon tea in the sprawling manor garden. The Lord of Geo is a sight to behold even when at ease, and you can’t quite seem to decide what it was you were feeling flitter about inside your chest when you looked at him. Was it excitement, pure and headstrong adrenaline at the prospect of challenging him in the way the young test themselves against the old? Or was it something more personal and intimate — a crush, you’d heard human adolescents call it before. This strange feeling wasn’t exactly new but it was still as much of an unknown as it had been the first time you’d realized Morax was the cause of it.

You think you’re just eager to try out what you’ve learned since the last time you came here and sparred with him though. Had even spent some time with the five Yaksha between then and now, most notably with Alatus who had (begrudgingly) helped you work on your speed. Bonanus had even teased you about biting off more than you could chew when you’d told her why you were so keen on training like this, but she didn’t understand. None of them did. For as much as you looked up to and admired the Yaksha for their strength and commitment to Morax’s nation, nothing was held in quite so high regard as earning his approval the same way they had.

All you wanted was to prove yourself to him. To be looked at with the same fondness and mutual respect that he gave the others rather than the doting, indulgent smiles he always gave you. It was undeniably frustrating, the way he never seemed to take you seriously. It wasn’t your fault you were a bit too young to have stood beside him during the Archon War but you were determined to win his favor no matter the cost.

So you very quietly sneak out into the open, recalling what Alatus had told you about the importance of concealing your presence until you were ready to actually deliver the killing blow. Not that you were trying to kill him or anything — as if you even could. But considering that all of your previous encounters with the Geo Archon had ended in resounding failure, with you slinking off with your tail tucked between your legs and licking your wounds, it seemed like it was worth a shot. Somehow, you’d almost managed to convince yourself that sneaking up on him instead of clashing head on would net you a different result.

But of course it is not meant to be, and you barely make it within twenty feet of the powerful god when the earth abruptly shudders and gives way, exploding outward from the force of a glowing geo construct erupting out of nothing. You give a startled jerk and immediately fall into a defensive crouch, but they just keep appearing around you; one by one, tall, imposing monoliths springing up out of the ground to entrap you where you stood.

Realizing you have fallen for a trap and Alatus’ advice was no good against someone like the Lord of Geo, you make a hasty attempt to escape. Try to utilize his training to your advantage even though it’s done you little good up til’ now, but you don’t make it very far.

You’re hyper aware of the moment that a construct of Morax’s making bursts up underneath you, shooting right towards your middle. You lurch, too surprised to even breathe as you see it spearing straight through you and up into the very heavens themselves. For a split second you actually think he’s going to kill you — but to your great surprise it suddenly splits down the middle and branches off into two separate halves that fly up past you only to reconvene and become one at the top.

It’s like you’re watching it all happen in slow motion, painfully aware of what’s happening as it seals around you and stops your momentum mid fall. You jerk to a sudden, screeching halt that rattles your teeth, and you suck in a harsh gasp that seems to tear at your throat. You’re stuck. Just like that. In the blink of an eye you’ve been left dangling there, trapped inside the unrelenting prison of one of his geo spires, and you had no way out.

You’re still desperately clawing and kicking at the solid stone when he steps up beside you, long dark robes swaying softly as he comes into view. You go stock still, heart hammering wildly inside your chest even as you bring your head up to look at him. To your gobsmacked, stuttering surprise, he was smiling at you.

“M - m - my lord!”

“Hello, little one. I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you here today. A very grumpy bird told me you’ve been training with the Yaksha recently and I assumed that would continue to take up a significant amount of your time for at least a while longer.”

Heat floods your face in a sudden rush that leaves you sputtering, trying to work out what to say to that. Dammit, Alatus! He wasn’t supposed to go behind your back and tell Morax what you’ve been doing! No wonder his advice hadn’t worked.

“Forgive me, master.” You finally manage to say. “It was not my intention to displease you. I only wanted to - -“

“Oh, I’m well aware what it is you wanted. My attention, isn’t that right?” He tips his head to one side, ever so, his expression still serene and gentle, but that doesn’t stop you from flushing even hotter than before. Quickly, you avert your gaze and try not to look so guilty even though that seemed to be a losing battle in this situation. You felt so stupid, and all the more when Morax draws a patient breath at your continued silence. “Honestly, I'm a little surprised with you. I didn’t take you for the sort to sneak around like that. At first I assumed you were merely working up the courage to come over and ask to spar with me, but that was not the case … was it?”

You sorely wished you could wither away, right then and there, but the unrelenting geo construct made it impossible to even turn from him and hide your shame, let alone beat a hasty retreat. “No, master. It wasn’t.”

“Then why?”

His gloved fingers suddenly brush your chin and you jolt, choking on a very unbecoming squawk of surprise as he tips your face up. Left with no choice but to look at him, you make a desperate attempt to school your expression and hide your fluster from the piercing intensity of his gaze only to fail miserably on all fronts. You couldn’t even remember a time you’d embarrassed yourself so badly in front of him.

“W - well, I just — I thought …” You trail off in uncertainty, but he just nudges your chin with a soft little hum of encouragement. Whimpering faintly, you squeeze your eyes shut so you won’t have to see him looking at you, patient and expectant, while you’re forced to admit to your wrongdoings. “I’m sorry, master! I thought if I took you by surprise I might fare better this time. Alatus said - -“

“Alatus?” Morax’s fingers abruptly slip away. Blinking back the sting of humiliated tears, you cautiously glance up to find him lost in his own thoughts and a tiny little spark of hope flares to life inside you. Perhaps he would let you go and direct his displeasure at the one who had given you that bad advice in the first place!

“I see,” He says at last. “I wouldn’t say he was necessarily wrong to tell you that. Given your size and strength, it certainly does make sense to rely on concealment when approaching a potential threat. However,” The deep timber inflected in just that one word sends shivers racing down your spine as much as the hard edge in his golden eyes does. “You had to have known such tricks would not work against me, little one, and I very much doubt Alatus intended for you to utilize that particular strategy in such a way. If I was so easily taken by surprise then surely I would not be standing before you as I am now, would I? Frankly, I'm not sure if I find your underestimation of me cute or insulting.”

Your chest wrenches violently at that. “No … no, no, I'm sorry, master! Please don’t be displeased with me, I didn’t mean to offend you! I would never! I promise!”

Evidently unmoved by your pleas, Morax makes a casual show of folding his arms behind his back before shifting into motion. Slowly, he walks around the side of the monolith he’d conjured to trap you where he disappears from your line of sight. Even trying to twist around is useless and all you can make out is the hard column of stone and a thin, sideways glimpse of the lush garden foliage. You squirm and brace your hands on the faintly glowing rock, making an attempt to wriggle your way out, but then he appears on the other side and you go still again.

You realize, in a far off, distant kind of way, that he’s circling you like a predator and with that knowledge comes a silent reminder of who he is. What he is. You’d never been lucky or privileged enough to see Morax in his truest form, nor had you ever caught so much as a glimpse of it until now, but you’d heard tales of it. Whispers of his magnificent size and strength. How he was just as big, if not bigger, than most of the gods he fought in the war and equally deadly too. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that the kind and gentle individual before you now, with his doting smiles and easy company, was in fact hiding a beast under that disarming facade. A monstrous dragon.

And you, little more than a rabbit, were trapped in his lethal claws.

“You must forgive my mood today. It isn’t exactly that I am unhappy with you, or Alatus for that matter.” He says quietly. Much too quietly to do anything except further rattle your nerves and make you more anxious. “But I think there is something to be said for these times of peace, don’t you? Not only do the years wear away at the memory of the people but even my beloved adepti too, and it seems that everyone is slowly forgetting what this land looked like not that long ago.”

Pausing in front of you, Morax sends you a slow, unreadable look of consideration.

“The same cannot be said of me though. I can’t forget it. I won’t forget.”

With that, he resumes his pacing around the monolith and you just hang there, having no choice but to attentively listen in even when you want nothing more than to crawl inside a hole and bury yourself alive.

“I’ve not faced a real challenge in many, many centuries now,” He continues, sedate and almost leisurely. “Most save a select few don’t even bother to spar with me now, whether because they hold me in too high regard to even take up their weapons or because they already know what the outcome will be. I must confess though, I miss it sometimes. That is why I have enjoyed our little sessions so much. Even if you cannot truly stand against me, it was still nice … refreshing to see someone standing on the side of opposition with neither hesitation nor reverence on their face. You just wanted to prove yourself, isn’t that right,” His hand abruptly caresses over your leg, starting at the knee and trailing a sensuous path up the back of your thigh, over your buttocks and higher still to finally flick at your small, curved tail. “My helpless rabbit?”

Yelping and blushing profusely, you quickly slap your hands over your mouth to stop yourself from making any further noise. You had no idea what was happening, what he was talking about, and you knew even less how you felt about any of it. Your heart slams a wild, continuous beat against your chest, feeling like it was likely to explode out of you at any given moment, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or … excitement?

Either oblivious or unconcerned with your current predicament, Morax just keeps pacing around you at a steady canter. “That is also why I’m so disappointed in your behavior today. I thought you were better than that. I expected better from you than that. Using such strategy against a lesser foe would have been another matter entirely but me?” He barks a quick, mirthless laugh that seems to set your guts to vibrate. “The only ones foolish enough to use such a shameless tactic against me in the Archon War were beings so far beneath my concern that I didn’t even bother learning their name before I destroyed them. Any warrior with even an ounce of pride would never stoop to such a low, for both his own integrity as well as that of his opponents. Is it possible that I have been much too lenient with you?”

You suck in such a sharp, painful breath that it claws at your throat on the way down. “Master, please! That’s not it at all! I - I just thought … I thought you would be impressed with me if I could implement what I learned from the Yaksha and show you I’m serious. I d - didn’t …”

You trail off, not sure what else to say to defend yourself or your actions, and Morax halts in front of you again. Eyeing you for a moment longer, he finally reaches up to touch fingers to his chin in thought. “You were still small during the war, weren’t you? Only just ascended, if I remember correctly.” You give a miserable little nod, prompting him to slowly exhale through his nose. “I see. It’s not that you’ve forgotten, nor did you intentionally mean any disrespect. It’s just that you don’t know any better. All you’ve ever truly lived is peace, so a warrior's sense of pride is likely just some fanciful concept rather than a tangible thing to you. Still, there is something … a part of me doesn’t want to let it go even knowing this. I want — no, I need to show you that I am not someone such petty tricks will work on.”

“Wha - -“

His hand is suddenly under your chin again, nudging you to look up even as he bends close to put his face in yours. Veins turning to ice, you just stare at him in speechless disbelief. If you could have backed up at that moment you would have gone skittering in the opposite direction, but the geo construct keeps you rooted to the spot. All you can do is take it when he carefully curls those long, blocky fingers over your jaw and gives them a brief squeeze to make you wince. It was only a very small fraction of his power, you knew this, but you still issue a quiet whimper anyway, more from your bruised ego than any physical pain he was causing you.

“Do not misunderstand, little one. You are young and naive, while I am willing to forgive and as patient as the tallest mountain.” Morax intones, his voice dropped to such a low register it almost seems to carry with it a … growl. “But I am also still the Archon of this land. It is my duty to soundly guide all who inhabit Liyue, whether they be human or adepti, and that very much includes you. Forgive me for saying so, but I think it’s high time I teach you an important lesson. One that appears to be long overdue.”

“… my lord?” It’s barely more than a whisper.

“Oh, don’t look at me with such fear in your eyes.” Cooing softly, Morax releases your jaw in favor of reaching up to carefully brush some of the hair back from your face. Just like that, his mood seems to have returned to the calm you were used to and it only leaves you even more unnerved. Confused to see him acting like this. But if he notices any of the disconcert in your expression he doesn’t acknowledge it, instead dragging his hand lower to tenderly cup your cheek in his gloved palm. “I have no intention of harming you today, nor do I wish to scare you. But I think it’s important for you to understand what I am.”

You swallow your nerves. Almost choke on them. “What are you?” You prod, wanting to hear him say it out loud with his own voice, in his own words.

With a slow, almost unsettling blink of his eyes, Morax puts his head to one side. “A very territorial god.”

The shudder that tears through you is so powerful it leaves you outright gasping in shock. He merely smiles though, that same soft, vague smile he usually wears, except … there’s an edge in the gilted amber of his eyes that makes you run hot. Hotter than any bath or spring, or teakettle, and you can’t quite seem to get your breathing under control now as he straightens up, letting his hand fall away, and then moves to step behind you again.

Panicking, you slap your clammy palms against the lower half of the geo construct and desperately try to find some amount of leverage you could use to shimmy free but it is resoundingly useless. His control over the element was so great, so fine tuned and honed that there was barely even a seam between your midsection and the cool stone you were imprisoned in. You’d never be able to squeeze your hips through such a narrow opening, nor your shoulders — not without dislocating them and causing irreparable damage in the process. The reality of that truth slams into you mere seconds before you feel his fingers brush against your tiny tail again, and you can’t quite stop yourself from letting out a frightened squeak.

“Now, now,” He chides, a heavy note of laughter dancing in his voice. “You needn’t rile yourself so. I already told you I’ll be gentle … but there are things you need to understand about this world. The way you came here today was so lacking in manners and propriety that you’ve struck an old chord in me, I’m afraid. But I won’t treat you as I did those who tried such petty, simple tricks in the past,” His hand abandons your twitching tail in favor of skimming down lower to pet over the seat of your form-fitted shorts, startling another gasp out of you at the static jolts that race through your body. “But I think we can come up with an appropriate substitute that will get the point across just as well. I will show you what it truly means to bend the knee to a god and impart upon you the significance of not underestimating one’s elders.”

Your mouth drops open in shock but nothing comes out, every single hair on your body immediately standing on end. The thought that this was really happening seemed so distant, so implausible, that you almost don’t even believe it. Morax had never touched you like this, usually much too polite and proud to lay hands on you (or anyone, for that matter) more than what was strictly necessary, but he doesn’t hesitate to do it now. The glide of his fingers along the seam of your cunt is sure and confident, like he’s done this a million times before.

The weight of it slams into you all at once and you finally give a delayed little jerk as your stomach violently seizes. “M - master! Thats - -“

“Mine, is it not?”

You go stock still, halfway through the motion of trying to push against the stone again. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious. “I … I don't understand.”

With a soft, vaguely condescending click of his tongue, Morax adjusts his hand to rub over the apex of your slit with a greater sense of purpose to make you twitch and seethe through your teeth. “Which is precisely why I would be remiss not to educate you, little one. You have truly lived a largely comfortable life and you do not grasp what would be apparent to you had you endured any of the hardships of the past. Respect, decorum, integrity … these are not just words without meaning. You must learn to maintain these principles even in your youth, or you won’t live to see the same old age I enjoy.”

Biting down on your bottom lip to stifle the embarrassing sounds trying to slip out, you frantically turn that over in your head. It was exceedingly hard to do when he was caressing you like that, gradually coaxing your body to bend to his will which it does with a horrifying lack of compulsion, but you desperately wanted to figure out what had set him off and why he was acting this way. You wanted to understand him … easier said than done, of course, when he always spoke in such a complicated and enigmatic manner. Yet a thought starts to slowly dawn on you, alighting inside your mind like the morning sun appearing over the horizon.

Was it possible that the lesson he wanted you to take from this boiled down to something as simple as a reestablishment of his dominance? Had you really stoked the mighty dragon in him enough that he now felt compelled to dominate you like he would any lesser foe who dared to disrespect his position and authority? He said you’d approached him without respect … had opined about the past and how he missed partaking in true battles, establishing his own superiority over others with fists rather than words. Said he’d enjoyed your sparring matches because of the way you’d looked at him with neither awe or reverence — but by sneaking around like an assassin you’d overstepped that understanding between you and your lord?

A sudden groan bursts out of you when your pussy eagerly flutters against the ministration of his hand, growing wet for him, and it quickly becomes that much harder for you to concentrate. But you frantically try to hold onto that string of thought, panting slightly where you hang from the geo construct. It felt like you were right on the brink of a solid idea … an epiphany.

You almost write it off completely when it finally comes to you, so absurd and implausible at first glance. But the longer he pets your cunt with sure, steady motions of his hand, as if he already knew exactly how to toy with you, the more you found yourself faltering. Could it really be that you had simply offended his greater sense of pride, his monstrous instincts, by suggesting (intentionally or not) that you didn’t consider him worth the effort of meeting face to face in the sparring ring anymore?

It’s not lost on you that Morax was well within his right to do as he pleased, however he so pleased, and he normally chose kind smiles, a soft hand to guide, friendly company and the grace to only show you a very small fraction of his great strength. The goodwill to let you think you ever stood any kind of fighting chance against him if you just trained enough, just stuck with it long enough. But now it seemed he was set on reminding you of your place in his world, bring you to heel, and let it be known in no uncertain terms where you stood. He had been nothing but tenderhearted and indulgent towards you until now, doting the way a father figure would be. Infinitely lenient, or so it had seemed.

That was not who was standing behind you any longer though. He’d been replaced by a king, a war general, a fierce draconian lord. Someone who took without asking and who claimed what was his by right, and that very much included you and your body, evidently.

Sucking in a sharp, wavering breath, you abruptly snap back into the moment when you feel him pinch at your clit through the thin fabric of your pants to get your attention again. His motions are self assured and confident as he gently teases the sensitive nub with a slow, rolling motion of his fingers before squarely pressing down on it. Your legs weakly kick out behind you at a series of awkward angles, torn between either balancing the distribution of your weight so there wasn’t quite so much pressure on your middle where the stone was holding you up or trying to close your thighs and keep him out. The latter was useless though. You were completely defenseless like this without even the privilege of being able to twist away, and you soon realize all you can do is accept your fate.

So you hang there, whimpering softly as he grinds mean little circles into your clit. He doesn’t stop until your hips start to judder and buck against the stimulation, a startling amount of sticky slick already bleeding into the fabric plastered to your cunt. You can’t help groaning in frazzled disappointment when he finally withdraws his hand some moments later, leaving your body thrumming with unspent kinetic energy, but he’s quick to smooth his hand over the curve of your ass and give it a brief, reassuring squeeze.

“There. That’s better isn’t it?” He rumbles behind you, that same hint of amusement making you tremble again. “Rest assured, little one. I will not be unfair or cruel to you. I’ll make sure this is as pleasant for you as myself, but I trust my greater intention will not be lost either. This is a symbolic act, so do pay attention.”

“M - master —!” Your voice warbles and catches, breaking off with a stilted little gasp when Morax redirects his hand to grasp at the material and tug at it. It takes him a prolonged beat to inch it down enough, between all your squirming and the position he’s got you stuck in, trapped within one of his monoliths, but soon he can slip his fingers inside the waist. Tugging your shorts down, pausing to untangle them from your twisting legs, he finally gets them pulled over your ankles and tossed aside.

You’re left naked from the waist down with only your socks and shoes allotted to you, and you’d never felt more exposed or vulnerable in all your life. Try as you might, you just couldn’t seem to find enough leverage to curl your legs up and it has you awkwardly writhing against either side of the stone spire. No matter what you do though you can still feel the waft of cool, pristine air against your bared cunt and, much to your mounting horror, even the clenched pucker of your ass. You were completely on display like this. He could see everything — and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it!

Was this how helpless his enemies had felt against him in the past? How weak, pathetic and unequivocally at his mercy they’d been?

“My,” He seems to pur, gently touching a fingertip to the meat of your cunt to make you jolt. “What a sweet little thing you are. Already so wet for me … I’m flattered.”

You momentarily forget how to breathe when he spreads your lips with a deliberate, savory slowness, and lets out a quiet huff at what he sees. Flushed so hot you think you might just pass out from the sharp, debilitating stabs of humiliation that slice into you, your hands blindly reach down to brace against the lower half of the construct and lift your weight up off your stomach a bit. You couldn’t process this. Couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he was not only touching you but even looking right at your most intimate of spots, completely unheeded.

The sting of burning, deeply embarrassed tears floods your eyes and you whimper, mewling a plaintive plea as he idly draws smooth, glove encased fingers through folds and petal-soft creases to further spread your slick around. Emphasizing how copious it is, and how very sticky you were. You try to brace yourself for what will come next — unsure what that would be, exactly, but knowing in some primal, animal part of your brain that your trial was far from over — but it still shocks you a great deal when Morax finds your entrance and applies just enough pressure to dip a finger inside.

Your whole body jerks with the sensation of him reaching into you, the sinuously smooth texture of his glove slipping and sliding indecently against your guts. Even when your pussy squeezes around the unexpected intrusion, even when your body aches in protest at being suddenly stretched, it does nothing to stop him from gliding in straight down to the knuckle. Heaving a gutted little noise, you lurch and almost lose your hold on the geo construct.

“Oh!”

“A tight fit.” He murmurs, more to himself than you. Which is good, because your head is spinning so fast you really aren’t confident in your ability to respond coherently right now. “I suppose I will have to take the time to properly prepare you first, then … I don’t think you’ll be able to take me like this.”

Take him?

The powerful god behind you doesn’t give you a chance to linger on that thought, gradually withdrawing his finger and then pushing back in to send you scrabbling at the surface of the stone. Slow and steady, he takes his time massaging along your inner sleeve with a level of patience you’d long since come to recognize in him but it drives you absolutely insane in this situation. Your pussy thrums eagerly around him, already so keen and sensitized from his earlier petting that it doesn’t take long at all for you to start feeling the muscles lock up in vibrating tension. Seething through your teeth, you try once again to bring your legs up even if only to brace against the sensation wracking through your lower body, but it’s futile. All you do is uselessly squirm in place, hips bucking slightly every time he reaches deep inside you.

But then — you choke on a haggard, frantic sound when he introduces a second finger to your soaked cunt, sliding in just as easily as before but the stretch was so much more intense this time that your eyes start to roll back. Hissing through your teeth, you can do nothing but endure it while he takes a moment to rub along your interior, caressing over every bump and ridge as if in careful consideration before he finally angles his fingertips down. Down. He curls them, crooks them in a come hither motion, and presses right into something that makes your heart catch in your throat. You start to wheeze, gasping and choking on the blinding pressure as he teases that spongy spot for a just moment and then sedately jabs into it again. Once, twice, and on the third time you shatter, falling into uncontrollable tremors while you wail in distress.

But no matter how hard you shake or judder your hips, he just keeps moving his fingers. Alternating between teasing at that insidious nerve cluster and casually working those long digits in and out of you at a tortuously slow, stilted pace. In a matter of moments he seems to milk your orgasm for everything it’s worth, leaving your cunt soft and pliant around the intrusion, and then immediately starts to build into the next. Your sensitive, post-climax twitching is very quickly replaced by the eager, needy roll of your shaking hips as you instinctively grind back on him, seeking out more like you were already addicted to it.

Your cheeks burn in excitement and shame alike, and another faltering groan slips out of you, unbidden, when you realize how stiff your nipples have become under your shirt. They seem to jut out in stiff, fine points, as if seeking out that same source of friction your cunt was getting, and that only humiliates you even further. You’d never felt like this before. Never known your body to turn on you so completely that your tits felt heavy with arousal where they were swaying softly each time you moved, nor had your pussy ever been so very responsive … either Morax was a very talented individual when it came to stroking another’s body to vibrating fever pitch or you were far weaker for him than you’d first thought.

Somehow you got the feeling it was a potent combination of the two. You also can’t quite shake the sense of being even more outmatched against him in this situation than you ever were in any of your martial sparring bouts, and that was certainly saying something.

“Master, p - please! I can’t take it …” You finally manage to hiss.

“Oh? Are you going to cum again already, my sweet little rabbit?”

Involuntarily, your pussy clamps down on his fingers hard, and he issues a low chuckle in response, still sedately fucking into your body at the same unhurried pace. It was like he had all the time in the world to do this, and he probably did. You can’t help but grimace at the sticky clicks and wet little slurps coming from the other side of the spire, as embarrassed that your cunt was making those kinds of noises as you were about Morax being the one to not only cause them but that he was hearing them too. That shame does very little to dissuade your arousal though and it seems like you’re wildly shaking again in just a matter of moments, your jaw clenched so tight it actually hurts. It was too much.

“My, this is a surprise.” He says over your high pitched, sensitive bleating. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so easily brought to climax, and in such a short amount of time too … perhaps I should retrieve a bucket to put under you if you’re going to keep cumming like this?”

You let out a long, keening groan as the tremors in your body finally start to ebb and fade but he merely chuckles at your reaction, clearly finding humor in it. If you’d been in any position to do so, you probably would have found the whole thing rather funny too. After all, it wasn’t every day one was able to witness the Lord of Geo laying claim to one of his Adepti with such ease and agility.

Distantly, you’re aware of him shifting behind you moments before his fingers pull out with a wet pop that leaves you shuddering anew while your pussy weakly squeezes around something that was no longer there. You try to catch your breath in that moment, having no idea how long it would last, but your body is so high strung and sore, a lingering ache settling deep within you in the aftermath of being stretched open, that you can’t seem to calm yourself.

“Master, please,” You beg, still wheezing harshly. “I did not mean to upset you … I only wanted to show you what I learned from the Yaksha, I swear it! I wouldn’t ever — ahhn!”

Your desperate pleas suddenly catch in your throat when you feel him brush against you, long robes fluttering around your bare, quaking thighs as something decidedly fleshy presses into you from behind. Warm and uncompromisingly rigid, it just touches your sticky labia and then pauses there, hovering. Waiting. The not so subtle threat has you wildly bucking against the stone structure, struggling just to breathe. You’d never wanted to turn and look at something so much in your entire life, but you can’t do that like this. Not with your front half dangling from one side of the construct while the lower - -

His hands abruptly squeeze around your hips, holding you still, and you let out a frazzled, helpless little mewl when he nudges into you enough you can feel your cunt lips parting under the stilted pressure. Weakly kicking your legs in an attempt to find something you could brace against, even if it was just by the tips of your toes, proves utterly useless. You were a bit too high off the ground, evidently level with his hips, and it forces you to experience the slow press of his cock in startling high definition.

You may not have been able to see it, but he felt big. Much bigger than you were prepared to take, and you loose a wild, high pitched squeal at the oppressive sensation of him poised and ready to lay claim to you.

“Do you remember what I said, little one?” Drawing a brief, savory breath, Morax gives another, barely there push, and just sinks into the give of your entrance before stilling again. Not quite breaching you yet but positioned to follow through at any moment, giving you plenty of time to process the full weight of your impending domination. “This is a symbolic act, first and foremost. You are inexperienced in the ways of this world so it is my duty to teach you … tell me, then. Do you know what the lesson is?”

It takes you a shamefully long moment to kickstart your brain enough to even realize he’s asked you a question. You were so overwhelmed by just his presence behind you, the impact of this innate claim he had on you and your body. For a long beat, you can’t even seem to find your voice.

“… I — I don’t know. I’m not sure.” You finally manage to warble.

“Hm? I don’t think I quite believe that. Why don’t you take a guess?”

He nudges you again, tauntingly sinking forward as if to finally penetrate you at long last, but never quite following through on it. Your pussy thrums in nervous anticipation, and he sighs very softly when your body seems to suckle at the tip of him with each shuddering clench of vibrating muscle. Arms trembling slightly from the effort, you awkwardly readjust their slipping hold on the spire and try to think. You needed to say something, preferably something other than mindless, overwrought gibberish.

“Is it that — you want me to feel what it’s like to be bested by you? To understand how weak I really am …?”

“Oh, precious thing. It’s not that you are weak, nor is that what I want you to take away from this.” Gently, almost affectionately, Morax smooths over the skin across your hips with blunt thumbs as if to comfort you. “Rather, this is but a symbolic representation of what can happen if you underestimate your foes. Even your god is not quite as immune to territorial displays as he would like to be. It’s been a long, long time since someone last challenged me in earnest … and you’ve awakened the beast in me today by presenting yourself as one.”

His strong fingers abruptly dig into you, hard enough to bruise, and you gasp at the pain. It is quickly overshadowed, however, by the sharp, splintering stretch of his tip pressing into you, forcing your guts to allow him entry one earth shuddering inch at a time. You abruptly understand then, realization lighting up within you in a far off, dreamy sort of way. This was a conquest. You’d been teasing the dragon in him this entire time — the way you looked at him, the way you challenged him and even the way you’d taken the word of one of his most loyal followers in a sea of many and tried to turn it back around on him. He wasn’t punishing you in the strictest sense, but giving in to his instinctive urge to dominate and claim. To quash opposition with his heavy fists and stand at the top, on his divine throne, where he rightfully belonged, to claim the spoils for himself and breed his powerful heirs.

A hollowed out, gutted groan tumbles from your mouth as he enters you from behind, his cock so big and heavy inside you the stretch of it seems to reverberate deep in your bones. You can barely even breathe around it, the way it seems to punch the air right out of your lungs, leaving you clawing at the monolith like a trapped animal. A hare, in a hunters noose. Inch by staggering inch, it feels like he’s breaking you in half and all you can do is woundedly bleat into the otherwise still garden. Morax was not just taking you for himself in the physical sense, he was subjugating your body to his rock solid will like a tyrant.

“My lesson to you is thus,” He growls, practically snarls behind you, as he sinks another tortuous fraction into your heaving guts. “Do not tempt fate and let sleeping gods lie. You never know what sort of mood they’ll wake up in.”

Keening frantically now, you arch so hard against your stone prison you feel the strain of it in your spine. But his hold on your hips is as good as iron and your lower body is practically immobilized like this, save the uncontrollable shake of your legs. You hear him grunt behind you, very softly, and then give his cock a stilted little push that has him sinking in even deeper, so deep you can practically taste him on the back of your tongue. The way he stretches your cunt so completely, so oppressive with the weight of him behind you, in you, against you, seems to overwhelm all your senses at once, and it takes you a prolonged beat to realize when he’s stilled again.

Panting harshly, you hang there for a moment as if in suspended animation, just trying to process his heavy presence inside your body, and then it occurs to you … his strong, narrow hips are pressed flush against your upturned ass. Seated in you straight down to the hilt. Your cunt had never felt so full, so stuffed right to the breaking point before, and you wheeze like some broken, wounded little thing.

“Hunger,” Morax intones, so abruptly it startles a low whine out of you. “For the flesh and blood of the illuminated beasts. Wrath, for those that dared disturb their slumber. Greed, to reclaim what was once theirs by any means necessary.” His fingers dig further into your hips and hold you in place as he carefully angles back just enough to drag at your guts. “Or, in some cases, you might even find yourself speared down the middle on a beastly cock that is much too big for your poor little body to take. You must tread carefully around the gods, little one. We are not quite as magnanimous as we may seem.”

Nudging himself forward again, he sinks back into you as far as he can reach. Your pussy throbs around him, weakly contracts with a warning tremor that makes fresh tears spring up in your eyes. You know you’re riding a dangerous line, just hanging on the precipice of some great, gaping abyss, and you’re helpless to stop it as he settles into a mind numbingly stilted rhythm. He fucks you like he could do this for hours and never tire, like he has all the stamina in the world to put his mark on you at his own pace, on his own time. Morax is not in any hurry to rush this, and it is that slow, halting motion of his hips and the blinding stretch that comes with it that soon shoves you over the edge.

You cum again, embarrassingly fast, but he doesn’t so much as pause to let you catch your breath. Just keeps fucking you even when you wail in overstimulated distress and dire urgency, your jolting legs slowly losing their strength until you have no choice but to let them dangle loose in the air while he ruts into you. You were exhausted. Completely spent.

And Morax was not going to stop until he finished sating the draconic instinct to take whatsoever happened to catch his golden eye, even if that thing was but a helpless little rabbit.

⭐

Crossposted here

#genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #self insert bullshit

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tatterings · 5 months

Text

Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 11 - A Fertile Flower of Hope

AO3 LINK HERE

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: Explicit for the full work, this chapter is E for everyone.

Tags/warnings: Mention of sexual slavery.

Word count: 8,000 (this chapter)

Header art by @solmesia.

Work below the cut as well!

As the door opened, a slender hand thrust into the room, accompanied soon after by a loud thunk onto the floor below - Astarion's drowcraft armor. The door opened wider, creaking on its iron hinges, permitting the entrance of Jaheira. She was an imposing force, a hero of Baldur’s Gate, and though Astarion was not one for hero worship (besides, perhaps, Drizzt Do’Urden), her sheer presence oozed ‘respect me’; even when she barged in rooms essentially unannounced.

The vampire slipped from Halsin’s arms and turned to face the High Harper, taking a moment to compose the sheepish expression he would hate for her to see. Though Jaheira was no young woman anymore, her vision was as sharp as a panther’s prowling on a hunt. When Astarion met her eyes, Jahiera's expression was mixed. Her silver eyebrow arched in suspicion but also playfulness, and her wrinkled hands were perched on her hips.

"When you both caused a scene a bit ago, this popped out of thin air, right onto the war table. I suppose it is yours?" She said in her thick accent, gesturing with a wave towards the armor. "Plenty of poisons and daggers. Astarion, you may be a man after my own heart," she said, chuckling to herself.

"That would indeed be mine," Astarion said, crossing his arms with a huff, feigning dissatisfaction in the high Harper's approval of his well-stocked weaponry he kept close at hand. "But rather rude of you to insist was our fault for causing the scene."

Jaheira merely smirked and shrugged, "It is all the same. Regardless, you may resume your…activities" her words trailed off as she waved her hand and waggled her fingers in their direction, before turning on her heel and closing the door. Astarion turned to face Halsin, the tips of his ears flushed, and both the men laughed quietly to themselves over the silliness of the intrusion, the shattering of the tension which had their nerves tied in knots after their run-in with Raphael.

Astarion huffed a sigh and picked up the armor gingerly to don it. He patted about his bracers and the chest piece, verifying all his hidden daggers were still there. Gods bless the Drow for making armor with so many wonderful hiding spots for knives and poisons and other handy little accouterments that never failed to give him the upper hand in battle. He felt better with his armor on. No one needed to see the carvings on his back, to perceive him laid bare, exposed. To know about any poems or curses, or how he wanted to feel the wide, hot press of Halsin's hand across his back.

He cleared his throat softly, looking up at the druid, whose expression was one so full of... something. Tenderness perhaps? Curiosity? Either way, the soft way that he gazed at Astarion was almost unsettling.

"Well. Shall we.. get on with it? Do whatever needs to be done to help the boy?" Astarion asked, tilting his head as he spoke, studying the large man beside him. No need to dwell on the outburst nor Raphael nor infernal carvings. There was work to be done, and bastards to hurt. He was in a vindictive mood, feeling as though he had been flayed by the cambion for the world to see.

Halsin nodded somberly, and opened the door, gesturing to Astarion to go forward first. Astarion appreciated that the druid rarely questioned him when he wanted to move on to another topic.

***

The day had been full already, between Raphael’s appearance and his brief respite in Halsin’s’s arms, and yet it was only mid-afternoon. But mid-afternoon in these cursed lands was just as dark as a starless midnight. The Selunite priestess Isobel had provided a blessing to them earlier, barring the need to carry a moon lantern or torches to navigate the endless shadows. Still, Astarion wished he'd brought one all the same. Not that he was unnerved by the dark, since darkened alleyways and dimly lit taverns were his only companions for 200 years. And this magical darkness, though it was much heavier than a moonless night, opaque and unseeable, even with his darkvision - wasn't as unnerving as the concept of Halsin truly comprehending, perceiving those scars that lay underneath the circular keloid-scarring on his back.

They were close to where Halsin had last seen flowers in the shadow lands, and although the curse seemed lighter here somehow, shadows still lurked in the edges of the vision. Different shadows lurked in the periphery of Astarion's mind. His mind replayed on a loop the memories of Halsin’s tenderness and care in their… intimacy - Astarion hesitated to call it lovemaking - and the druid’s protectiveness when he had been stripped bare by Raphael. Both times was as though Halsin had held a torch to the scarred, dark insides of Astarion. While it had brought him warmth and comfort at the time, recalling the inescapable vulnerability of the moments they shared made his muscles tense and his stomach coil tightly. Astarion longed for a torch for the simple fact that he would prefer something to hold and grip onto, without cutting crescent moons into the palms of his hands as he clenched them into fists.

Halsin now was fully aware of all his scars, now that he had seen the physical ones. The ever-observant druid had already detected, as if he could smell them, the deeper and arguably more inescapable ones in his mind that he himself hated to acknowledge. It nagged at the back of Astarion's mind, lingering like a headache that throbbed despite all the herbs and potions one could take. Would Halsin still want him, once his own problems are resolved, and the scars of the shadows are lifted from this land and the druid’s deliciously strong-beating heart? Would he still want to deal with Astarion's scars - no, his wounds, for they still hurt him on a level far beyond his skin - after completing his 100-year quest to cleanse the shadows?

Astarion was skeptical that the answer could possibly even be "yes". If it was, Halsin was the most noble of the biggest fools. The vampire was lost deep within his thoughts when the sound of a child's laughter ripped him from the fog of emotions. Although, as Astarion heard it again echoing in the distance, he realized it was almost like a child's laughter. It had something deeper in it, a mixture of the sharp grating of steel on steel and the wail of a rabbit being crushed by a predator’s jaws. But it was still a laugh, and it seemed to echo around them. Only after swiveling on his heel, dagger in hand to survey his surroundings did he notice a small tiefling boy, whose head popped up over the windowsill inside a decrepit house.

Astarion hadn't even noticed the house, so lost he had been in his thoughts, his eyes cast low watching the ground beneath him. But the dilapidated house was rather large for the area, despite falling apart. The only life, if it was truly alive, was the boy peeking out at them from the paneless window. The vampire drew up beside Halsin, who had frozen in his tracks, and nudged the druid slightly.

Halsin had seen the blonde-haired boy long before Astarion had. He was staring at him, his thick bushy brows furrowed deeply as if in discernment. His lips were pursed, the lines on either side of his mouth etched deeply with concern.

"That’s him. Like an echo of Thaniel, remolded by the curse," he said, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke. “We need him, if we’re to put a stop to all of this." His words were under his breath, unintelligible by the boy, who emerged from the doorway of the ruined shack.

Astarion couldn’t hide his shock, his scrunched nose and narrowed eyes once he got a better look at the boy. Though still a child, he had been twisted by the curse, from the tips of his curling horns to the blackened and gnarled claws at his toes. It was so tragic that Astarion nearly laughed. A child. A picture of innocence. There was no justice in this world, truly.

"Thaniel?" Astarion asked, looking mostly at Halsin, but jerking his head of silver curls towards the boy. He slipped the dagger back into his drowcraft bracer. Sadly, not all problems can be cured through stabbing, he was learning.

"My name is Oliver. Not Thaniel," pouted the boy, crossing his arms and stamping one foot. Either dust or shadow spiraled into the air with the motion - Astarion wasn't sure which. It unnerved him, as the motes swirled around the boy’s body.

"Okay, Oliver," said Halsin, crouching as he stepped closer, his palms low to the ground and open - as someone would approach a fearful dog in an alleyway. "I am Halsin. I'm a friend of Thaniel's, and I think Thaniel was your friend too. Would you like to see him again? Play with him again?" Astarion's ears perked up at the slight crack to Halsin's voice as he questioned the boy. His soft, warm voice had an uneasy edge to it. An undercurrent of pleading, begging, that was so unusual for the typically stoic druid.

The boy growled and balled his little hands into fists at his side, shadows swirling behind him. Astarion eyed him down the bridge of his nose as he looked on. Could spirits be manifest by his very will alone?

“No!," Oliver shouted, stamping his foot into the ashes again, "Why should I go back to him? He abandoned me! But here... I’ve made a family, and I can play all the time! Just leave me alone." His words were a jumble, so fast in his squeaky voice, echoed by a deep monstrous growl that seemed to come from the shadows behind him.

"What a temper this little brat has," Astarion muttered to himself, sneering at the child. He was dirty, looked full of mange, and frankly too far gone to help. He was thankful Halsin didn't hear him - or didn't act like he did, anyway, and that Halsin knew how to handle delicate situations and people with smokepowder bombs for hearts. The boy paid Astarion no mind, and glared daggers at the druid who inched ever closer. Halsin had drawn so very close to the boy, within an arm's length. He kneeled and leaned onto one knee to remain at eye-level with the child.

"Oliver, nobody is making you leave. This is your home. But it is dark, empty… lonely," Halsin's voice dropped an octave lower at the last word, and if Astarion wasn't mistaken, nearly seemed to break with emotion. The druid cleared his throat, and continued. "I know your pain, I truly do. Thaniel is my friend also. I played with him, and he was ripped away from me, same as for you."

The boy seemed intent on Halsin's words, his eyes' eerie glow flickering with emotion. It was a stark contrast against his pale skin as the boy’s face contorted in multiple different ways over the next few moments. He seemed hurt, then confused, if the vampire were any judge of body language, and the cloud of thick tension settled between them all seemed to lighten. Astarion was agog at how Halsin knew exactly what to say in what moment. It was inarguably impressive. The boy remained silent, watching Halsin like the cornered dog, unsure if the hand reaching out towards it would feed it or beat it. "But you need not be alone any longer," Halsin said, continuing with the same tender tone, a soft smile causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle, "You need not invent friends. Thaniel is back, and is real. He is waiting for you."

Astarion stood silently, watching the boy. Waiting for his decision. He heard sniffles and little whimpers coming from the boy before Oliver finally peered up at Halsin, his glowing eyes brimmed with tears… and the faintest of smiles on his face.

"Fine, I’ll do it. it might be nice to be with him again," Oliver said, still with a hint of a pout. But now, his words lacked the echoed edge of the shadows. In fact, the whole boy lacked shadows overall, and had begun to glow a soft golden-green. And had also begun to levitate. His ruby eyes darted between the boy and Halsin, unsure of what to make of the scene, until Oliver disappeared in a dazzle of gold.

When Halsin turned to face Astarion, his smile was so bright, that the pale elf felt his expression alone might radiate enough joy to banish the shadow curse. The vampire tried to compose his face, to twist it from an expression of being completely perplexed, into one more neutral. Either way, Halsin didn't seem to notice; he was too busy nearly launching himself at Astarion. Both his large hands gripped onto the vampire's arms, gripping them firmly, giving them a little squeeze. Astarion couldn't help but grin back at the druid, whose smile was, quite frankly, contagious.

His grin was interrupted by the press of Halsin’s lips against his, and the pull of his body to Halsin’s bulk. Astarion kissed back tentatively, a bit confused but pleased nonetheless to be a recipient of Halsin’s affection despite the druid being so preoccupied by Thaniel and this boy recently. After a few exchanged breaths and gentle nibbles to Halsin’s lower lip, the druid pulled away and beamed down at Astarion.

"It's done at last," Halsin said, his voice ebullient with joy, "Soon the land will be unshrouded. With the oak father’s blessing, the shadow curse may soon be no more. Come, let us check on Thaniel and see how he fares."

Astarion was pulled into another bear hug, his face pressed to the cool leather of Halsin’s armor. He couldn't nod or shake his head in agreement or disapproval, with how tight of a hug Halsin had pulled him into. He was thankful that the thick muscle of the druid's chest and his armor obscured his lopsided grin.

******

Halsin was disappointed, but not surprised, that restoring Oliver and Thaniel together did not result in an immediate end to the Shadowcurse. Rarely in nature were things so easy to rectify; balance was something that was not easily attained, nor easily broken, nor easily restored.

As Thaniel had stirred, he had described to Halsin and the rest of the party how an anchor still held the shadows in place. Most of their excitement had faded when he revealed that the anchor itself was Ketheric Thorm. Nothing good comes easily, indeed, Halsin thought to himself bitterly. Even getting honey requires the risk of a few bee stings.

Still, he couldn't help but argue with the insistence of their group - starting with Karlach, echoed by Wyll and Gale, and later agreed to by Lae'zel and Shadowheart, that they should take the evening to celebrate Thaniel's recovery and the opportunity that is so tantalizingly close. Astarion, always one for luxury, had also immediately echoed the sentiment of deserving of a little treat.

Halsin couldn't disappoint the party with his nagging concerns; in the realm of shadows and fight against evil, every little victory should indeed be appreciated and celebrated. He'd offered to speak to Jaheira to get the Last Light Inn properly prepared for the celebration, and had left prior to any of the other adventurers. It was only a half-lie, because it would be prudent to inform the Harpers and others to expect their ragtag crew of adventurers. Being the bearer of good news was also always welcome, and he was sure that the Harpers would appreciate having a morale boost. But mostly, Halsin suspected that Jaheira could provide aid for some additional tasks he wanted to complete; he would also need solitude to do so.

***** Halsin's head jerked towards the entrance of the Inn as he heard jubilant chatter echo from outside. Karlach had arrived, he presumed, and was proven correct when she rushed into the inn with a cry of "Cold ale for all!", arm linked with Shadowheart. She had her tail wrapped around the wrist of a sheepish, blushing Wyll behind her. Lae'zel followed the three with an expression less severe and uninterested than typical. After her strode in Gale with his typical good-natured cheer, waving to Jaheira and the others. Astarion took up the rear, ending the party's entrance with less boisterousness and more subtlety. The adventurers had gotten the camp tidied up before joining Halsin; after several rounds of ale at the Inn, and a likely hangover, they wouldn't want to deal with it later, that was for certain.

Halsin had plenty of time for both of his side-tasks before nestling into the corner of the inn that appeared much like a library. One of his side-tasks had included acquiring a book regarding infernal pacts. Jaheira and her Harpers were clever and studious, and an old dusty book on just that topic was available for the druid to borrow. He hadn't intended to make a fuss of looking into the topic, but the choice was taken from him as soon as he felt Astarion lean over the armchair in which he had settled. The vampire's cool breath lingered on his cheek, and Halsin tilted his head gently to press his forehead against Astarion’s jaw. A slender finger came down on the tome and slowly slid across the lines as, Halsin assumed, Astarion read over his shoulder.

A scoff from the vampire ruffled his stray hairs, making them fall into his face. "Halsin, you’re not reading that on my behalf are you, darling?" Astarion said, nearly spitting his words as he’d shot upright after skimming only a few sentences. He placed his hand on his hip and sauntered over to sit in the unoccupied armchair beside Halsin, separated only by a tiny round table on which he placed a glass of wine. He arched an eyebrow at the druid, studying him down his nose.

Halsin shot him a crooked grin, shrugging his broad shoulders at the question. "No matter how long I live, I will always strive to remain a keen pupil. Only a fool would think he could absorb all knowledge of the world. There is always more, infinitely complex," he spoke with his hands, gesturing towards both the book and Astarion for his next words. "Additionally, it behooves us to prepare for the challenges ahead. Both yours and Wyll’s… Infernal dealings are one subject of which I have not studied deeply,” he admitted with another shrug. He had spent too much time trying to rectify his mistakes with the Shadowcurse to fuss with fiends in the hells below.

And he currently wanted to spend his time on a more worthwhile pursuit - chatting to Astarion. Halsin's fingers slid up the edge of the book and folded the page in half to mark his place. His hand jerked away as a small droplet of red wine landed on the page.

Astarion had sputtered in his wine cup and tried not to choke. Halsin's head tilted to the side as he watched the vampire's vexed expression. Though Astarion didn't need to breathe, this was the second time Halsin had somehow made him choke on his wine.

"Halsin, what in the hells are you doing?!" Astarion gasped, his voice shrill in shock. One slender hand was pulled to his chest, as though he were on the verge of heartbreak. "I was going to let it slip that you're insisting on doing research on my behalf, but I cannot abide by you defiling a book!" He clicked his tongue in disappointment, and reached towards the tome in Halsin's hands. The druid snapped the book shut and set it beside him on the armchair, chuckling to himself about Astarion's dismay for dog eared literature.

"Ahh a purist, are you Astarion?" he said, winking at the vampire, whose face flushed with a tinge much like the color of the wine he sipped again, glaring at Halsin over the rim of his cup. The druid just grinned wider, his crows feet deepening, and continued. "I must admit, books that show no shelf-wear are visually appealing, and the smell of new books is intoxicating…but do tomes bearing visible markings not intrigue you more than those unmarred by use?"

Astarion lowered his wine glass a bit, narrowing his eyes to study the druid, and seemed unsure of what Halsin was trying to get at. Or, Halsin figured, perhaps still offended by the dog eared page. "But think of it, Astarion, a dog-eared book means it has been well loved. What information did it share to their reader that was so valuable? What is the story contained within, and even is the story of the book itself? Just as a person's skin bears sun spots and scars, books marked by their readers have fascinating stories to tell,” Halsin explain.

Astarion had perched on the edge of his seat, leaning heavily on the armrest with his chin in his hand. He had sat quietly during his monologue, one silver eyebrow arched up to his coiffed curls. He had even taken another sip of wine to keep his sharp tongue busy on something other than a retort, Halsin assumed. The beautiful elf was always quick with a witty remark; his intellect was something Halsin greatly admired. The vampire set his wine glass back down and brushed at his trousers, flicking away at imperceptible dust that Halsin didn't see at all.

"Well," Astarion started, his words heavy with his unmistakable pouty tone, "you always have a wise response to excuse your habits." Astarion crossed his arms, tapping his fingertips on his biceps, watching carefully as Halsin picked the book up and opened it back to the page. "Still, I knew you had plenty of faults, Halsin," he said, counting on his fingers as he spoke, "your stubbornness. Your bleeding heart. But mutilating the books?”

The shadow of a grin crossed Astarion's face; his words were heavier with tease than the threat of a tantrum. It was endearing, and it made Halsin's heart soar to see some playful banter come from the vampire, who just recently had been so distraught after the run-in with Raphael.

Halsin ached to make the playfulness last. He licked his finger agonizingly slowly, and flicked the book to the next page, dog-earing that page as well. He grinned wickedly and watched the vampire from the corner of his eye - blood was rising to his face, but clearly not out of anger. This side of Astarion - the baffled, caught-off-guard side - was delightful, and Halsin enjoyed finding it. The sound of his calloused finger on the book’s rough parchment was accompanied by an overly dramatic harrumph from the pale elf.

"Well, did you find anything out, at least, in your tome-torture?” Astarion said, with very little venom, but his eyes glittering with curiosity. He brought his wine to his lips again and drained the glass.

It was Halsin's turn to sigh, and he snapped the book shut again, laying it flat on his lap. "Very little, unfortunately," he admitted, angling his broad body to face Astarion better. He shook his head, his auburn braids falling in front of his shoulders, whispering across his collarbone. He noticed how Astarion's eyes constantly shifted, exploring his body, his surroundings. They darted back up as Halsin continued to speak. "I wish there were more information on the topic, but devils aren’t in the habit of bestowing insight into their trickery."

Astarion scoffed again, and waved his hand as if dismissing the idea. "Of course not," he said, his eyes rolling once before settling back on Halsin's face. The vampire, too, had angled his body in the armchair and had leaned forward on the armrest, his hands dangling over the small table between them. One hand fidgeted with the empty wine glass, a long nail clicking as it flicked back and forth over the rim. The vampire had many nervous tics, small things he did when deep in thought, or when anxious. This particular moment seemed to be full more of anxiety than his own mulling, but Halsin didn't feel it appropriate to disturb Astarion's thoughts. The vampire finally spoke again, after a moment of silence which hung heavy between them.

"I appreciate you. Looking into this, I mean," Astarion said quietly, raising his eyes to Halsin's and peering at him through pale eyelashes. "It's a cruel irony, you know. Having been given my freedom by a parasite, given hope that it might not turn me into a monster… and then to learn that my mas-... Cazador might have etched something even more nefarious into my very body. And the only way to learn more about it is to work with a literal devil." His voice was soft, low, and almost seemed to break at times. It lacked any of his ebullience or drama that he so liked to sprinkle into his speech.

Halsin sat patiently, nodding while listening, studying Astarion's expression. It pained him to see how pained Astarion was as he described his exhilaration of freedom that so soon fell to agony, then hope, then complete uncertainty. And how his former master still haunted him. Halsin frowned, his lips pursing tightly together. Of course Cazador plagued the vampire’s mind. It had only been a handful of tendays since he had broken free from his imprisonment. Halsin swallowed at the thought, choking down his own anger at the inhumane cruelty of slavery which Astarion, and many others, have had to bear.

“Though it is distasteful to deal with fiends…finding out more is an opportunity that you must pursue," Halsin replied, his kind hazel-green eyes meeting Astarion's. He reached out, slowly, and curled his hand under the vampire's, encircling it and rubbing his thumb softly over the top of Astarion's hand. He cleared his throat, steeling himself for a level of vulnerability and honesty that he had not shared with anyone in over a century. “I too have had the unfortunate experience of being at the mercy of someone else.”

'Unfortunate experience' was a misnomer, Halsin knew deep down, because merely recalling his imprisonment made his stomach lurch. And yet he had told himself it was a youthful misadventure for decades upon decades to avoid deeper reflection. Until discovering so many parallels between his past and Astarion's. His thick brows knit together as he pondered on how to explain the whole escapade. Lost in his thoughts, he was unable to see how Astarion's eyes had widened, his brows raised. Unable to realize that the pale elf's cool grip on his palm suddenly tightened, fingertips pressing firmly on his hand.

Halsin nodded a few times as he allowed himself to creep into the deep recesses of his memory. He hardly noticed how he had inhaled and held his breath to steel himself against the memories themselves until he began to speak.

"I was a foolhardy young druid at the time, intent on seeing the beauty of the Underdark's otherworldly fauna and subterranean glow for myself. The botanical illustrations truly did not do them justice, I’ll admit,” he smiled softly at Astarion, recalling one of the only positives about the journey. He cleared his throat to push down the lump he felt forming there. “In my explorations, I had wandered too close to one of the larger Drow cities and…" his voice trailed off, but his mouth was slightly open as he looked for the best way to phrase the predicament he was in for years. "I found myself in the position somewhere between a guest, a prisoner, and a consort of a noble drow house for a time. The house matron took an interest in me and the patron also. They saw me as a…novelty."

Astarion's eyes narrowed at Halsin's expression and words. "Rarely do the drow have guests, darling. Do you care to explain further?" His words were minced, as sharp as the daggers he hid in his drow-crafted armor. The air between the two was palpably heavy, as Astarion seemed to pick apart Halsin’s words with surgeon-like precision, digging deeper into the meaning behind them.

The druid's throat bobbed as he swallowed, thinking of how to phrase it most carefully. It had been a trying time, for him, as a youngster. Once in which he feared for his very life. It was perhaps the most dangerous and unpredictable few years he'd ever experienced, and yet, he realized, he'd been shoving it to the back of his mind and classifying himself as a 'guest'. He realized how his jaw had begun to ache, so intense was his frown.

"I was chained in their bedchamber for nigh on three years," Halsin explained, his eyes darting away from Astarion's briefly, before meeting again for his next words. "During that time, I did what was necessary to survive." The vampire's eyes widened, his porcelain brow cracking as his expression twisted into something like pity, if Halsin had to place the emotion. He nodded to himself as he recalled the memories, the sights of his time trapped in the stalagmite prison of the drow matron.

"The preserved skins of surface elves hang on the walls of noble Menzoberranzan homes for display as trophies. I did not intend to add a bear skin to their collection," Halsin said, shrugging as if the weight of the memories was on his shoulders, as if they did not burden him. He liked to think they did not; they didn't affect his current day-to-day existence, so the experience must not have been too bad, he had told himself for over a century. Certainly they did not haunt him as severely as the shadow curse.

"So you were a slave," Astarion said, his expression unchanged, "used for their perverse pleasures." The pale elf sat so rigidly he could have been made of stone. With how cool his hand was, Halsin could have believed he was indeed carved out of alabaster.

"I… cannot argue against that. For two centuries I've thought of it rarely, whether that was intentional or not," Halsin said, his lips thinning in another frown. "I feared for my life and, lacking freedom, I was indeed enslaved to my masters." His voice was softer at the end, lighter, as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

The pale elf's expression softened, his brows knitting upwards in what Halsin assumed was curiosity. "However did you manage to escape Menzoberranzan? Let alone find your way from the Underdark?" Astarion asked, his voice lacking its usual teasing or sarcastic tone. He seemed genuinely intrigued, leaning towards Halsin further. He seemed enraptured by Halsin's story, unaware of how his nails pressed into Halsin's large hand. The druid didn't mind, and gently squeezed back.

"Patience, mostly. Biding my time. My moment eventually came, when some rivals of my hosts sought to unseat them. In the midst of the fighting was pure chaos, and in that moment I took my chance," Halsin looked at Astarion, his expression more severe and serious than the vampire's, for once. "I never looked back until I breathed fresh air again…and I never learned what became of my masters." His large shoulders lifted and dropped again.

Astarion hadn't seen his shrug most likely, as the vampire's eyes were downcast, darting back and forth, as though he were formulating a conversation in his head. Or perhaps simply deep in thought. Either way, Halsin sat patiently waiting for his reply. No need to rush. Nor was there awkward silence, as the background noise of clinking glasses and happy chatter filled the inn - at least most of it, save for their quieter corner. Karlach had made a bet and was armwrestling someone, Halsin overheard. As well as the unmistakable voice of Gale, so generously sharing his endless knowledge and stories. Finally, Astarion raised his head to look at Halsin.

"You had family, though. And no one.. ever came to look for you?" Astarion asked. Halsin was surprised by the humanity in his tone, his concern. He sighed softly and offered a weak half-grin for the vampire.

"The Underdark is a vast network of caverns, so it would have been almost impossible to track me. And exceedingly dangerous," he explained. It had hurt, though, the years he was down there, knowing that no one was likely coming to his rescue. The pain resurged slightly, causing Halsin's stomach to flip and his skin to become hot. He shifted in his armchair uncomfortably. "This was also well before the Grove became my family. I've long had the tendency to roam and travel, instead of settling down. So as far as anyone knew…I was simply traveling."

Astarion shook his head, as if in disbelief, his beautiful brow wrinkled in dissatisfaction. "A pity," he said, squeezing Halsin's hand before pulling his own free of the druid's grasp. "But I am glad that you escaped. And to have met you." Halsin's heart leapt at the admittance, at the slight tinge of Astarion's ears and cheeks turning red, before the vampire realized what he had said, that he had let his mask slip.

"I certainly would hate having missed the opportunity to try bear blood," Astarion said, his voice full of that false mirth. His high pitched giggle filled their little nook off the main part of the inn. He winked at the druid. Halsin chuckled to himself and grinned, shaking his head slightly. He wouldn't push the matter further; Astarion's deflection queued the end of the conversation.

Or that topic, at least.

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

Astarion was still stunned at Halsin's revelation of his sexual slavery; and appreciative that the druid knew when to keep quiet and leave him to his pensive moods. He struggled with the idea of Halsin under the thrall of anyone, let alone a diminutive Drow matron. As soon as Halsin shared his experience, Astarion's mind had run amok, conjuring the image of the large druid bound and tethered against his will… it made a knot tangle in his stomach. Astarion disliked both the knot and the fact that it had formed so quickly. Loathed how quickly his mind could so easily launch into a thousand scenarios of bound hands, sharp knives, and blood-stained floors. He hadn't realized he'd been staring into the distance for quite some time until Halsin spoke his name, and he had to blink rapidly to get his vision to refocus.

"Astarion, are you alright?" Halsin asked, tapping his forearm lightly with his thick fingers, resting his heavy hand on Astarion's delicate wrist.

As though by instinct, Astarion's other hand flipped in the air, as if batting away Halsin's concerns. "Of course, darling. Just the wine you know," he lied. Wine tasted of vinegar to him, and largely left him unaffected by intoxicating effects. "Although everyone else is rather…exuberant."

Karlach was a doll, but gods could she be loud. Lae'zel of course, besides her blasted sword sharpening, wasn't obnoxious. Gale being endlessly verbose coincided with Wyll's chatterbox nature. Only Shadowheart knew when to keep her mouth shut, besides Halsin. The inn was full to bursting with songs and laughter.

It was rather annoying, and made brooding even more difficult. Yes, of course, they'd rescued the boy, there was hope for a cure of the tadpole… for the others, at least. Astarion's jaw clenched thinking of what could happen if the tadpole was removed. Would Cazador so quickly take power back over him? He had to get answers about those wretched scars before that could happen.

His thoughts were interrupted - again - by Halsin, this time by a gentle squeeze. "Would you like to go somewhere quieter, Astarion?" Halsin asked, his voice as gentle and reassuring as it had always been.

Ah, quieter, of course, Astarion thought to himself.

Halsin's expression darkened slightly and he shook his head. "Seduction is not my intention this evening, Astarion. Truly, I thought that you might appreciate someplace different to rest for the evening other than a camp bedroll."

Astarion hadn't realized his expression had changed enough for Halsin to notice. The vampire tried to reset his face to neutral; that mask of seduction melted like snow from sun-warmed stone. Old habits, dying hard, etcetera etcetera. He would like to have some place to repose in peace, though he enjoyed wanton parties as much as any good deviant. Still, some place better than his threadbare blanket - not to mention sharing more time with Halsin, was an opportunity Astarion couldn't pass.

He nodded and stood, stretching his arms overhead as he unfolded himself from the armchair. Halsin offered his arm Astarion's way, and nodded his head toward the room to which they'd retreated after Raphael's literal dressing-down.

"Such a gentleman," Astarion purred as he slipped his hand into the crook of Halsin's arm. He couldn't resist gripping the druid's thick forearm muscle in a squeeze before relaxing his hand. Halsin's body heat, his strength… the memory of how he had been at Astarion’s request - no, the command - and so obediently followed the vampire’s lead to their mutual ecstasy… it sent a shiver down Astarion's spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to raise.

Halsin seemed not to notice as he waved a 'goodnight' to the rest of their companions, leading Astarion to the room he must have reserved when he had come earlier to Last Light, prior to anyone else's arrival. Though it was the same one they'd been in just a bit earlier, Astarion felt as though he were seeing it for the first time. Perhaps that truly was the case; he had been in distress the first time they'd been here after all, and sight-seeing hadn't been his priority. He raised his chin, surveying the room with curiosity and pleasure. Two clicks behind him signaled that Halsin had closed and locked the door.

"Well now, this is more like it! It’s quite a fine guest suite after all, even in the middle of a wasteland," Astarion chirped, loosening his hand's tether to Halsin and roaming about the room. He appreciated the thick fur and hide rugs that cushioned his footsteps as he took measure of his surroundings. His fingertips danced on fine antique wooden furniture - possibly as old as he was - that was clean and aged with a nice finish. A sideboard was laden heavily with candles, all lit and making the room smell faintly of honey. The side tables of the room also had candles, as well as a carafe of water and two goblets. The bed seemed plush enough, with pillows both decorative and functional at its head.

Astarion chose to settle himself at the head of the bed, kicking his boots off onto the floor, and shrugging off his armor. "So darling, what possessed you to reserve this room, hmm, if not for more of what we enjoyed the other night?" he asked, one slender eyebrow arched. Atop the copious pillows, Astarion reclined in the easy manner he had practiced over centuries.

Halsin's genial chuckle brought warmth to Astarion's cold chest as he settled beside the vampire, slipping off his own sandals and sitting cross-legged on the bed. "I've no ulterior motives, Astarion, and have been fully transparent with you," he said, his tone and grin as affable as always. "I thought it may be a fitting way to show my appreciation for you, and all you've done for me. For Thaniel. For the good of this land and the nature within it." He leaned forward and placed his large palm on Astarion's thigh, and raised one of the pale elf’s hands to his lips. Halsin pressed a gentle kiss atop his fingers, then settled his hand back down.

A shiver ran down his back again, and Astarion wiggled his shoulders further into the goose down pillows to will it away. "That's… very kind of you, Halsin," Astarion offered, brows rising in surprise, a slight flush growing at his cheeks. "It is rather nice to lie on an actual bed instead of the ground. I'd dare say we deserve a bit of comfort after all of our efforts."

The crow's feet at Halsin's eyes crinkled with his grin. "I thought you might. Comfort doesn't come naturally for me," he said, his voice a bit lower, softer. His hand traced along the surface of the soft linen quilt below him. "I am restless, and roaming. Comfort is for the farm animal, snug in its pen. I live for the wilderness." A large shrug of his shoulders blocked the candlelight from his side of the bed, then revealed it again, outlining the druid in an orangey golden halo.

Astarion couldn't resist snickering and rolling his eyes. "Oh I'm well aware darling; if you had it your way, we'd be lying naked in a field somewhere, gazing at the stars." He gestured with his hand at the ceiling, though he could only keep his eyes on the druid. How handsome he was, how striking. How full of delicious depth. His soft nature despite his inner beast. His wrinkles from age and experience. His hand on Astarion's thigh, calloused from hard work. He indeed was not made for creature comforts.

Halsin grinned and inclined his head towards Astarion, leaning in close and peering at the vampire through his dark eyelashes. "You read my mind, Astarion. But I thought of an adequate compromise for each of our comforts," he explained. Astarion's head tilted as he studied Halsin's face. "Could you humor me, dearheart, and close your eyes?"

Astarion's eyes narrowed. "Oh? Do you have some sort of lewd trick coming my way?"

"Not at all, Astarion. Just a surprise, on my honor." He squeezed the vampire's thigh softly and rose to stand beside the bed.

Astarion harrumphed and crossed his arms, wiggling further onto the pillows and crossing his long slender legs. "If you insist," he drawled, tapping his fingertips on his arms. "I do hate surprises. But I suppose I can grant that much at least." He closed his eyes and the fine linens, the candlelight, the large druid, all disappeared behind his eyelids. His sensitive hearing picked up the soft padding of Halsin's feet along the floorboards and rugs.

For once, Astarion didn't want to break the silence with his own voice, for that would prevent him from picking up hints of what the surprise was based on the small sounds of Halsin's movements. The sound of blowing; he was snuffing the candles. The click of the lock on the door. And, oddly, the soft hum of a spell of some sort being cast. It was almost painful, the ache to open his eyes and see what on earth the druid was doing. His curiosity was never sated; and yet, he ached just as badly to please Halsin by humoring his desire for this surprise, whatever it was.

He heard Halsin pacing back towards him, the soft exhale of breaths as he slid onto the bed beside Astarion. He felt the larger elf's arm slide behind his lower back, Halsin’s warm hand wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, pressing him to his side. Astarion flushed again, wriggling slightly to nestle into the crook of Halsin's arm.

"Well? Are you quite finished?" Astarion asked, his patience wearing thin, but his curiosity growing.

He felt a soundless chuckle rumble in Halsin's chest. "Thank you for your trust, dearheart," he said. Astarion noticed he didn't mention patience. "You may open your eyes now."

As soon as Astarion opened his eyes, his mouth dropped open as well. How had he not noticed? Had he been too preoccupied with the allure of an actual bed to bother to look at the ceiling? Or was it that Halsin had used some sort of druid magic to mask their presence? Astarion wasn't sure, nor could his thoughts linger on the confusion he felt as his eyes roamed the ceiling, his fangs glinting in the reflected light from above.

All along the ceiling glimmered hundreds of tiny stars; each no bigger than a gold piece. They shone like gold, too, just as the sun glinted upon coins cast into a water fountain in a Baldurian street square. They twinkled and pulsed with magic, creating a dazzling starscape above him. It mirrored beautifully the stars in the night sky that he hadn't seen in the entire time they'd been in the Shadowcursed lands.

His mouth was dry from hanging open; Astarion licked his lips and swallowed, his hand crawling towards Halsin, grasping his tunic in wonder. He felt Halsin's warm hand lay atop his, a soothing weight grounding him despite feeling as though his head swam in the stars above. Halsin had to have prepared this when he came to the Inn earlier. And also planned the candles, the timing… the minor cantrip of 'daylight' that he must have cast on each individual star. Astarion squinted, his night vision finally adjusted to the dimmer light. Each star appeared to be wooden; they had been whittled. By hand - by Halsin.

“What…what is all this for, Halsin?" Astarion asked, his eyes fixed on the wonders above, "How long did it take you to carve…?" He felt himself being pulled closer to Halsin, their torsos pressed together, Halsin's strong arms encircling him, sending goosepimples all down his body and a warmth in his chest and belly.

He couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at the edges of his lips as he felt the press of Halsin’s soft lips against his forehead, and how they were curled into a smile. "I've been working on it for quite some time… despite only mentioning it recently," Halsin said, his contentment warm and solid, radiating from his deep voice. "Even if we cannot admire the night sky in these lands…I wanted to lie with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine."

Astarion felt as though his heart had started beating, with how fiercely his chest tightened as he realized that though he had never even considered it, he wanted that too. He wriggled his body against Halsin's, aching to be closer. "This… is nice," he said. And he meant it.

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