#hes far more vicious in the show than he ever was in the book its one of the most glaring character changes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

warningsine · 1 year

Text

With the release of Kevin Can F—k Himself on AMC, a genre-bending dark comedy drama that takes deliberate aim at the misogyny that sits at the heart of our most popular and enduring pieces of pop culture, it seems that perhaps the time has finally come to publicly reckon with the way we view wives—sitcom and otherwise—on the television shows we watch. Even the show’s name is a play on the CBS sitcom title Kevin Can Wait, whose narrative storytelling was so lazy that they killed off Kevin’s wife Donna between its first and second seasons because they were “literally just running out of ideas,” and then barely mentioned her death onscreen.

Kevin Can F—k Himself openly acknowledges that the advantages Kevin McRoberts receives—constant adulation, an almost preternatural ability to luck his way out of ridiculous situations, a devoted wife whose hard work and constant presence he simply accepts as his due—only exist because the rules of the show he stars in require it. In the gritty prestige drama half of the series, which presents his wife as a character with interiority and her own necessary point of view, Allison realizes that she deserves better than a life cheerfully accepting uncomfortable period jokes as her lot. And her rage feels like a revelation.

It’s worth noting that AMC has something of a history with unfairly-hated TV wives. While Breaking Bad is frequently hailed as one of the best television series ever produced, the series is also memorable for something far less laudable. On the one hand, its complicated tale of a cancer-stricken chemistry teacher turned vicious drug kingpin is a harrowing watch, as Walter White descends into the worst sort of darkness and drags viewers right along with him. Its scale was somehow both grand and immediate, a morality play that carefully tears apart its characters’ lives on the way to an ending that still stands as one of the few examples of a prestige drama really sticking its landing.

And yet, for all the areas in which it excelled, Breaking Bad was never a show that really knew what to do with its female characters, and Skyler White—Walt’s put-upon wife who spent multiple seasons living in ignorance of his illicit and illegal extracurricular activities before being forced to become a co-conspirator whether she wanted to be or not—often seemed to exist solely as an object for viewers to despise.

Given that Breaking Bad is a story full of generally vile, reprehensible people doing everything from committing petty theft to engaging in torture and murder, it’s never really made a ton of sense that Skyler somehow emerged as the series’ most hated character. Unfairly maligned by many viewers for what essentially boils down to harshing Walt’s buzz, Skyler was constantly labeled a nagging killjoy for simply having the nerve to dislike the fact that her husband repeatedly lied to her about the most basic facts of their lives.

Narratively speaking, Skyler is meant to serve as Breaking Bad’s moral compass, a figure whose presence tarnishes Walt’s ambitions by reminding him that, actually, cooking crystal meth is both bad and illegal. Her unique point of view as the woman who has known Walt at his most normal and average helps puncture the fantasy he creates of Heisenberg, the badass one who knocks. Instead, she reveals him as he is: a delusional, ultimately pathetic man whose good intentions became monstrous in the end.

That she ultimately becomes complicit in Walt’s crimes is another layer of tragedy in a show that already has multiple layers of heartbreak, but even at her worst, Skyler’s primary goal—ensuring the safety of her children—is generally a selfless one. (Walt’s, on the other hand…) Perhaps Skyler is judged harshly because she is both a woman and a mother, roles we have been culturally conditioned to see as both necessarily good and moral, therefore we just expect her to both know and do better than her reprobate spouse. After all, men are allegedly more susceptible to temptation and are always easily more forgiven when they fall short of the people they’re supposed to be, right?

Despite the fact that he is a criminal several times over, Walt is never blamed for putting his wife in an untenable and impossible position. Instead, it is Skyler who is disparaged as a grating, shrewish ball and chain who somehow just keeps getting in her amoral husband’s way and preventing him from doing crimes exactly the way he wants to. And Breaking Bad sadly does precious little to push back against that perception; the show is deeply uninterested in Skyler’s point of view, and rarely allows her character any sort of depth or nuance that might help viewers better grasp the difficult choices she’s facing.

Unfortunately, Skyler is hardly the only prestige TV leading lady—or even the only woman on an AMC network drama!—who is judged and found wanting for the crime of not being deferential enough to the man she married. Betty Draper Francis over on Mad Men certainly seemed to attract more than her fair share of criticism for simply having the nerve to divorce a man who cheated on her all the time. (How very dare!) And AMC’s The Walking Dead isn’t just famous for its array of grotesque monsters: Just say the name Lori Grimes to any longtime fan and you’ll learn pretty quickly that sexist double standards did indeed survive the zombie apocalypse. These women, like them or not, deserved better then and now—and they deserve to be remembered as more than flashpoints for fan vitriol.

In Kevin Can F—k Himself, Allison is given what Skyler, Betty, and Lori all lacked—a storytelling framework that makes the audience complicit in their own response. The sitcom segments of Kevin try to gaslight viewers into thinking that the often abusive way Kevin and his world treat his wife is not only acceptable, but it’s also hilarious. Except it isn’t, not even a little bit, and the drama half of the show refuses to let the folks watching it look away from that fact. It encourages us not just to sympathize with Allison’s anger, but to share it, and to hold ourselves at least partially responsible for all the years we spent laughing at women like her.

Perhaps if there had only been a Walt Can F—k Himself, we might have gotten to see Skyler in the same light.

#breaking bad #kevin can fuck himself #disagree that skyler didn't get nuance on the show. misogynists just loved to unfairly hate her.#not one of those people mentions that e.g. walter attempted to rape her. or how he gaslit and emotionally abused her.#they mention the 'happy birthday' scene or how she dared #smoke once while she was pregnant as her huge crimes.

9 notes · View notes

i-can-even-burn-salad · 2 years

Text

Twisted Thorns

[ID: The title of the story, written in black on a light to dark green gradient with golden sparkles. All other images are divider lines, showing two white flowers. End ID.]

The misshapen bushes, the thorny vines, the gnarly roots that formed repulsive structures. Gloom had settled over the thicket, filled with a reddish, sinister glow, as if the Scourge was trying to block out the sun itself, to replace it with its own twisted idea of light.

📖 Synopsis

A glimmer of hope in the face of dark magic

It has been fifty years since the appearance of the first kalani; peaceful plant people, born from the fruits of a colossal tree. Now there is a darkness growing deep in the jungle, abducting their siblings and turning them into cruel, vicious creatures.

After Caldyn is freed from their torment, his body is broken, his eyes burned, his magic gone. To reclaim it, he must leave his friends and the only home he has ever known. When he stumbles upon an injured kalani—as warm as sunlight and as lonely as him—he promises to take care of her until she is fully recovered.

As days turn into weeks, friendship slowly grows into affection. Then a call for help reaches Caldyn, and he has to decide if he has the strength to return; if together they can face the nightmares that still haunt him.

📖 About

Genre: Fantasy/Romance

POV: Third person past tense, all of it in Caldyn’s POV

Wordcount: 98k

Status: Manifesting motivation to edit

Content Warnings: Trauma, graphic depictions of fantasy violence, including torture and death

Vibes: a vibrant jungle / dark magic / strangers to friends to lovers / “please don’t leave” / thorns and tree sap / hope in the darkest places / the warmth of sunlight / betrayal / gender is overrated / “i’m fine” / fire and water / giant trees / facing your fears / bioluminescence / humans are weird / just talk to each other / “you're alive”

Playlist | Moodboard | Coverart

📖 Cast

Caldyn

“I’m not the hero they say I am. But I’m still standing. And she is not.”

When he’s kidnapped for his unique combination of life and death magic, Caldyn’s life as he knew it is over. Without his sight, and carrying the scars of betrayal, he clings to one thing: the hope that somewhere there is a place where he can be a healer again.

Seyonna

“I’m always doing everything wrong, and annoy people, and break things.”

Seyonna is a shy sapling, who talks too quickly and worries too much. She’s far from home and deep in trouble when Caldyn finds her. He wants to help her, but for that, he needs to first gain her trust.

Breannan

“I love being a mentor, but sometimes I wish I could study more than books and parchments again.”

Breannan is one of the oldest of his kind, devoting his life to learning and teaching. He used to be Caldyn’s mentor, and is still one of his closest friends.

Lily

“I can’t leave Raley alone or he’ll put raisins into everything. Raisins, can you believe it?”

Lily is the best baker in the Wilds, and her energy a force to be reckoned with. Between breadrolls and honey cake, she teaches Caldyn how to find his way, and how to trust again.

Gawyn

“You shouldn’t have both, life and death. Death should have been mine.”

Gawyn is Caldyn’s partner—or ex-partner. Leaving your loved one to be tortured to death by the enemy because you’re jealous of his magic surely is one way to end a relationship.

Firethorn

“Join us. Die tonight. Or suffer until you wish you had done either.”

Firethorn is one of the Ceodh’s leaders, infamous for her cruelty. She has her own idea of how to increase the Scourge’s influence—unfortunately, those plans include Caldyn.

📖 Tags

Yes, this project is related to the similarly named Thorns & Jasmine on this blog, but it isn’t the same. This one is a “normal” book, with story and stuff, but a few chapters overlap.

I’ll be using the tag #wip: thorns for updates, which will include my newly discovered insta ambition of slapping a quote on a stock image, and the occasional tag game.

There’s also tags for the characters, but those mostly focus on the other story, and might contain spoilers:

#Caldyn insists he’s fine

#Breannan really likes books

#Lily makes the best cake

#Seyonna talks a mile a minute

I have no idea where I’ll be going once I finished, and I’m gonna ignore that question until I can’t anymore :)

#wip: thorns #wip intro #writeblr #*hides behind my friends and presses post*#I still don't know where I belong (:#But I do need something to link back to

29 notes · View notes

maeve-is-annoying-about-books · 1 year

Text

Iron Widow, Chapters 1-5

Wu Zetian is a vicious woman and I love it. I adore it.

I can appreciate a main character that's a little bit feral. It's hardly like she's wrong to be so, either. She lives in an extremely misogynist society, her feet have been broken and bound into "lotus feet", and her sister was killed. Used as energy to power a giant mech that fights alien bugs. I think, though, that while these all might be reasons for her attitude, I don't think they're the end-all be-all, as though she were a perfectly docile women enriched in feminine manner before. No, I think her internal drive, her anger, all of it are intrinsically herself.

Important because these are nominally masculine traits that I haven't often seen depicted in a female lead. Usually I tend to see the modern-typical example of fantasy womanhood, that of competence, coolness, a collected attitude over a mental storm. It's anecdotal, I totally admit, but my experience so far with our heroine has been so refreshing for my personal reading life that I can't help but bring it up. I wonder, a bit idly, if Author Zhao's editor often argued with them about Zetian's character. If whomever was overseeing was worried that Zetian would come off as "bitchy" or "unlikable". Something I've seen a time or seven when a lady character expresses herself in any way that is less than perfectly "reasonable".

In a book so steeped in gender and its roles, it's hard not to talk about its parallels in the real world. I expect I'll have much to say about it down the line, as well.

For the rest, the substance of the story, I want to say that I appreciate the kind of earnestness Author Zhao presents their world with. It's a bombastic, vibrant, up-front world. The last thing I would expect from a book is a type chart that shows the five elements' strengths and weaknesses on the front page. The mechs transform in response to spiritual energy, and their forms are shown int he first pages. Ah! It tickles me how unapologetically fucking radical it is. So far there have been no long sermons on why having animal mechs that become bipeds are tactically the best choice for humanity's defense, and I hope there never is. I'm with you, I am along for this ride, my disbelief is liberated from my body by sheer force of my love for giant robots.

For the meat of what's happened, as I've said, Zetian's sister has been killed. Her spiritual energy was used up by Yang Guang to pilot the Nine-Tailed Fox. This is seen as business-as-usual by everyone in society, even Zetian's own family. And it is frustratingly heartbreaking that it's so, everyone seems to be on the page that this was the best possible thing she could have done with her life. To be fuel. Because isn't it? Isn't it better to give up a life to the Prince-class Pilot than let the Hundun threat breach the wall?

No. No, not in the slightest. Not even a little bit. Because the truth is that she never gave her life willingly, the society around her told her, her entire life, that it was all she was worth. That's not a choice, nor a noble sacrifice. It's a tragedy that these women are all doing this, clinging to the faintest hope they'll be a Balanced Match when they're given over as Concubine to a pilot.

Yizhi, ah you sweet boy. He wants nothing more than to save Zetian's life. There's no way she'll ever assassinate Yang Guang and come out alive. But the fact of the matter is that Zetian doesn't want to live under this system anymore, doesn't want to deal with the inevitable pile of bullshit that would fall on her and him. She's poised, hairpin in hand, to strike at everything shes grown to hate. Yizhi can do nothing about it at this point, even if they could have had a quiet life. But of course they can't, and not just because of Zetian's decision, or because Yizhi didn't "fight hard enough" for her. Their entire society set this split into motion, and it's all the more sad for it.

And all the more gross when we meet with the selection process for a new Concubine Pilot. It's exactly what you expect. They're all told to, in essence, be emotionally responsible for Yang Guang. To comfort him, to give him anything he wants, even their bodies. Even their minds. Seeing as how piloting is a melding of minds, after a fashion. Be meek and submit, they all say. I find it no surprise that the very picture of this "ideal submissive woman" was Zetian's biggest obstacle to getting picked. Xiao is everything Zetian isn't, all her fierceness is in guarding the system built to use her, and she folds to the words of authority in moments. It's why Zetian is ultimately picked, she'll be interesting for awhile and then, like all the rest, she'll be gone. Sooner the less fun prettyboy Yang has, I presume.

It might be the very battle that starts now.

#live reading #iron widow #maeve's iron widow readalong

3 notes · View notes

blackcrookedoak · 1 year

Text

An excerpt from the book:

___

It seemed near everybody in Silver Sands was out tonight, to hear the doctor. “Friends and neighbors, welcome! Gather yourselves up close, now,” a voice boomed from where the wagon waited. “I will disclose to you the latest epiphanies of the learned men of science!” The doctor was younger than Rebekah might have guessed, from his booming voice, and his blustery bravado. He wore a smart gray suit, and pomaded brown curls. A blue silk cravat sat in a bright puff at his throat. It matched his eyes: they were piercing, with a shrewd gleam. His name, according the vivid green placard hanging from his wagon’s roof, was: Dr. Theodore Haywood Lamb. Compounds to Cure-All, Elixirs to Elicit Excellence! The crowd had grown, pushing forward towards the wagon. People from town, people who rode in from the outskirts. Rebekah noted each face, familiar or strange. There was Miss Jenny Roberts, the old maid who did mending from her little house down the way, lowering her round spectacles to peer at the doctors’ dark glass bottles. There was the young dentist, with an arm around his wife’s shoulders. There were local farmhands, and farriers, and the town marshal Mort Jones, who watched the crowd more than the show, just like her. The marshal spotted her, and her uncle. Uncle Jeb gave him a stern nod, overly officious. It was difficult to tell whether he feared the man more, or loathed him. Then another look flashed in his eyes, predatory, when he saw a different man walk by. “Mr. Plowright,” Jeb called, “a word, if you will.” He took the man by the arm, and she knew what a hard hold he had.

A few ladies lingered outside the audience, wearing fine, full skirts and high bustles. They were peacocks among all the pigeons. Rebekah couldn’t recognize them by sight, but they must have been Miss Angela’s girls, gussied up for nighttime. During the day, when they visited the store for thread or linens like anybody else, their faces weren’t painted, and they wore flat skirts, but they were kind and friendly. That was what mattered to her. Still, it wasn’t a surprise they caught the eyes of the men. Including some Rebekah had never seen, clustered past the far end of the wagon. They didn’t look like trail riders, who stopped in town to drink and wash off the dust. And they weren’t so rough-edged as the ranchers—at least in their clothes, if not their manners. They were fine-looking men, in clean suits. One was broad, in a black coat and low hat, his beard thick and dark. Another, lanky and bright blond, with a wild look in his blue eyes. The third was half-hidden in shadow, until he stepped into the lantern light. Rebekah couldn’t help but stare. Brown hair brushed his collar and fringed his cheek. It fell over a pink and vicious scar that stretched across the sharp bridge of his nose. His jaw looked hard as iron, but there was a softness to his mouth. He was young, she would have bet, as young as herself. But unlike her, he’d lived, and the living left its mark. Lantern light sparked off a gilt-edged pistol, heavy in his low-slung gun belt. It near matched his eyes: burning hazel, deep gold in the dark, like buried treasure. The other two men talked in low tones, throwing sly smiles at Angela’s girls, but not him. He stared right back at her. Those dark gold eyes roamed over her. Somehow she felt him searching her out, seeking something she meant to keep hidden. He seemed less a man than a rangy coyote in the brush. Lonely, hungry, wanting. And what he wanted was Rebekah. She turned her own eyes to the ground. Her breath caught in her chest, heat rising to her throat, and falling low into her belly, between her legs. She might have blamed the warm night for her blushing, or the stiff dress buttoned tight at her neck. But she could not ignore the desire in his stare. How it echoed in her. The stranger, he wasn’t the first man who ever looked her over. This was different. No man had ever looked at her like that. There were times Rebekah feared Jeb may not have been entirely wrong about the state of her mind. A storm of feelings swelled and thundered inside her all the time. They were as unruly as dust devils, sudden and awful as lightning. A few moments ago, she might have wept right there in the street, helpless to forget her heartbreak. Now, she imagined striding right up to this rough stranger and letting him take her in his arms. Imagined his hands finding what they searched for. She let out a shaky sigh. It had to be unnatural, in some way, this mess inside her. “—and he’s a worthless bastard,” Jeb spat in a low voice. He was beside her again, shaking his head at the ground, so agitated she could feel the anger steaming off him. “What?” she asked softly, for she’d only half-heard him. Jeb had menace in his eyes. He seized her shoulder, his grasp powerfully hard. “Don’t poke your nose into my affairs,” he muttered. “My business ain’t no concern of yours.” She winced. “Fine. I’m sorry,” she said. “You ought to—“ Then he sputtered, and let go of her shoulder. Someone walked into him, bumping him off balance. “Watch where you walk, mister.” Jeb brushed the lapel of his faded frock coat. The man turned around. Rebekah saw the scar first, then his eyes. It was the stranger. “You watch yourself,” he told Jeb. His voice was throaty and raw. It sent a shiver through Rebekah. Jeb puffed up, about to snap back, but the stranger took a step closer. He had a few inches on Jeb, and he made them count. “What are you gonna do?” the stranger asked. Jeb didn’t have an answer. He may have been nasty to Rebekah, when others wouldn’t notice, in ways no one would notice, but he had neither the talent nor the nerve to fight a man one on one. And all three of them knew it. The stranger raised a hand to his hat, and brushed the tip of it. All the while he stared at her. “Miss.” His eyes lingered a moment, before he looked away, walking away from the crowd, into the night.

#my stuff #still a wip so still in edit mode

4 notes · View notes

griffintail · 3 years

Note

I literally just had a thought-and I'm not sure which I like more. Techno brining either Phil's kid or his kid to the nether with him (probably when they're a little older) and a piglin gives them a courting gift. And they don't understand but techno goes protective. I just-the lost ones series has been so much angst lately man. You don't have to write this but at least it's a cute thought 🥰

Courting Gifts

Pairings: Parental! Technoblade x F! Reader

Warnings: None :)

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

Techno had taken (Y/N) into the Nether a few times before but it was simply to cross from one portal to another. He never had a reason to interact with the life there, other than striders when he taught her how to ride one and ghasts when they were attacked by the vicious things. They never had a reason to interact with the piglins.

So, when Techno was running out of a few things and he had a few bits of gold hoarded away, he decided to trade with the piglins.

“Hey, I need to go trading but the village is too far out. So, I’m going to the Nether to trade with piglins, want to come along?” Techno asked (Y/N) as he came outside to see the young adult laying in the snow but her head on Steve.

“Sure! I’ve never seen you trade with piglins.” She got up and pet Steve before she left the bear’s side.

“I never have much of a reason to, I usually plan a village trip ahead.” He said as he went in with her behind him. “But, with the you know what Athena, I used a few more supplies than I should have.”

“Ah, right.” She nodded.

She was truly a girl of wisdom and Techno had thought the name proper for her when he formed the Syndicate with her and Phil. They both went to grab their gear for a Nether trip and Techno quizzed her before they left.

“What do we need for a Nether trip?”

“Crossbow for ghasts,” she patted the crossbow on her back, “gold as a sign of peace,” she held up her arms to show her gold bracers, “and a couple of fire resistance potions just in case. And of course, the normal armor and sword.”

“Correct.” He nodded. “I’ll deal with all the trading today, come on.”

Both father and daughter walked to and into the portal, capes flowing behind them and crowns glinting. (Y/N) walked beside Techno as he led the way to a bastion hold.

“Piglins like the good things in life,” Techno told her as he showed her the gold he had taken. “They’ll give you almost anything for a bit of gold.”

“So would you.” She joked with him and he snorted.

“You’ve been hanging out with Tommy too much.”

She grinned as she looked around as Techno went up to one of the piglin traders. Around, she took in the black stoned building with a couple of gold inlays in its stone foundations. They must like their gold even more than her father did. She supposed that’s why gold armor was a sign of peace.

Following her father around to a few traders, she quickly found out that Techno could communicate through their snorts and such while she didn’t understand it at all. She didn’t understand the bartering either though. Techno seemed to get some decent items with just one bit of gold but what seemed like nothing at all for more gold.

“How does their trading work?” She asked him as he moved onto a new trader.

“It’s mostly how greedy they are. Sometimes I can talk down their prices, sometimes I can’t.” He shrugged. “I don’t trade with the greedier ones unless I really need something.”

“How greedy were they?”

“They weren’t bad, you should see the ones that want to trade with ender pearls.”

“Would they trade with me?”

“Eh, some of them might try to trade with you to get a steal. Some of them might be kind and actually, barter with you.”

“Huh, do you mind if I sit and write some of this down?”

Techno chuckled lightly. (Y/N) loved to take notes of things she learned and documented findings she had never seen in the many books they both read.

“Ok, just stay in my sight.” He nodded.

She nodded before leaving his side to go sit on a black stone bench. Carefully putting her crown next to her, she pulled out her journal and ink before writing down what Techno had told her. As she was documenting, she saw a small hand going for her crown in the corner of her eye.

“Hey!” She grabbed the crown and pulled it to her to see a small piglin. “That’s not yours.”

The child shrunk, giving small snorts. Shit, they were adorable.

“You shouldn’t take something that isn’t yours.” She told them, putting the crown on her head before digging through her bag and finding one bit of gold. “But here.”

They perked up at the offering of gold before happily taking it. She smiled as they climbed onto the bench next to her, playing with the gold in their hands before trying to look at her journal, making snorts.

“This is my journal; I was writing down what my dad told me.” She explained even though she doubted the child could understand her. “I’m documenting things no one has ever written down.”

The piglin gave little snorts as he pressed close to her to just stare at her journal and she chuckled, tickling the feather of her quill on the child’s nose making them give a little snort of what she assumed was laughter.

“You should go find your mom or dad kiddo. I don’t want to be responsible for you.”

She supposed he understood some of her words at least because the little piglin got up and wandered over to an older piglin, tugging on their pant leg. Chuckling softly, she turned back to her journal, writing down a few notes that the piglins probably understood a bit of common language as she now kept her crown on her head, despite it being annoying that it would fall forward. As she was scribbling away, even doodling a piglin, she looked up as a shadow came into a view.

It was the older piglin that the small one had gone to and she smiled up at them.

“Hello. Can I help you?” She asked.

The piglin gave a few snorts before holding a golden bracelet to her. She tilted her head, confused.

“Uh, I’m sorry. I don’t have any more gold for that.” She said carefully, hoping the piglin would understand.

They gave a few more snorts, still holding out the bracelet.

“Um…ok?” She said confused as she stood, putting her journal away then reaching for the bracelet only for an ender pearl to shatter in between the pair.

Technoblade then stood there, towering over the piglin and giving a mix of a growl and a snort as he had a hand on his sword. The piglin shrunk before scurrying off.

“What was that?!” (Y/N) exclaimed in shock.

“We’re leaving,” Techno said as he kept his tall posture while walking back towards the entrance.

“What? What just happened?” (Y/N) asked hurriedly as she followed after her father.

“Not now, back at home.” He said stiffly.

(Y/N) was very confused but she followed after him regardless. He’d tell her once they got where they needed to be. It took till they got to their portal before he stopped, relaxing his tall stance. (Y/N) realized now was he had been making himself appear tall and intimidating as he gave an angry huff.

“The nerve…”

“What was that?” She questioned.

“A piglin custom.”

“What custom? Dad, I don’t understand. All I know is you terrified that piglin.”

Techno groaned as he took off his mask so he could run a hand down his face. He stood there for a few moments before looking at her.

“It was a courting gift.”

“A what?” She said shocked.

“Piglins give gold jewelry to women they want to court. He wanted to court you.”

All (Y/N) could think was that piglin was lucky he wasn’t dead.

“Oh. Uh. What would have happened if…you didn’t come in?”

“They would have tried to court you! I was not letting that happen.” Techno shook his head as he went towards home now, (Y/N) following behind. “I was watching you as I traded though and was trading for ender pearls when I saw him trying to give you the courting gift.”

Techno had practically shoved all of his gold at the ender pearl trader before taking the ender pearls, immediately using one to separate his daughter from the piglin. He remembered the voices screaming simultaneously, but he was acting on his own instinct as a father.

“Oh, well, thank you?” She questioned.

“Yes, you are welcome. No boys, no nothing.” Techno told her as they stepped into the house. “You’re still too young.”

“Dad, I’m almost twenty.” She joked.

“No. Boys. No, nothing.” Techno pointed at her, looking deadly serious.

“Uhh.”

“What boys?” Phil asked as he came in having seen the pair come home.

She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

#Technoblade x reader #mcyt reader insert #mcyt oneshots #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt imagine #dreamsmp x reader

717 notes · View notes

earlgreydream · 3 years

Text

unrequited.

anon requested. hey can u do draco x reader when its like unrequited love?? (this request was super long so i’m only including the first line. I loved this one though, angel baby)

You’d spent an entire lifetime of loving Draco Malfoy.

He knew it, everyone knew it. You grew up playing in the halls of Malfoy Manor with the young prince, and you’d loved him when he made flowers grow magically at his feet. You’d loved him when you’d started school together, making potions under Snape’s watchful eye. You’d loved him when you showed him the stars in astronomy, seeing them glitter in his eyes. You’d loved him, even when his father, Lucius, didn’t. You’d loved him, always.

As far as you and everyone else knew, Draco Malfoy didn’t love you back. You were friends, and he cared about you, sure. Draco kept you at a distance, pushing you away as you showered him with constant attention. You never meant to suffocate him, you just had so much love to give.

Everyone erupted into screams around you, even the Gryffindors, as Draco caught the golden snitch, winning the quidditch game for Slytherin. The players dropped down onto the field, celebrating, and you got lost in the sea of excited students. You went down to the field to congratulate him once some of the students had cleared out. All the players were still around, as well as their significant others and friends.

“Draco!” You called, and you saw him sigh before turning to you.

“Y/N,” he nodded, greeting you. His friends all watched the two of you interact, and Draco tried to be patient, but he was on edge.

“I wanted to congratulate you, you did a great job,” you smiled, and he nodded.

“Thanks,” he said shortly, trying to move past you, wanting to follow the others back to the locker rooms to clean up.

“Draco, are you okay?” Your brow furrowed, and he whipped around to look at you.

“Can you just fuck off? I know you’re obsessed with me, but I don’t love you. I never will! Leave me alone!” Draco snapped, bottled feelings exploding.

Everyone went silent, staring at Draco in shock. Despite Draco’s ability to be an ass, he’d always exercised patience and kindness with you. He stood up for you, and even when he was annoyed with you, he never let his friends mock you or make rude comments.

His response cut through you like a knife, and you stepped back. The two of you stared at each other, and everyone stared at you. Immediate regret washed over Draco, and nausea twisted his stomach.

“Understood,” you breathed before he could speak, before he could tell you that he spoke in annoyance, that the words were empty, and he didn’t mean it.

You turned, unable to look at Draco anymore. You felt like you were going to break, and you didn’t want to do it in front of an audience. You walked off the quidditch field, pain aching in your chest.

Draco stood on the field, watching you go. He swore, and turned to his teammates, uncomfortable expressions on their faces. Everyone else left, the tension dampening the excitement.

“Pansy-”

“That was fucking cruel, Draco,” Pansy shook her head at him.

“I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why-” Draco stammered, and Theo grasped his shoulder, cutting him off.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Theo felt terrible for you, knowing you didn’t deserve it.

You were headed back to the dorms when a hand wrapped around your arm, stopping you. You turned and tried to shove the person off, assuming it was Draco coming after you.

“Get off!”

“Okay, okay. It’s only me.”

You looked up to see George Weasley, concern in his eyes. You apologized and started to cry, wrapping your arms around your friend. George hugged you tightly, and led you from the hallway as you started to sob. You were brought into the Gryffindor common room, and you leaned against his side, curled up on a red couch.

Your friends that had witnessed Draco’s harsh rejection sat down with you. You were suddenly surrounded by sweets and students with blankets and sweaters and muggle movies, anything to cheer you up.

“I hate that foul git!” Fred sighed, and George hugged you, letting you rest on his chest.

“Forget him,” Hermione said, patting your leg gently.

Draco was sick. He wanted to apologize to you, swear he didn’t mean anything he said. He was nauseated, and he cried to Theo, telling his best friend he had fucked up.

“I love her, I want to apologize... I went to apologize but she was gone,” Draco sobbed. He’d gone after you, but George had already taken you to the Gryffindor common room. He’d spent hours looking for you, but everyone who knew where you went were locked up with you where Draco didn’t have access to.

“I know, Draco. I know you love her.”

“What was I thinking?” Draco dropped his head into his hands.

You avoided Draco as best you could, even convincing Snape to let you switch partners in potions so you wouldn’t be forced to work with him. You’d spent time with George, even going to Hogsmeade with him. He was sweet to you, swearing that you deserved much better than the way Draco had treated you.

It had been weeks of you avoiding Draco, managing to miss him, even when he’d tried to come searching for you at your dorms-- you’d been in the twins’ room.

You were alone studying in the library when someone approached the table. You looked up to see Draco Malfoy, looking sleep deprived and emotionally worn.

“Please, don’t leave, we need to talk!” he begged as you closed your book and pushed out your chair.

“How’d you even get in here? It’s after hours and I have special permission to be here, no one else-”

“Theo,” he answered, and you didn’t dare to ask, not wanting to know how Theo managed to get Draco in the library.

“You hurt me, Draco,” you said finally, and he nodded.

“I know, and I can’t apologize enough. Y/N, I am so, so sorry. I should’ve never snapped at you. I didn’t mean anything I said, I was stressed and upset, and you didn’t deserve that. I love you, I have always loved you. I’m so sorry, please forgive me!” Draco was crying, his words coming out in desperate rambles.

“You love me?”

“I love you more than all of the stars. I love you more than anything, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for hurting you,” Draco apologized, and you couldn’t stop yourself from crying.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He held you, breathing out repeated apologies.

You heard heavy footsteps, and Draco’s eyes widened.

“Go, I’m not letting you get in trouble for apologizing to me,” you whispered, and he kissed you briefly, shocking you. He waved his wand and vanished, just as the librarian walked around the corner.

“Miss Y/N, why don’t you head back to your dorm, it’s past midnight?”

“Of course.”

You’d forgiven Draco, and he had expected you to return to hanging around him, he expected the two of you to become exclusive. You didn’t ignore his existence anymore, but you continued hanging around the golden children and their friends, particularly George Weasley.

He watched you giggle at George’s jokes, hanging off of his arm and flirting with him. Theo had insisted that there was no talk of the two of you actually dating, but you hung around him a lot.

It had been almost two weeks, and Draco hadn’t been able to spend any time with you, both of you overwhelmed and busy, and your friends taking up what free time you had. You had explained that you’d forgiven Draco, but they still ostracized him and shamed him when he tried to hang around.

Now, nearly all the students were out in Hogsmeade, and you were at George’s side, giggling at a joke he was telling. You squeezed his arm, and Draco was infuriated. Jealousy tasted like acid in his mouth, clouding his judgement and twisting his stomach. He loved you, and he couldn’t bear to see you touching and talking to others the way you were.

You were surprised when Draco approached your group, calling your name. You smiled, ignoring the harsh looks from the Weasleys. You raised your eyebrows as his arms snaked around your waist, hugging you against his body.

“Hi, beautiful,” he spoke, and you blushed. Your friends stared at him, and Draco didn’t let you go. You could feel the jealousy and possessiveness radiating off of him in waves, and you couldn’t deny that it was attractive.

“I’ve got to show you something, I found the book you were looking for,” Draco spoke, and both of you knew there was no book.

“Sure, of course,” you nodded.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?” You nodded at George as Draco intertwined your fingers, his hold tight on your hand. They tried to protest, but Draco was already dragging you down the alley, out of sight.

“Draco-” you breathed as you were pinned against a cold stone wall.

“I can’t stand to see you hanging off of that redhead,” Draco seethed, and you looked up into stormy grey eyes.

“No? George is sweet,”

“Enough with that. You know I can make you feel a million times better than he ever could.” His words dripped with vicious jealousy, and he was kissing your neck, leaving a mark from his mouth against your delicate skin.

“Prove it,” you taunted him.

His gripped your arm, hauling you after him down the alley. Your body was pulsing with anticipation as you were being pulled into a hostel. A maid nodded at Draco, slipping him a room key, and you nearly tripped over your feet trying to keep up. Draco swore and picked you up, draping you over his shoulder.

You squeaked as he landed a hard slap to your ass to stop your squirming, and you let him carry you like that into the room.

“You’ll never want another man after me. I’ll have you screaming my name until you forget your own!” Draco’s threat had you dripping, and a whimper escaped as you rubbed your thighs together.

“Can’t even contain yourself and I haven’t even touched you yet,” Draco hummed, embarrassing you in the best way.

The air was knocked out of your lungs as you were dropped on a soft mattress, Draco towering over you. You watched him silently as he removed your shoes and stockings, dragging off your skirt with it.

“I want to be rough with you. I want to make you know that you’re mine,” Draco said, and you nodded. You’d hooked up before, once a few years ago, so he was less apprehensive about railing the life out of you.

“Please, make me yours.”

Draco’s breath came out in a sharp sigh at your beg, and he rid himself of his clothes while you pulled off your own. Your eyes hadn’t left Draco, and he stood in front of you at the end of the bed. His gazes dragged over the curves of your body, and you were tempted to beg for him to touch you.

Before you could speak, Draco hauled you back farther on the mattress and kneeled in front of you. You let your head fall back, and you moaned when you saw the mirror overhead, giving you a full view of your actions.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, and Draco smirked as he kissed your inner thigh.

“You’re soaked, my love,” Draco teased, lightly brushing his fingers against your core.

You whined, pushing your hips into his touch. You jolted with a shriek as Draco slapped your sex, his dark laughter sending vibrations through you as he kissed the area.

Your hands went to his hair, pulling roughly as he began to eat you out, the sting fading into overwhelming, passionate pleasure. As you began to squirm, he pinned your hips down, forcing you to take the pleasure he was giving you. Your chest rose and fell heavily, and you watching him eat you out, moaning as his fingers stroked you from the inside. Your sounds got louder and more high-pitched, and you were practically crying Draco’s name.

“Draco, I’m going to come, please, I’m so close!” you squealed, dragging your nails up his back, making him moan into your heat. It sent you over the edge, screaming his name as your back arched, your thighs squeezing around his head.

You struggled to draw oxygen into your lungs when he didn’t let you go, drawing out the ecstasy until it became torture. You fulfilled his promise, his name echoing off the walls desperately.

Draco forced a second orgasm from you, making your vision tunnel and fire spread through your body. The intensity of it was almost painful, and you were gasping and spasming from his touch.

You whimpered in relief as the boy pulled off of you, giving you a small break from the stimulation. Your breathing was ragged, and he smiled down at the mess he’d made of you, trailing his fingertips along the curves of your body. You choked out his name, shuddering as he circled your nipples, amused by your sensitivity.

“We’re not done yet, love, I want you fucked braindead for me,” his tone held feigned sweetness, and you nodded weakly.

“I love you.” You spoke, and some of the softness returned to his gaze.

“I love you, sweetheart.” Draco leaned down and delicately kissed your lips.

“It wouldn’t be fair not to let me get off, would it?” Draco hummed, and you shook your head.

You spasmed as he tapped his head against your aching clit before lifting your legs over his shoulders. You threw your head back as he pressed into you, snapping his hips against yours in one thrust. A strangled scream ripped through you at the force, the rough thrusts making your mind melt and your body shake. You felt like Draco was splitting you open, but you didn’t want him to stop.

Your hands searched aimlessly for something to grab on to, and Draco caught them, sliding his fingers in yours. He smiled down at you when you squeezed his hands, letting him take your body. He could feel his orgasm quickly approaching, and in a split decision he buried himself all the way inside of you, brushing your cervix, ripping another orgasm from you. Your broken cry echoed in his mind as he spilled inside of you, painting the sensitive muscle with his release.

“Y/N? Are you there, love?” Draco’s voice was much more gentle, and he carefully pulled out of you and let you rest down into the sheets. Your incoherent whimpers were like music to him, and he waved his wand to clean the two of you up.

“Draco?”

“I’m here, my love.”

He leaned down and kissed you, pulling you into his arms. You rested against his warm chest, feeling him press kisses to your head, draping his arms over you and playing with your fingers.

“I’m all yours,” you whispered, feeling him grin into your hair.

“All mine.”

957 notes · View notes

looooooooomis · 4 years

Text

F I N A L G I R L | F O U R

You were his final girl. And there was no chance in hell that anyone or anything was going to mess that up.

p a r t f o u r | k e y s

masterlist here

pairing: Billy Loomis x f!reader word count: 4.4k warnings: angst, s m u t, some more s m u t, teasing, finger-licking good billy boy, implied/referenced cheating, def not a healthy, functioning relationship (but like eh we persevere), some more s m u t.

Despite your best efforts, the last few days had been miserable without Billy.

You hadn’t realized just how much of a routine he’d become over the last seven months, how much you’d both come to rely on each other and, fuck, did you miss him. You missed his smell, you missed that small little cheeky grin of his, you missed curling up beside him and feeling him over every inch of your skin. Your body craved for him in an almost primal way but, while you could live with denying your body its needs, it was your heart that hurt the most.

What was supposed to be a quick release for the two of you had never been that easy. You’d been in love with the idiot since freshman year, seen him through his various ups and downs and he’d seen yours, too. Which was precisely what made this entire situation that much harder. Not only were you dealing with your own heartache, but you were witnessing his, too.

Billy’s grief was more or less a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of thing. Ever the stoic silent type, you hadn’t expected to see much of what he was feeling splayed out on that handsome face of his, but shocking even you, his regret was palpable. And each and every time those brown eyes met yours, that grief that was as clear as day struck you blind.

You’d tried telling yourself that it was for the best because, in all honesty, it was but that didn’t make the pain go away. Nor did it make you miss him any less. You were trapped in a vicious cycle of missing Billy, sticking to your guns, and worrying about him all at once.

God, you’d really fucked up with this one.

“You sure you’re okay?” Tatum asked, narrowing her eyes at you as you shoved a handful of books into your locker. “You’ve been scatterbrained all week.”

“I’m fine,” you shrugged, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me,” she leaned her hip against the locker. “Is this about Steve?”

You blinked as the question played on loop in your head. “Steve?” You asked, giving the strawberry blonde your full attention. “First of all, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart: ew. Secondly, huh?”

Tatum smirked. “Don’t play dumb, you’ve been acting all weird since Billy went psycho on his ass last week.”

“No, I haven’t,” you hoped your laugh didn’t sound as fake as it felt. “Also, Steve’s an asshole. If the day ever comes when I am interested in that big oaf, feel free to euthanize me.”

“Promise,” she made a motion of crossing her heart, “but in the meantime, you swear nothing is up?”

“Cross my heart,” you mimicked the gesture and shut your locker. “What are you up to after practice tonight? Want to go see that new Brad Pitt movie?”

Her shoulders fell. “Can’t, Stu’s coming over,” she unwrapped a lollipop and shoved it in her mouth. “I’d say ask Sid, but she got into it with Billy last night so she’s in a mood.”

You tried not to care, you really did, but her words hit you like a freight train. “They did?” You asked, hoping beyond hope that your voice didn’t sound quite as high pitched as it sounded in your head. “What happened?”

“Who knows,” Tatum shrugged, “Billy’s always been a little intense and Sid’s been a little cagey since…well, you know – so, it’s bound to happen.”

You swallowed hard and continued to nod along to Tatum’s words. Were you nodding too frequently? Did you appear too interested all of the sudden? Catching yourself, you focused on the leftover gum on the locker just behind your friend’s head and cleared your throat. “That’s shitty.”

“Relationships,” Tatum waved off, “they’re all pretty shitty sometimes.”

Before you could finish putting your foot in your mouth any further, the third bell rang out signaling your next class. Your most dreaded class: Biology. With a groan you tossed your bag over your shoulder and frowned across at Tatum. “See you at practice?”

With a nod, Tatum took off towards her class as you slowly sauntered towards your own. You were halfway down the hall when you heard a set of heavy footfalls running towards you from behind. Glancing over your shoulder, you barely had time to register Stu’s smiling face before he threw an arm around your shoulders. “How ya doing, pal?”

“Peachy,” you scraped your eyes along his profile and blinked. “If you’re about to play the rule of dutiful henchman for you know who, I’ve got a class to flunk.”

“Harsh,” Stu beamed, “I see why our boy’s so smitten.”

With a roll of your eyes, you glanced around at the people around you and glowered up at him. “Stu,” you warned, “I’m not in the mood for this.”

“For what?” He feigned innocence. “I haven’t said a word.”

“But you want to,” you mused. “And I don’t want to hear it.”

Stu chuckled. “All I was going to say is, like, I get it.”

You shouldn’t have taken his bait. What you should have done was push him off of you and continue on your merry way to class. That would have been the smart thing to do, the responsible thing to do.

Too bad you were neither of those two things.

Roped in, you sighed in defeat. “Get what?”

“I’ll be the first to admit,” he began, “when Bill told me that you and him were…you know, I laughed. I mean, two broads, man? I can barely handle the one how’s he going to deal with two of you?”

“I’m hoping there’s a point coming,” you groused.

“Right,” he laughed again, “my point is that I get it. I get why you two work. Why he’s knee deep in this big fucking mess because of it. You two work.”

“Stu,” you threw your head back and glared at the ceiling. “Stop.”

“What?” He asked. “Am I wrong?”

You gently pushed him away from you and dropped your voice into a whisper. “That’s not the point. He’s with Sid.”

“So?” Stu made a face. “Her mom just died, what do you want him to do? Dump her and break her heart? Her mom just died, that’d callous, man.”

“We’re breaking her heart either way, whether she knows it or not.”

Stu stopped walking and there was a compassion in his stare that left you reeling. For as long as you’d known him, Stu Macher had always been the goof. The reckless, chaotic idiot that seemed to fit just perfectly into your little mish mash of a group. But the sincerity in his blue eyes as the two of you stood in the emptying hallway was a look you’d never seen before.

“And by doing this, you’re breaking yours.” He limply shrugged. “Billy’s, too.”

Your shoulders fell as the weight of Stu’s words sank in. You couldn’t exactly say much in terms of a rebuttal, naturally, because he was right. There were no happy endings for either of you at this point in the charade. Sid had still been lied to and cheated on, Billy was still trapped in a relationship he no longer wished to be in in fear of hurting the girl he once loved and you were stuck in the middle, watching two people you cared for fall to bits while having to remain stoic in fear of showing your hand.

What a fucking mess.

After another minute of silence, Stu wriggled his eyebrows and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly. “Just something to think about.”

Taking off down the hall, Stu left you to your own devices as you stood in the middle of an empty hallway with far too much on your mind. In an almost zombie-like trance, you took off in the direction of your biology class, not quite caring that you were about to be marked as tardy for the third time that week. But, before you got to that god-forsaken class, you heard the click of a door not far off before a pair of arms encircled around your middle, yanking you into the nearest classroom. A surprise yelp tore out of your mouth, but the full-fledged scream died in your throat as soon as you realized just who it was who had grabbed you.

“Jesus, Billy, you scared the hell out of me.” You grasped your chest and took in the dark, empty classroom around you. He was still holding you against the nearest wall, you could feel the heat of those large hands through your thin shirt. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Sorry,” despite the desperation in those brown eyes, his voice never wavered. It was still as calm and collected as ever. “I’d go to your house, but it’s been like Fort Knox for the last week or so.”

You chewed on your lip for a moment before averting your eyes to the ground, not quite being able to stomach the weight of his stare just yet. “Billy, unless anything’s changed, I—”

“In case anything’s changed?” He reiterated with raised brows. “Everything’s changed. I miss you, Y/N, more than you can even comprehend. I know I’ve fucked up, I know that, but I need you. The last nine days without being able to really see you or feel you or kiss you or—”

“I get it,” you held your hands up and gently pushed him away. “And it’s been hard on me, too, Billy. But it doesn’t change anything.”

For a few, long, agonizing moments, Billy remained still as a thousand different emotions splayed out across his face. There was anger and grief, sadness and desperation. But the look you got as he dropped to his knees in front of you was pure, unadulterated fear. “I promise you, Y/N, the second I can, when the time is right, Sid and I will be no more. But me and you are it, sweetheart,” his hands gently circled around your hips before embracing you around your middle. “I’m so fucking sorry that this is how it has to be right now. And I’m sorry that I’m too fucking selfish to let this go, but I can’t. I need you. I need us. You’re everything good in my life and I know I need to start proving that to you.”

Still, you remained quiet. Your fingers itched to reach out and run your fingers through that slightly greasy, unruly mop of hair, but instead you kept them pinned down at your side as you considered his words. There was no doubt in your mind that he meant them, the desperation on his face said as much, but you had your reservations. Taking your silence in stride, however, Billy simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Oh, jesus,” you grumbled, burying your head in your hands. “You better not be doing what I think you’re fucking doing.”

“Open the box, Y/N.”

“No,” you held your hands up. “Not if it’s…that.”

Billy sighed. The muscle in his cheek twitched. “It’s not a fucking engagement ring.”

Somewhat relieved, you continued to stare down at the box in slight disdain. “So, what is it?”

Billy sighed. “Fucking open it and you’ll see.”

“Buying the ‘other woman’ jewelry, Billy?” You shook your head. “You’re like a walking cliché at this point.”

“Shut-up and open the goddamn box.” Standing up to his full height, he continued to hold the box out towards you and breathed out a quiet laugh when you remained unwavering. “It’s not a fucking bomb, Y/N, open it.”

With a sigh, you snatched the box out of his hand and, rather unceremoniously, opened it up to reveal a key. Not a fancy skeleton key or a charm in the shape of a key but a regular, run of the mill house key. You blinked, mildly surprised. “Okay, I’ll give you a point for creativity with the box,” you pulled the key out and observed it. “But what is it?”

“It’s a key,” Billy said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I see that,” a small smile pulled at your lips as you looked across at him. “What’s it for?”

“It’s a key to my parents’ cabin.”

If you were meant to understand the significance, the story was lost on you. Looking back down at the key, you surveyed its tiny ridges briefly before nodding. “And what’s that have to do with me?”

He took a step towards you and grabbed the hand still clutching onto the key. “My dad doesn’t go up there much ever since my mother left and I figure we could both use a place where we can just…be.” His raked his thumbnail along your knuckles. “No Sid, no anyone. Just you and me.”

You were trying to remain unfazed by the sentiment, to remain icy and cool to the man you were supposed to be pulling away from, but between the softness in those warm brown eyes and the weight of the key still clutched in your hand, you could feel your defenses waning. “You expect Sid to just not care that you’re disappearing up north every once in a while?”

“I’ll make it work,” he shrugged it off. “And, to be honest, I don’t care what she thinks.”

Your answer came in the form of a long, drawn out sigh. “Billy,” you began, but before you could dive into the rest of your speech, his large hands slid up your arms and neck to cradle your face.

Slowly, he backed you into a nearby desk and traced the apple of your cheek with his thumb. “We can sneak up there whenever we want. Spend a whole weekend up there, just the two of us. I can worship this fucking body of yours in every square inch of that cabin. I can go into town and hold your fucking hand in public. We can do whatever the hell it is we want to do up there, whenever we want, without worrying about any of our idiot friends seeing us.”

Your pulse quickened at the thought of being able to parade around like a normal couple in a town where not a single soul knew who you were. You swallowed, trying to steady your excitement with a dose of realism. “It’s still not fair to Sidney.”

“Fuck Sidney!” Billy’s voice echoed out around the vast, empty classroom, alarming you with just how angry he sounded. His chest heaved with a white-hot rage that you couldn’t fully comprehend, and his jaw was wound shut as his nostrils flared with each and every heavy, uneven breath he took. You swallowed hard and watched the man steady his nerves, unsure of your next move. You’d seen Billy angry before, but that level of emotion was definitely new.

You weren’t sure whether to be terrified or turned on by the sudden outburst.

But, just as quickly as it happened, Billy’s eyes slowly opened to reveal those molasses coloured eyes again. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he appeased. “But I can’t have her stand in the way of this. I won’t.”

You remained silent as you shimmied on top of the desk that had been poking into your ass for the last few seconds and tried not to focus on the way your body seemed to melt into Billy’s as he stepped in between your legs, still looking at you with all the intensity of the world.

“If we do this,” you found yourself muttering, “there’s going to be some ground rules.”

A sense of hope blossomed in Billy’s chest as he vigorously nodded his head. “Anything you want,” sliding his hands up the sides your stomach, he gently held your waist and gave it a small squeeze. “You name it.”

“When we go up to the aforementioned cabin, we go out.” You told him. “While I’m more than happy to blow you in the living room without worrying about your dad walking in, it would be nice to go on an actual fucking date.”

Billy nodded and, with his hands still on your waist, he tried not to focus on the thin cotton of your shirt bunching between his fingers as his thumb danced along your ribcage. There was so little between you in the empty classroom, barely any space as the two of you were practically nose to nose. And between that short little skirt you had on and your pert nipples beneath your thin tank top, it was enough to make his cock twitch inside of his pants. “Anything else?” He asked, his voice husky as he nudged his nose against yours.

“Yeah,” you ran your tongue along your now parched lips as you sat with Billy standing between your thighs, holding you in place as his thumb traced agonizingly close to your tit. Were you even breathing? It didn’t feel like it. You were wet, too, which made his inhumanly close proximity almost too much to bear. “Lock the fucking door this time.”

A roguish grin enveloped his features as he stepped out from between your legs. Crossing the threshold of the classroom in two seconds flat, Billy locked the door and made his way back to you with that same mischievous glimmer in his eye. His eyes were hungry and, as his hands shifted down to your ass, he tugged you even closer to the edge of the desk. Closer to him. With your legs still open and on either side of his hips, you just about died when your clit managed to rub against the zipper of his jeans.

A quiet, low moan tore out of your throat from the sensation.

“Anything else?” He asked, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Yeah,” your breathing was ragged as Billy’s slow, methodical fingers, trailed up the side of your stomach. He was being extraordinarily temperate and slow to further tease you but, despite knowing how risky this was, you were putty in his hands. “Touch me.”

His nose brushed against yours again as he shifted his hips just enough for the zipper of his jeans to rub against your clit again. The bastard knew what he was doing.

“This feel good?” He asked as his hips toiled into you again.

You were practically dry fucking against the desk, you could have been caught any second. But, fuck, when he pulled you in a little more and slowly gyrated his jean-clad pelvis against your clit again, you couldn’t care less. “Mhmm,” you hummed.

Slowly, Billy’s dept fingers slid up from your waist towards your breasts. Raking his thumb against the swollen bud, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the side of your neck.

He knew his jeans were rubbing against your clit and, as he looked down and saw the visible wet patch on your blue thong, he wanted nothing more than to rip them off of you and bury his face in between your legs. “God, I’ve fucking missed you.”

When his hand squeezed your breast, you arched into his grasp. “I bet you did.”

Billy smirked and rolled your nipples between his fingers through the fabric of your shirt. With every roll of your hips, the strap of your shirt slipped down just enough to expose your breast. Without missing a beat, Billy leaned into your chest and allowed his mouth to consume your nipple, swirling his tongue around it expertly before biting down. You hissed as a combination of both pain and pleasure ripped through your body.

Your fingers curled around the hair along the nape of his neck and gave it a firm tug as is hands held you firmly in place. “Fuck, Billy” you moaned, breathless.

He released your nipple slowly, nipping at it one final time before leaning his forehead against yours again. You wanted like hell to close the distance between you. You wanted to feel his lips on yours. Feel the tickle of his stubble along your upper lip and have that expert tongue brush against yours.

But you also wanted to make him sweat a little.

You weren’t sure what had come over you as you slid your hand down your torso. Maybe it was adrenaline of being caught or the relief of having Billy in your arms again but as you allowed your fingers to dip beneath the hem of your exposed thong, the look on Billy’s face made it all worth it.

“What are you doing?” His Adams apple bobbed up and down as he watched you touch yourself. You were in an awkward angle, but as your finger circled your clit and you watched the bulge in his pants grow, you were coasting high.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” You hummed, feigning innocence. “When I say touch me, I mean it, Billy. I’m taking matters into my own hands.” You pinched your clit and arched your naked chest into him. “Fuck.”

You heard him swear under his breath as his lips ghosted over yours. “You’re doing my head in, woman,” he growled, sliding his fingers beneath your panties. You gasped when his thumb began to circle your clit. And when he slid two fingers inside of you, you nearly saw stars.

His mouth found yours, mid-moan. Reaching the hand that had just been down the waistband of your shorts, you ran your fingers through his hair as his tongue coaxed yours. Everything about this man was electric. His fingers quickened their pace and before you knew it, you were thrusting into his hand. Placing sloppy kisses down from your mouth and along your jaw, Billy nipped at your ear. “How’s this for touching you, sweetheart?” He hissed, licking and biting his way across your neck.

Your breathing was rampant as you felt yourself edging closer and closer. “It’s alright,” you teased with a cloudy grin.

“So stubborn,” he laughed into your neck and curled his fingers so that he hit an area inside you that felt almost primal. The moan he got in return made him bite down on your collarbone. He curled his fingers again and you nearly choked. “You sure?”

Pulling his hair, you steered his face back to yours and crashed your lips against his. “Fuck me.” You mumbled into his mouth.

He applied the smallest bit of pressure to your clit and flicked his fingers one final time, sending you over the cliff. With a long, shaky moan, you bucked your hips uncontrollably as you came into his hand. Every inch of you felt as though it was on fire as Billy made you ride out your orgasm, not for a second easing up on your clit as you writhed beneath him.

“Play with your tits,” he barked out through hooded eyes.

“You play with them,” you argued, but the resolve in your voice was gone. You weren’t entirely sure if you knew your name at that point. All you could focus on was the feeling of his finger pinching your highly sensitive clit and that was it. Everything else was a blur.

“God, you’re so fucking stubborn.”

You were so wet and so turned on you could barely think straight. “Billy,” you pleaded, your entire body heating up almost unbearably so. When he ignored you and instead continued his attack on your clit, you whimpered. “I need you to fuck me.”

With a bruising kiss, Billy released your clit and, in seconds flat, tugged his jeans far enough down his hips before slipping inside of you. The moan that escaped your lips was undeniable as he pumped into you. Reaching up, he grabbed your tit and squeezed as he bit down on your exposed neck. It was a sensory overload coming from all angles.

“Fuck,” Billy’s hoarse voice was in your ear as he pumped into you. “You feel so fucking good, Y/N.” He reached for your face and tilted your chin up towards him, meeting you halfway with a sloppy kiss. Moaning into his mouth, you managed lose yourself in that instance.

Gone was the room around you.

Hell, gone was everything up until this point.

All you could focus on was the feeling of Billy inside of you. Biting down on his lip, you tugged it back as he rolled his hips in a way that made you quiver. He was thrusting, hard, in an almost animalistic that made your entire body shake with the velocity of every desperate push. He moved between kissing your lips, to biting them to suckling your neck as he continued to rail into you with all of passion in the world. He was a man, unhinged, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever seen him so sexy.

Not surprising in the least, it didn’t take him long to come. You’d riled him up to the point of no return and, as you felt him come inside of you, you all but laughed when his forehead dramatically fell against your own.

For a few minutes, neither of you moved, simply just remained still and firmly pressed against one another. But, as the weight of your current whereabouts slowly dawned on either of you, you both slowly pulled away from each other, both wearing a small smile as you re-dressed yourselves.

Once his pants were done up, Billy stepped into you once again and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Cabin this weekend, okay?”

You nodded and hopped down from the desk. “Yeah, maybe,” you teased, fixing your skirt.

Billy’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, maybe, eh?”

“Yeah,” you winked, “I’ll think about it.”

“Smart ass,” Billy smirked. “That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days.”

“I’m counting on it.” Once you were both fixed up, you nodded towards his hand which was still slicked with your juices. You laughed. “Oops.”

But Billy didn’t seem fazed. Instead, your breath hitched in your throat when he raised his hand to his lips and licked your slick clear off, relishing in the taste of it with a knowing smirk on his face. “This weekend.” He reiterated, driving the point home.

“This weekend,” you agreed, walking towards the door. Ensuring nobody saw the two of you leave an empty classroom together, you unlocked the door and gave Billy a small, knowing smile. “See you at lunch, lover boy.”

1K notes · View notes

15-dogs · 4 years

Text

resident healer |n.s.|

pairing: newt scamander x healer!artist!reader

summary: newt’s brother theseus hires you as his resident healer without newt’s knowledge. however, newt has little use for you so you put your other skills to the test as you spend each day falling a little harder for the man who won’t even speak to you. (super super fluffy! mutual pining, enemies(ish/mild dislike LMAO) to lovers, miscommunication, flustered newt!!)

warnings: extremely minimal swearing, injury, mention of blood

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name

word count: 3.6K

a/n: it’s official y’all i’m in love with newt asjdhsj sorry sorry

Newt gasped in pain, jerking his hand away from the Occamy that bit harshly at his finger. He squatted down to meet its eyes, frowning as he scolded, “Don’t be rude.”

The Occamy simply squawked back. Newt tutted, snatching a snack for the small thing beside its nest and tossing them up in the air. The Occamies in the nest all hopped up, hurrying to retrieve the treats before the others did. Newt shook his head with a chuckle as he moved away from the creatures and onto the next.

“Mr. Scamander,” Bunty called from the top of the stairs which led to his apartment, “Miss (Y/L/N) is here.”

Newt dried his hands off on his pants, brows furrowed in confusion. He’d never heard that name before and he knew he wasn’t expecting a guest, so who was at his door? Newt shrugged his vest back on as he made his way up the stairs, his eyes trained on the buttons he was doing up. He was so focused on the task at hand that he forgot he was in the landing of his apartment, his leg lifted in preparation to take another step which led him to tumble into the wall ahead.

“Mr. Scamander!” Bunty gasped. She ran to his side instantly, checking to see if he was injured. She held his face in her hands, staring into his eyes as he tried to pull away. “You really hit your head, didn’t you?”

Newt blinked in shock, finally wiggling free of her grasp and walking backwards into his den. “No, I’m fine, Bunty, thank you.”

In his efforts to move away from her, Newt bumped into another figure, nearly tipping him over. He steadied himself before turning around, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Scamander,” you said, warmly. You extended your hand for him to shake, which he did so hesitantly.

“Right, yes.” His eyes scoured the room as he gathered his words. “And you are?”

You looked over him with an involuntary cock of your head, your brows knit together. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Not really, no.”

You laughed humorlessly. “And I suppose you don’t know why I’m here, either.”

Newt cleared his throat and stood a little taller, still fiddling with his wand. “I’m sorry, should I?”

You knew he wasn’t trying to be rude, but you couldn’t help but be a little offended at his words. You were there for him. It was quite literally your job. You gave him a slight frown before straightening out your clothing to keep yourself busy.

“I am (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I’m your new resident Healer.”

Newt began to smile as if you had said something quite funny. He looked up at Bunty, nodding his head towards the door to his basement. She scrambled down as he continued to converse with you.

“My resident Healer?” he repeated.

You nodded. “Yes, I was hired.”

Those words were like a bucket of ice on Newt’s content mood. His smile had dropped from his face and he stopped fiddling with his wand. His eyes slowly drifted up to yours, asking the silent question of who? Who would’ve hired such a thing for him?

You could tell from the irritation swimming in his eyes that he knew exactly who had hired you. From the second you saw Newt, you knew he wasn’t a scary person, but now you weren’t so sure.

“Theseus, your brother, did.”

Newt swallowed hard, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor as he thought. It seemed like forever that you sat in tense silence, hoping you hadn’t done something wrong by telling him. Finally, Newt shook his head, his hair flopping back and forth as he paced around the room, ending at the door and opening it.

“I don’t need a Healer. I’ve been fine on my own thus far.”

You took a step towards him, his eyes still focused on the cold street outside. “Mr. Scamander, I don’t think you understand. I’m a private Healer. I work for no affiliation. I have been hired here and I intend to keep this job.”

“My apologies, Miss (Y/L/N), but I feel your talents would be of better use elsewhere.”

Newt rested a hand on your upper back, pushing you closer towards the door until you were halfway out of it. He refused to meet your eyes as you protested, simply shutting the door in your face. His hand hovered over the doorknob for one minute more as he heard your sighs of exasperation from the other side, a sick feeling settling into his stomach.

When silence finally dawned on the apartment, Newt began to walk away only to hear the distinct sound of ripped paper from outside. He paused and turned just in time to see a note slipped under the door, the sound of your shoes clicking down the stone steps as background noise. Newt squatted to pick up the note, scoffing at your indignant message.

I’ll be here tomorrow at 8 AM, Mr. Scamander.

Best,

(Y/N)

•••

You sat on Newt’s perfectly done up couch, picking at the quilt that sat beside you on the arm of it. Your leg was bouncing and your eyes scoured the room, begging it to give you something to do other than just wait around.

Newt popped out of his bedroom, running a hand through his hair as he ran up and down between his basement and the main floor. You would glance at him out of the corner of your eye every time he did so, wishing he would give you anything to do.

After the fifth time he arrived upstairs, he paused to look at you. You sat at attention, awaiting his useful instructions.

With a limp point towards the room across from him, he stated, “There’s food in the pantry. Help yourself.”

Your hands gripped onto the quilt, balling it up in your fists to contain your anger. You sent a vicious smile Newt’s way and he sent a wary one back before running downstairs.

You had considered yourself to be a person of immense patience, but Merlin was that man testing you. Every day after that you sat on his couch, examining the apartment, hoping that he would come up from his workshop and beg you to help him.

At some point in your weeks of sitting, you stopped dressing the part of Healer. You stopped caring. He clearly didn’t need you but you clearly couldn’t leave, so you took the necessary steps to make that hellish limbo a bit more comfortable. You brought novels and notebooks, blankets and pillows, all so you could sit on Newt Scamander’s couch and pretend you were his star Healer.

Feeling entirely useless one day, you decided to pull out your notebook and sketch a few items around the apartment. If you couldn’t practice one talent, why not practice the other? You ended up drawing a plethora of strange items from where you sat; all of which you assumed to be objects used in his care for his creatures.

You were snapped out of your thoughts as the soft clang of a dinner plate was placed in front of you. You looked up and spotted Newt across the room at his kitchen table as he took a bite of his dinner with one hand and tucked his wand away with the other. You searched the room for a moment, wondering if that was some kind of trap— Newt had never eaten with you before, let alone make you dinner. You picked up the dish with severe caution, carefully taking a bite and smiling softly at how wonderful it tasted.

Your silent dinners became a regular occurrence. You didn’t bother talking to him and he didn’t bother talking to you. You would finish your meal and then pick up whatever you were doing prior until 8:00 when you left.

As you sat on his couch, curled up under a blanket with your sketchbook, you looked over the room to see if there was anything different to draw when your eyes landed on Newt, himself. He was reading a book, splaying the pages open as he chewed on the thumb of his opposite hand. Something about the way he sat was so poetic, and the next thing you knew you were drawing his portrait.

You began to draw his portrait every dinner, a sudden infatuation with the way he looked blossoming within you. After dinner one day, Newt came up to you to collect your plate rather than just charming it to fly to the sink.

“Do you draw?” he asked.

You, so alarmed by his presence, shouted, “No!” and slammed your sketchbook shut, praying to Merlin that he didn’t see his pictures.

“I just thought you were because…” Newt trailed off as he referenced the ink stains on your hands and shapes of objects that must’ve rubbed off on you.

You flushed, finally nodding with a quiet, “Yes, I draw. Not very well, but I quite like it.”

He sunk into the spot next to you, his leg bouncing up and down as he spoke. “I’m sure that you’re a wonderful artist. If you’d ever care to show me some time, I’m sure my opinion will be justified.”

Your cheeks turned pink and you ducked your head to avoid his stare. “Yes, maybe at some point.”

Newt let out a gratified sigh before stalking over to the kitchen, butterflies occupying your stomach. You knew then that you didn’t like drawing him because he was fun to draw. No, you realized that you were quite infatuated with the man who barely spoke a word to you but you had the feeling that you were going to change that.

•••

“Mr. Scamander-”

“Please,” he began, looking at you over his shoulder, “it’s Newt.”

“Right, yes, Newt.” You stood up from his couch with his book in hand, trailing after him as he paced around his apartment. “I’ve been reading your book. It’s quite fascinating, I have to say.”

His steps slowed to a stop and his eyes lit up. “You like it?”

You only looked up from his book when you rammed straight into him. You teetered backwards but his strong arms caught you, holding you flush against his chest. “I-I do.” You wiggled out of his grasp, fearing the increase in your heart rate. “I just, er, find it fascinating that you keep all those creatures in your basement, not more than a few meters below us.”

He shrugged, continuing his pacing until he stopped by the basement door. “Not all of them, but a great deal.” Newt averted his eyes towards the ground, a shy smile spreading across his lips. “I could show you if you like? You could take your sketchbook down and draw some up for me.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Bunty has the day off and I could use your company-” Newt cut himself off, his eyes wide and blush creeping up his cheeks. “The company, is what I meant. Just some company, is all. Well, that’s not to say I don’t like your company— I’m partial to it, actually— but-”

You chuckled, snatching your sketchbook from your bag on the couch. You passed by the man, stopping to look him once over. “I enjoy your company, too, Newt.”

You spent the rest of the day in the basement with Newt as he explained each creature to you with the glee of a child. You smiled, wondering if he’d ever smile at you the way he smiled at his beasts, but quickly dismissed the thought.

You ended up drawing some of his creatures, particularly focused on the Murtlap that scurried around its cage. After you had finished a rough sketch of the creature, you had turned to show Newt when you were stopped in your tracks by the sight before you; Newt had a Bowtruckle perched on his finger, speaking to it like a friend, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a plethora of scars on his collarbone. Your mouth went dry and you knew then and there that you had to draw him.

You focused on every crinkle of his smile, the sharpness of his jaw, the pure adoration behind his eyes. Newt was encapsulating. Everything about him drove you wild. It was almost embarrassing how he made you feel so mad but you couldn’t help it— you were at the point past no return.

As the day came to a close, Newt cleaned up around his basement as his eyes flickered in between you and the broom he held. You had propped his book up on your leg so that you could draw in some more specific details about the creatures you had sketched, wanting it to look perfect if Newt was going to see. He let out a soft exhale in amusement at your contorted position, alerting you to his presence.

“May I see?” His eyes drifted towards your notebook, just grazing over your body.

You nodded and moved over for him to sit next to you. Fortunately, you had been practicing some charms and learned how to hide some of your drawings— specifically the ones of Newt.

To your surprise (and delight), Newt slid up next to you, your shoulders brushing against one another. You let out a shaky breath and met his eyes with a weak smile as you shoved the sketchbook into his arms. His eyes fell downwards towards the drawings, a pit forming in your stomach as he scanned over them.

Every time he would flip the page, he would mutter a compliment to you. It was always something specific, something targeted, as if to make you aware that he was truly fascinated by your drawings.

“You captured Molly’s tuft of white fur perfectly,” he murmured, running a rough finger across the drawing of the Niffler you did. He flipped to the next page, chuckling to himself. “And the Glow Bugs are just...lovely. That’s Poppy right there, I can tell.”

You beamed at him, unable to control how he made you feel. Newt carefully set the journal down behind him as he scanned your face.

“You’re quite...you have this...well, you…” he stammered as he fiddled with his fingers.

“What is it?” you prodded, your voice no more than a whisper.

“You’re...beautiful.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes involuntarily flickered down towards his lips. Your hand crept its way over his, tracing the scars on the back of it with your thumb as you leaned in closer towards him.

“Mr. Scamander!” a familiar voice called from the top of the stairs, causing the two of you to jump apart. You both looked up to find Bunty padding down the stairs, a wide smile on her face. “Mr. Scamander! I know you said I had the day off but I wasn’t doing much today and thought I could be of some use here!”

Newt glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not a problem, Bunty, you can head home.”

“But I’m really not doing anything!”

“Well, I suppose you could help me do final bed checks and whatnot.”

Bunty nodded, scurrying around to do her tasks with an eager grin. Newt flashed you a shy smile as he stood up, his fingers still tangled in yours before he pulled away.

•••

Newt appeared out of his bedroom in the same fashion he did every morning: hurried. However, that time, he shrugged on a coat and walked towards the door of his apartment.

“Going somewhere?” you questioned.

“Yes, I’m off to the Ministry for the day. Bunty’s here if you need anything.”

And with that, Newt left.

Things had been strange since you had almost kissed no more than three days ago. Newt kept all your interactions strictly professional, meaning you were back to barely speaking again. It was frustrating, to say the least, and it made you question whether Newt really didn’t feel the same towards you, that you were coming on to him.

You had been stuck in that void of thinking for days. You would find yourself flipping through your sketchbook and landing on one of the many sketches you did of Newt, frowning as your mind began to spin expert lies to break your heart.

“(Y/N)!”

You could practically hear him calling your name.

“(Y/N)! Please!”

That was real. And it wasn’t Newt, either. It was Bunty.

You hopped off the couch, swapping your sketchbook for your Healer’s bag. You knew the voice of an injured person when you heard it and you weren’t about to take any chances that your instincts were wrong.

You made your way downstairs, finding Bunty by the Occamy nest holding her forearm, some blood seeping through her fingers. You ran up to her, wand drawn as you enchanted the necessary items to fly from your bag.

“Keep your breathing steady and your eyes on me, Bunty,” you said firmly. Bunty nodded, looking down at you with tears crowding her eyes. “Did the Occamy get you?”

“Y-yes. He got out of his nest and into another cage and grew quite a bit larger. I tried to take him back but he bit me.”

“Merlin, Bunty, that’s awful. But I can assure you that you’ll be perfectly fine. You don’t have any serious injuries that I can see.”

You poured a few droplets of an amber liquid from your bag, the skin stretching across her arm to heal the wound. She squealed in pain and you slipped your hand into hers, allowing her to squeeze it to deal with the pain.

“It’s almost over, I promise. We’ll get you to St. Mungo’s after just in case, too. You’re doing fantastic, Bunty. This potion, well, excuse my language but it hurts like a bitch.”

Bunty let out a strangled laugh, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. You patted her hand, flashing your signature Healer smile at her as you got to your feet. Your bag magically packed itself as you helped Bunty up beside you, wrapping an arm around her and apparating off to the hospital.

You had settled things with the Assistant Healer at St. Mungo’s and Bunty assured you that she didn’t need you there with her for her tests no matter how many times you protested. She simply thanked you, explained that she felt fine already, and squeezed your hand before shooing you off to apparate back to Newt’s apartment.

You arrived back in the basement, snatching your medical bag and making your way upstairs. Your footsteps slowed as you heard quiet murmurs of appraisal coming from the den, the flipping of used parchment scraping against itself.

Your sketchbook.

You darted out into the den, finding Newt back early from his trip to the Ministry with your sketchbook in hand, marveling at the pictures you drew of him. Your heart thundered inside your chest and you went light headed at the sight, your face overheating instantly.

“Did you draw these?” he asked. In an impossible sense, Newt’s tone was entirely neutral as was his expression. Nothing. You couldn’t read anything off of him.

“Give that back.” You dropped your bag and swung your wand out in an attempt to retrieve the book, only to have Newt throw a countercurse at you. You sucked in a sharp breath before trying again only for the same result to be repeated.

“You drew these,” he stated. He met your anxious eyes with furrowed brows, which only worsened the black hole growing inside you.

“There’s no point in denying it, Newt.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing your hands up and down as your own personal security blanket.

“I think that your drawings are lovely.” Your eyes snapped up to his and he cowered at his statement. “Not because it’s me, that’s not why they’re lovely. It’s because it’s you— obviously not you, it’s me— but you drew them and I’d love for you-”

Feeling rather emboldened by his rambling, you cut Newt off with a defiant statement.

“I like you.”

Newt was silent.

You continued.

“A lot, actually.” You ran a hand through your hair with a wry laugh. “A stupid amount, really. I can’t get you out of my head in a maddening sort of way. And I know that you’re saying you like the drawings but I understand if you’re lying. I think I’d be rather perturbed if I found a journal full of my face, too.”

“Don’t say that,” he muttered with a dismal shake of his head.

“It’s true! It’s odd!”

“No, please don’t say that. It’s not.” With every declaration, Newt’s voice got a little louder

“Why-”

“Because I fancy you!” he shouted, leaving you in a stunned silence. “Sorry.”

You blinked in confusion. Newt fancied you. Newt fancied you. You repeated it over and over again in your head, trying to make sense of his foreign words. You met his worried gaze and whispered to confirm your suspicions, “You fancy me?”

“I-I do.” He laughed to himself, scuffing his foot against the floor. “You’re beautiful and...and witty, and intelligent, and you have this intense gaze like a crow, and it’s just all beautiful. You’re beautiful.” His words tumbled from his mouth like he didn’t have enough time in the world to tell you how he truly felt.

If Newt was going to act like there was no time left, then you were, too. Your wand fell from your loosened grasp as you ran up to him, falling into a deep kiss. His hands hovered in the air for a moment before he embraced you, holding you as tight to his body as he could so his lips could still be connected to yours.

You pulled away, gasping for air as he rested his forehead against yours. He reached a calloused thumb up to rub over your bottom lip before venturing up to your cheekbone.

Seems as if he did need a Healer after all.

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

general taglist: @pandaxnienke @lunalovecroft @for-bebbanburg

#newt scamander #newt scamander x you #newt scamander x y/n #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander fanfiction #bunty #theseus scamander #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts: the crimes of grindelwald #newton artemis fido scamander #newt scamander oneshot #newt scamander imagine #newt scamander fluff #healer!reader #artist!reader #self insert #fbawtft #fb:tcog

611 notes · View notes

cozycryptidcorner · 4 years

Photo

Kinktober 3: Naga/Semi-public

Tags: naga, semi-public, is there a word for female cockwarming? pussy warming??? idk, uhhh, yeah

You don’t know why you find the upper levels of the library so enticing. Once the archives are closed, no one very much cares to venture up to the near-attic, the scent of carefully dusted wood calming after a day of stressing over whatever class you feel like you’re falling behind in. Up here in the rafters, surrounded by ancient scripture and stories of lands almost forgotten, you can slip out of your mind and focus solely on what you must.

Okay, well, scratch that, maybe you do know why you like it up here. Thunder roars in the near distance, shockwaves of sound vibrating against the windows and stone of the walls. It doesn’t take too much of a temperature shift outside to suck out all the heat through the thin sheet of glass separating you from the raging storm, and by the way a frigid nose pokes beneath your skirt, someone doesn’t find the cold as enticing as you.

With a steady hand, you turn the page of your textbook, eyes scanning the page as a scaled tail wraps around your ankle. Tapping your pen against your notebook, you practically glare at the illustration, trying to ignore the imploring fingers slipping beneath your underwear. All you offer in response is a quick shift of your hips to ease his struggle, his breath almost cool against the wetness between your thighs.

“Malak,” you half-whisper, tangling your fingers in his white hair. “You said you would help me study.”

“I’m cold, baby,” he hums in response, hiking up your skirt further up to your waist. Teeth graze against your inner thigh, nothing more than a playful nip, but it melts your insides down to a boiling point. “Let me warm up first.”

Swallowing thickly, you only turn back to your schoolwork, trying to angle yourself on the chair in a way that lets you spread your legs as far as necessary. Focus, focus, focus, your mind chants as his tongue slowly teases the skin around your lips. Intention when casting runes is just as important as the markings themselves; to fully produce their desired effect, one must-

A burst of pleasure runs up the length of your spine; you have to catch yourself before you let out a sobbing whimper. Malak’s tongue has graced your clit with its presence, his bright blue eyes looking up from under the table with a sly triumph. Clamping your mouth shut, you turn back to your work, trying to focus on making a flashcard with the proper vocab words as he spreads the skin of your pussy out.

Trying to keep your voice steady, you say, “what are the three virtues one must exhibit while casting runes?”

“Clarity,” he kisses your slit, “focus,” another kiss, “and aplomb.”

“Good,” you manage to get yourself under control, taking a sip out of your thermos, “glad to see you’re keeping up.”

He makes a purring noise, flattening his tongue and licking from top to bottom, little sparks of thrill running through your core. Then, just to be infuriating, you think, he lets out a small whimpering noise that sets your entire being on edge. Still, there’s no one around to hear his little show of subjugation, so you decide to let it slide.

Up, down, up, down, a smile on his face as you wrap a leg around his cool back.

Keeping your voice under control, you look over your notes. “What is considered the rune for this modern age?”

He waits for a beat, flicking his tongue against your opening, then says, “Synthetic Moderna.”

You shudder as he delves back down, but you have to nod your head. “Ri-right. What about- what about the Acadian Revival?”

“A period in the nineteenth century revolving around the idea that older magicks were somehow better than modern- do I have that right?” Without waiting for your answer, his mouth closes on the upper part of your pussy, slowly pushing his tongue between your folds, sliding it back and forth against your clit.

You suck in your breath. “Y-yeah, that’s it exactly.” Trying to convince your quivering core that everything is alright and you don’t have to pay attention to what’s happening between your legs, you turn the page, eyes dancing over the chapter for more important information. “And what put the Acadian magic back into obscurity?”

You think you can feel his eyes rolling, but you’re so focused on the letters in your book that you don’t look. “Older magic was useful for the older world. New technologies mean new uses that don’t coincide with those ancient concepts.”

“Yes, that’s- that’s correct.” You don’t understand how he can be so very casual about everything while his tongue slowly probes your entrance, nor could you ever fathom why he might not insist you pay his own body any mind. Still, you suppose that you’re grateful for the release.

“Have I earned my prize yet?” He asks, batting his pale, thick eyelashes at you.

“Not yet,” your chest is tight, your core even hotter. “We need to get through this unit first.”

“Mmph,” he complains against your pussy, taking one of your lips and nipping gently with his fangs.

You don’t want to ask him for any more information, mostly because his face feels awfully nice against your throbbing core, but you also don’t want him to flunk out, no matter how much he seems to know his stuff, he has a nasty habit of not showing up to exams. “Who is an influential figure that began the development of Synthetic Moderna?”

He shivers against your body, tail wrapping up your shin and closing in on your knee. “Alphonsa Rodrigez.”

For being at the mercy of someone hellbent on making you cum, you think you’re doing an outstanding job at ignoring him… until his fingers become involved. Your vision blurs despite your desperate attempts to focus on anything and everything but him. Clearing your throat, you continue, “and what exact discovery did Doctor Rodrigez discover?”

He moans into your pussy, his throat rumbling low and sweet. Now that his fingers are involved, the stroking of your clit doesn’t cease when he looks back up at your face, “isn’t she the one who came up with the three virtues?”

You inhale sharply as he presses his thumb into your slit, but say, “no, she wasn’t the one to finalized the three virtues into mainstream practices… it has to do with the idea of clarity, though.”

“Oh,” he says, realization in his eyes as he offers a kiss to your thigh, “right, wasn’t she involved in the development of neural observation when it came to the actual casting?”

“Ye-Es!” Your voice lilts and almost becomes a whine as Malak, the fucking bastard, closes his mouth around your clit and sucks just as you open your mouth. You clap your hands over your mouth, face red, hoping desperately that no one heard. Judging by the lusty smile on his face, he knows what he did, and you feel the urge to smack him upside the head. ” Malak!”

“Careful, baby,” he says, infuriatingly quiet, “someone might hear you.”

As though the universe heard his words and decided that it would be super funny to turn against you in the worst way imaginable, you hear footsteps. Sucking in air, you’re quick to fix your posture, wrapping your legs around Malak’s neck in the hopes of keeping him still. Despite the hazy layer of sweat on your temple, you think, you hope that you don’t look like… well, like someone is mouth fucking you beneath the table.

“Are you alright?” A head pokes out from the back, eyebrows raised. A grad student you recognize, he’s one of the TA’s in your least favorite class this semester, though you’d never tell him that.

Silently, you thank every god who might have brought the desk you’re sitting at because it’s one of the older fashioned ones, the kind that closes off and hides whatever might be underneath from passersby. Briefly, you wonder if the person who first made them had this exact reason behind it. Malak’s tongue doesn’t give you an ounce of reprieve, working almost harder to flush your face, hoping with all the power in his fingers that you might squeal with pleasure.

But you’re stronger than that, more determined than he, so you offer up a casual smile and a noncommittal shrug. “Sorry, Martin, I saw a spider. You know how I am with those.”

“Ri-ight,” he says, drawing out the center syllable for longer than you would like. Maybe he’s just mocking you for the phobia? “Of course, sorry for interrupting.”

“Oh, I’m just studying-”

“Of course, goodbye.” And just like that, his head ducks back between the books, gone and embarrassed for reasons you don’t want to think about. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a tail poking out from where the wooden board almost meets the floor, thrashing about like in some kind of distress. Or some sort of perverse pleasure.

You don’t have time to feel shameful because Malak is attacking your body with a much more vicious gusto than you had thought him capable of… okay, well, maybe not, but you did think he would at least wait until the study session was over. Steadily, with so little mercy, he sucks on your clit directly; you have to bite down on your hand to keep from crying out.

Even if you offer up a meager question, you know that he’s so focused on your pleasure that he couldn’t be bothered to answer. You’re almost afraid that you might be squeezing his head too tightly, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the least, arm snaking around one of your legs to shift and position however he needs. Out away, then back closer when a chill of coldness threatens his delicate skin.

He’s sucking now, sucking on your clit, except it’s not like those quick, kissing motions; it’s full-on, and your vision tangles with a web of black. Everything in your core is tight, hot, yet Malak is cool enough to tie your body down to the mortal plane, even if he’s relentlessly licking like his life depends on your orgasm. And there, you can feel it coiling in your stomach. You have to bite down on your sleeve lest you start whining like a pup. With your other hand, though, you rake your fingers through his hair.

Now he’s looking at you, crystalline eyes filled to the brim with smug satisfaction. Still, his tongue moves against your lower regions with the skill of a well-seasoned whore, a kind of his own desperation on his face. Almost like his very being depends on your pleasure. He gently pushes a finger into your pussy, curving it slightly to hit that one specific spot, then slowly begins to massage your inner walls, and you are over.

You can feel the beginning of the orgasm creep up inside your core, small tendrils of pleasure reaching out through your nerves. The steady building turns into waves, though, morphing from a modest sort of feeling to something large, bright, and overshadowing everything else. Something slick and hot rushes through your pussy, trickling out and into Malak’s eager and waiting mouth.

The sounds he makes while drinking your cum are obscene, even though he tries to keep quiet, just as you asked. But he doesn’t slow down and instead lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, tongue still licking and mouth continuously kissing despite your body’s slow decline off that high. Everything in your body seems to shut off, muscles relaxing as the final rolls of pleasure ebb away, until you’re barely nothing more than a shivering, boneless mass on the chair.

He crawls up your body then, every movement with purpose and vigor. He kisses your stomach, a shiver pulsing out from it, then up your sweater, pausing at your collarbone, then goes to your neck. You wrap your arms around his torso and your legs around his waist, snuggling up against his solid, large body to ground yourself.

“Babe?” He asks.

“Yeah?”

“What leap of advancement does Synthetic Moderna have over its many predecessors?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Incorrect! That's a penalty."

#naga/reader #exophilia #naga #monster lovers #monster/reader #kinktober #story

385 notes · View notes

symphonyofthewrite · 4 years

Text

If These Walls Could Talk

Freaking GORGEOUS cover art by Junki Sakuraba on Instagram and Deviantart!! Definitely go check him out!! His art is incredible, and from what I can tell he’s really nice dude. He absolutely went above and beyond with this prompt. 10/10 would commission again. (And probably will once I save up enough money XD)

The wonderful art later in the chaper is by niuan_ on instagram!!

It wasn’t made/commissioned for this fic--(though I’ve since commissioned her to make cover art for me, so stay tuned for those!)--but when I saw it I couldn’t believe it!! That’s one of my favorite images in this chapter, and I couldn’t believe another artist made a piece for the same idea independently!!

I'll put the links to their profiles either in the replies or a reblog (since tumblr is dumb about links)!!

Also, FYI, I'll be using this post as my "reblog post" meaning I'll reblog this post with the later chapters of this fic, so they're all in one place. So if you want to read more of this fic, check the reblogs on this post, chances are more chapters will be there!!

Comments and reblogs are MORE than appreciated!! If you have a spare minute you will really make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary:

“My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Chapter 1: "Lisa”

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—they provided no snug space to curl up on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard: stories. But not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses, the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

And she dared to say, that this place, its master, should learn to give, when the humans have done nothing but take from them—or try their best to. He ought to be the one to invite her in, to ask what she would like, to dispense pleasant words and kind actions, when the humans forgot they invented hospitality, and showed no invitation for him to even enter their homes.

But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at the foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

‘Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time. The gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They often walk outside the castle walls, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations. They want their child to be able to do the same, to watch the stars, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.

419 notes · View notes

tyrantisterror · 3 years

Text

The ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3-D: Entry Roundup

You’ve been patiently waiting for the results of the ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3-D, and now... you have to wait a bit longer, but at least you’ve got an entry roundup with lots of sketches and a good bit of feedback for all the entrants! My goal is to get the finalists illustrated in a week or two, and after that, the grand prize winner will be announced. But, for now, the official entry roundup! After the cut:

I should note that while I sketched these in the order they were submitted, my scanner saved the documents with random names, so they’re a bit jumbled. You know, just in case you’re like me and would get confused noticing that it’s almost in chronological order but with some entries jumbled around.

@bugcthulhu’s Obsideban was designed as a counterpart to Rohobaron - the Black King to Rohobaron’s Red King, if you will. Or, well, Black Queen in this case, as Obsideban also takes her personality from the “delinquent girl” archetype in Japanese media. Bug’s designs always ooze personality, and I had a lot of fun translating this big, gnarly retrosaur into my own style.

@toothlessloveshiccup‘s Argonox is the first - but far from the last - monster in this breakdown that brings in a bit of fantasy influence to ATOM’s roster. A golden-fleeced ram with a vicious streak, this sheep is both treasure and dragon at once. And while it wasn’t written in the monster’s profile, given the Yamaneon-rich nature of its wool, Argonox might be able to replicate the healing power of the golden fleece too! A very fun mammalian kaiju and excellent entry.

@highly-radioactive-nerd submitted Gunmetal Jeeves, a robot butler who can gigantomax temporarily create a holographic/hard light version of himself to fight kaiju. That detail was a late revision added to the entry before the contest’s deadline, made after the creator realized that ATOM allows for some truly ludicrous bullshit, which is something everyone should exploit when making entries for this in my opinion. Also, this is a robot butler who can size shift. Revel in its awesome absurdity!

Ultranerd submitted Rajasaurus, a dimetrodon-like synapsid kaiju with electric powers. His origin specifies that the electric powers are a result of the volatile nature of the Yamaneon deposits he mutated under, which is an interesting idea. That’s another theme that cropped up a lot in this contest’s entries, actually - people really wanted to play with what Yamaneon can do.

Case in point, @polygonfighter’s Yamaneolith takes the Monolith Monsters homage at the heart of Yamaneon even more apparent. I like the implication that there is a second mineral-based lifeform at the root of this Yamaneon cluster’s anomalous behavior - a parasite, perhaps? It brings up some interesting possibilities.

@ariccio50 submitted Kukulkuzana, and damn is this a cool spin on the body plan of my martians. I made a few changes here and there (splitting its tail into two is probably the biggest one), but tried to keep true to the original design, because holy hell is it gorgeous. The idea that this is a mountain-dwelling creature is really intriguing to me, as it looks like a sea creature, but at the same time, that flexible and low-slung build WOULD work pretty well in mountains, and it’s just the right mix of plausible weirdness that makes for a fun alien design.

@akitymh submitted Aramzados, a Venusian monster that’s basically an organic hot rod car. I like the idea of organic machinery being the gimmick for Venusian kaiju, and Aramzado’s does it subtly enough to not feel like that gimmick is the sole thing going for it. I especially love this monster’s stange, apparently mouth-less blade-beaked face.

@virovac submitted Rurzar and Zar Rider, a Beyonder kaiju and mecha (respecitvely) that were both modified and repurposed by humans reverse engineering Beyonder technology to make, like, a motorcycle-saurus essentially. It is a delightfully absurd concept, and a very, very detailed one (13 pages of description). There’s a dark undercurrent beneath the sillyness, though, as this pair show that humanity might still be following the same path as the Beyonders before them.

@dinosaurana brings us Krangor, a humanoid monstrosity of living kelp! The goal here was to create a Jack Kirby-esque monster dude, complete with the gibberish name and all. He’s also made out of kelp, which feels very classic 1950′s monster-y despite me not being able to think of any monsters that were explicitly made of kelp. I love him.

@kiryuthechimera submitted Genkakurah, a psychic retrosaur with some draconic features. Though his substantial powerset is probably the biggest distinguishing feature of this kaiju (given that most ATOM kaiju pretty much have the same standard powers), what really draws me to him is that reptilian pseudo-beard. It’s just a fun detail!

@glarnboudin submits Tiratola, and see, there’s that fantasy influence again! Even more explicitly dragon-y than Kraydi, Tiratola still manages to toe the line between sci-fi and fantasy enough to fit ATOM as is while still cementing its ties to my own slice of fantasy fiction. Man it’s good I’m doing a Midgaheim book next, huh?

@dragonzzilla submitted Scuttlebutt/Argonautilus, a hermit crab kaiju who lives in/with a hollowed out mecha. That’s a twist I can’t recall ever hearing before, and the idea of a kaiju and a mecha having an equal partnership that doesn’t involve one being grafted to the other is really intriguing to me. A very unique concept!

@evolutionsvoid submitted Fleagor, an enormous flea who has no idea what to do with itself now that there’s no creature large enough for it to parasitize. I love that concept - it takes the core idea of the giant bug kaiju archetype (i.e. unsettling the audience by showing how terrifying small, “insignificant” creatures would be if our sizes were reversed) and really turns it on its head. The name also plays on the Universal Monsters, who were a huge part of 1950′s pop culture thanks to their movies being re-released in that era, so all and all this one is very on brand for ATOM!

@skarmorysilver submitted Lilacorn, another entry that plays up that Midgaheim/ATOM connection. Reinterpreting the mythological unicorn as an Cenozoic wooly rhinoceros-inspired monster gives it a very unique look, both in ATOM and in the general world of unicorns, and she has a bad-girl with a heart of gold personality to boot!

dracosaurus-rex submitted Florasaura, a two-headed plant/retrosaur hybrid monster. I love me some plant monsters, I love me some retrosaurs, and I love me some rhyming the word “flora” with other words that contain similar vowell sounds, so this one has me written all over it!

@downtofragglerock submitted Sauroguana, a delightfully odd flying retrosaur. There’s a great deal of charm to the original illustration that this sketch doesn’t quite capture - it’s a deceptively simple design with a lot of personality in it, and with those unique leg-wings it really doesn’t need a whole lot of frills to stand out.

Draxi submitted Brakan, an unimpressive burrowing retrosaur kaiju whose mastery of illusions allows it to convince other kaiju it’s actually a big, super-powerful badass that’s the ultimate fighter in the universe. It’s a delightful parody of the concept of a fan self-insert god-mode character, with a really fun story built into it to boot!

@quinnred submitted O.N.I.A.C., a mysterious cocooned kaiju whose chrysalis has been turned into an organic computer of sorts by the people studying it, and seems to possess a fairly advanced intelligence for a kaiju. It’s a really bizarre and ominous idea, with built in intrigue given how vague its nature is. Is it just a kaijufied butterfly/moth who got stuck mid transformation? A relative of the Mothmanuds? Something else, perhaps equally alien? Good story potential here.

shadyserpent submitted Vespilitor, a bat/retrosaur hybrid made by the nefarious Spooks Organization. A mercurial prankster whose tendency to stir up trouble never crosses the line into maliciousness, he’s the kind of monster who would make a great foil to a lot of ATOM’s cast. I’d especially like to see him in a prank off with Ahuul - it’d be like Bugs Bunny fighting Daffy Duck, but on a kaiju scale.

@multiversefan submitted the Yamaneon King, a nomadic kaiju whose refusal to settle down causes problems as he stirs up trouble at kaiju sanctuaries all over the globe by showing up unannounced and stirring up the locals. He was basically designed to be a monster that the kaiju sanctuary initiative would struggle to deal with, which is a good idea for a post-ATOM Volume 2 story conflict.

Sir K submitted Jadeera, a kirin kaiju that can actually forcibly convert most of its body to Yamaneon to enter a dormant, statue-like state in a loose homage to King Shisa. Though the fantasy elements are far more present than I usually prefer for ATOM kaiju, I think it should be noted they’re pushed that far for a purpose - a theme in Jadeera’s entry, which continues where its creator left off with their submission to the previous ATOM create a kaiju contest (Yokaigon), is that the world of kaiju is more complicated and challenging than many are willing to accept, which is a theme in ATOM itself. Yokaigon’s more supernatural/occult powers are based on the ghost parascience of my setting, which ATOM has delved into a bit (Pathogen being the big example), so it’s not as out of left field as some might think.

@cerothenull brings us our final entry (unless some got lost thanks to tumblr’s shitty tagging system), the flying spider Naeranti. She’s a kaiju spider who uses silk to make complicate hot-air balloons, more or less, and that’s just delightful. ATOM could always use more spider-monsters, and with a really unique gimmick backing up a wonderfully distinct look, Naeranti is sure to stand out among her fellow giant arachnids.

Well, that’s the roundup! In a week (or two, depending on how much my hand cramps) we’ll have the five finalists, and sometime after that, the grand prize winner!

#The Atomic Time of Monsters #The ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3D

55 notes · View notes

amor-immortalem · 3 years

Text

Can I Stay Up Here With You Forever ch.8

Warning(s): Nothing just fluff

If you want to be tagged or if you’re already tagged and wish not to be, please let me know.

Tag list @mediocredetective @it-hurts-when-i-blink @ima-simp-uwu @luckyauthorlampknight

The pair of brothers spent the rest of the night in Mammon’s room. Around dinner time they were joined by the twins who had brought tonight’s dinner. They had decided to eat with their second eldest brother, having heard from Satan who had heard from Lucifer that Mammon had had a particularly rough day at school and figured sharing a hot meal together would be a good way to comfort him. Even Levi stopped by after they had finished eating, bringing plenty of games that he and Mammon enjoyed playing together -along with the appropriate console- after they had first fallen so Levi wouldn’t go feral from his self-isolation.

It felt like they were a proper family once more- light teasing and proper brotherly bickering occurring between the five of them, making sure to keep things at a level that was normal for siblings and a far cry from the vicious words they would throw Mammon’s way. They had all spent so long playing that eventually they had all fallen asleep together on or around Mammon’s couch with Belphie being the first to conk out for the night.

When they all awoke in the morning, Asmo told their brothers about the plan to help Mammon escape to the human world and about how they were going to be uncles.

“Let me go with you,” Beel responded eagerly, “If Lucifer finds out before you guys can get away, my strength will come in handy to buy you all a little time.”

“Beel, as much as I appreciate it, I can’t let you do that ta yourself.” Mammon says, a worried look in his blue and gold eyes. “Ya know what happens if ya stand against our brother’s authority. I mean look at what he did to Belphie when he went against Lucifer and Lord Diavolo over the exchange programme.”

“Yeah, locking me in the attic was a shitty move on his part but still, Lucifer is acting like a fucking tyrant.” Belphegor agreed. “I mean we’re all pretty scared of the monster he’s turning into, but what he’s doing to you is wrong. And we heard about the gaslighting incident at school yesterday. That was really fucked up- and you’re the favorite. Imagine what will happen to us after he finds out.”

The brothers all nodded at that.

“An’ that’s why I don’t want y’all doin’ it.” Mammon said sternly. “You two’re the youngest an’ while yer both strong in yer own right, the two of ya can’t hold a candle ta our brother.”

“What if Satan and I went along with you?” Levi asked, “Sure, Lucifer’s power output is over 9000 but Asmo, Satan, and I should be enough to at least match that for enough time for you and Solomon to get through the portal...”

“That would work.” Asmo nodded as they had a contemplative look on their face. “Actually, we’d stand a better chance if the twins go too.”

“You guys would really do this for me?” The Avatar of Greed looks around the room at all of his brothers before letting out a soft chuckle, “Guess Lucifer was right ‘bout one thing... you guys really do care.” He can’t help the tearful smile that creeps its way onto his features.

“Of course we do. We always did but we never showed it in the way we should have,” the fifth-born threw their arms around their older brother and was soon joined by their other brothers. “I mean we’re the ones who promised we’d change and we went back on that almost immediately.”

“We’re a family and you’re an important part of that too.” The Avatar of Envy says as they all press their foreheads together like they did back in the Celestial Realm before they went to war. “You keep things lively for us.”

“So it’s decided, right?” Beel asks, “We’re really going to do this? Together?”

“Together.” A sixth voice echoes from the upper level as the five of them pull away and turn their attention to Satan. He has a genuine smile on his face as he slides down on the railing of Mammon’s staircase like he used to do as a toddler. “Lucifer’s gone, by the way. Went up to the Demon Lord’s castle for a weekend meeting with Diavolo. If we’re going to make our move, it has to be tomorrow. So, everyone, get packed. I already booked four of us a hotel to stay at so Arella doesn’t have to put us up for however many months it is before the baby’s born. Asmo, you said you’d be staying with Solomon, right?”

“Right,” The Avatar of Lust nods. “Alright everyone, get ready.”

And just like that, the siblings dispersed to go about their packing.

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

Arella can’t wait. After hearing of the news from Solomon a few days ago, the excitement started to grow. What she didn’t know was if Mammon had found out if she was pregnant yet. What would his reaction be? Surprise? Excitement? Something else? Anxiety filled her as it had been doing over these past few months so she picks up her D.D.D. that no longer has service and opened up her photo gallery which also had little videos of her and Mammon together.

The sound of his voice is comforting to her. It makes things feel much less lonely in the silent house- even with Aubrie visiting- but it also has the added effect of helping their baby recognize his father’s voice. With the little one showing signs of being able to hear the outside world earlier than expected and hijacking her magic to protect them when he felt frightened, the last thing she needed was the sound of a voice he didn’t recognize setting off one of the many protective spells in her repertoire. His favourite thing to do was erect a magical barrier around them to keep a threat away. Thank heavens normal humans weren’t able to see things like that.

As she selected a video- one of all the brothers and her together at Diavolo’s birthday party last year- she set it on top of the small bump that she had started showing a couple weeks ago. She could feel her son’s powerful little kicks to the side of her womb.

“Easy now, little one. You’re going to cause bruising with kicks like that.” Arella says as she rubs a hand over the front of her belly and she feels a turning sensation shortly after. “You certainly are active this evening. Your Daddy’s coming back to us tomorrow, okay? And five of your uncles as well so don’t be scared when you hear their voices. They won’t hurt you or me. They may be demons but deep down they’re a good lot.”

As the video playing on the D.D.D ended, Arella picked up a children's book and began reading aloud to her unborn child.

“Rells, I’m going to go back to my hotel. Do you need anything before I go?” Aubrie asked as she leaned against the door frame. “I’ll be back tomorrow to help you out before the boys get here- tomorrow is the day, right?”

“I don’t need anything but yes, tomorrow’s the day.” Arella smiles.

“Oh, I bet you’re excited.” The ginger smiles. “Alright, I’ll get going. See you tomorrow.”

Arella only nodded as she watched Aubrie go.

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

The House of Lamentation held a slight air of chaos to it this morning due to the brothers running around for last minute packing. They barely had time for breakfast but since Mammon had the least number of items to pack, he was voted for breakfast duty while Satan covered dish duty. Today’s breakfast: Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. As everyone sat down to eat, there was constant chatter about things they would do while up in the mortal realm during the months they would be staying.

While they were cleaning up, Solomon made his appearance. Asmo welcomed him with a hug as they quickly pulled the sorcerer along to Mammon’s room to get him so they could go. They both watch as he doesn’t react to their entrance instead seeming lost in his thoughts as he runs his thumb over an old, worn piece of grimm. Not even calling his name was enough to pull him from his zoned-out state. It wasn’t until Solomon placed a careful hand on the second-born's shoulder that Mammon looked up at them.

“Are you ready to go?” Solomon asks with a smile.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” The demon returns the smile, “Whenever everyone else is ready...”

Soon the rest of the brothers join them and it's time to go. Everyone grabs their bags or suitcases and load them up in the van that had been rented for them. Solomon was in charge of driving them to their destination.

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

Find more on my Masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me fluff #obey me mammon #mammon fluff #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me solomon

33 notes · View notes

petrichormeraki · 4 years

Note

waddles into ur ask box. hermit tommy makes me really happy, can I intrest you in the idea of it being a bad day for tommy? he couldnt sleep and kept waking up so he just stared at the ceiling til the sun started coming up. hes exausted, theres static in his brain and too heavy memories on his shoulders. everything is boarding on too much its reaching sensory overload.. hermits take notice. they check up on him and around if he needs them. he doesnt say thank you. He doesnt have to, they know.

this ask obliterated me and took my heirlooms so i have to write this of course

Tommy hates being alone. He also hates trusting others, giving himself so completely to another person that he relies on them. The hermits can all see how broken this child is, and feel a sickening dread in their heart when they think about what could’ve possibly happened to him to make him this way. Later on, the dread turns to fury, as they come to love this foul-mouthed child that ended up with them.

They don’t ask, and Tommy doesn’t offer, vehemently denying any sort of explanation for when he flinches at fireworks and hides his few pets far below in his bunker that he felt the need to make.

Slowly, slowly, Tommy gets comfortable. No, not even that, just....relaxed. The hermits didn’t realize he was coiled tight as a spring at all times until he wasn’t anymore.

He stays with Joe, though he has expressed his distaste for the American hermits. The others can’t really tell if he’s joking or not, but the fact that he still rooms with the man that saved his life convinces them that maybe he didn’t entirely mean it.

Joe learned a lot about Tommy, just through good old observation. He learned Tommy had vicious nightmares unless he was held at night. He learned Tommy was best grounded by touch, though he would never ask for it. He learned that Tommy sometimes went somewhere else, and muttered about bees and towers and fire. He learned that no matter how hard the kid tried, Tommy couldn’t keep himself together all the time.

Joe was the only one that saw the bad days.

It was well past midday, and Tommy still hadn’t emerged from his doghouse-turned-cabin that Joe set up for him when he first arrived. It wasn’t his business; Joe valued his privacy as much as Tommy did, but he still felt a sliver of worry. Tommy was always up before the sunrise, usually.

Joe lightly knocked on the door to Tommy’s house, furrowing his brows when there was no response. “Tom? You alright, bud?”

He paused longer than he should have waiting for an answer, but finally decided to enter. “I’m coming in, kiddo.”

Joe opened the door to a dark room, the light covered by makeshift blinds made of Tommy’s old shirt. The hermit faintly saw the shape of the kid in his bed, facing to the wall and not moving save for the occasional rise and fall of his chest. At first Joe thought he was asleep, but when he came closer he was shocked to see Tommy’s eyes were open, dull and staring at a spinning compass sitting in the palm of his hand.

Many thoughts raced through Joe’s mind as he took in what he was looking at, but he pushed them aside for later evaluation. He instead lightly touched Tommy’s shoulder, the boy making no movement or noise to show that he felt the hermit’s hand. “Tom? Are you okay?”

The kid didn’t speak, only halfassedly tilting his head in what Joe assumed meant ‘no’. The hermit took a breath, and slowly sat next to Tommy on his mattress. “...What can I do for you?”

Again, a lazy half movement, what looked to be a shrug. Joe swallowed his frustration and drowned it in his sympathy.

“Is it okay if I stay with you?” Joe asked. Tommy just kept staring at his compass and didn’t respond. With the light coming through the doorway, Joe could see the kid’s face was streaked with tears that had long since dried.

Joe sighed, a pang in his heart. He didn’t say anything for a while, just breathed in the silence and kept a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. If it weren’t for his charge’s state, it would’ve been relaxing.

Gently, Joe decided to produce his poetry book from his inventory, and read aloud from a random page. It didn’t matter to him if Tommy was really listening. “Did you ever imagine we’d fall so far from the sun, we’d miss the sea? Or that our waxen wings would ice...”

The day passed, filled with Joe’s words. Tommy eventually tucked the compass into his shirt again, but stayed unmoving as Joe read. The boy never looked at him, but the poet could tell that his presence helped.

Joe stayed with him until the moon was high, and Tommy’s breathing slowed into dreamless rest, one of the positives that crying granted. Joe watched the boy as he looked more peaceful than he’d ever been, and he softly smiled.

Joe stood, silently and slowly to not disturb the boy, and pressed a kiss to his temple before placing his poem book on Tommy’s nightstand. Joe had a feeling he could be a good writer if he tried.

#GODDDDD THIS WAS SO SWEET #meraki answers #fic response #this was so good thank u nonny #hermit tommy au

215 notes · View notes

secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

Come with the Wind

Kinktober 2020 — knife play

A/N: this is directly inspired by Sakusa’s merch design from the hyakki yakou (hundred ghouls marching at night????) line Jump released a while back where we get kamaitachi!sks and i just thought he was perfect for this prompt hhhhh

Pairing: kamaitcahi!Sakusa Kiyoomi x f!reader

Description: Sakusa Kiyoomi knocked you off your feet the moment he first entered your life as a strong whirlwind out of nowhere.

Warning: mention of causing wounds on people, non-threatening stalking behaviour (?), non-threatening breaking in behaviour (?), knife play but kinda tender, vaginal penetration, creampie

Word count: 3824

(more of the modern magic au here)

鎌鼬 (kamaitachi): a youkai in Japanese folklore that looks like a weasel with claws shaped like sickles (for the sake of visual aesthetics kamaitachi sakusa will have it on his tail instead). It is said that this youkai appear in the form of a whirlwind, knocking its victims to the ground before slitting long cuts on their skin. Despite the wounds, the person who got attacked would not feel any pain.

Sakusa Kiyoomi knocked you off your feet the moment he first entered your life as a strong whirlwind out of nowhere.

Quite literally, knocking you off balance and making you fall onto the ground on your knees.

He showed up in the form of a strong turbulent, tripping you when you were alone on the quiet streets of your neighbourhood. Sakusa eyed you up and down as you laid on the cement floor, too shocked by the man that appeared out of nowhere to even move. Your eyes widening when you saw the long tail swaying behind him and the sharp hook that was at the very end.

In a world where the inhuman and human lived as one society, the many youkais that had inhabited Japan way before your kind did were starting to blend into the modern city life as well. But there would always be some that could not, or refused to, give up on the way they had lived by far before they were anything but a story passed on from generation to generation.

Except, unlike the generations before, people of the current day now knew for a fact that these monsters lurking in the shadows were very much so real and waiting for a chance to strike when your guard was lowered.

The kamaitachi stared at his victim, finding somewhere to place the wound. The preferable tactic was to do it fast and precise, but Sakusa always had trouble with making a haste decision. Very inconveniently so, he had quite the distaste towards getting blood on himself and would rather pick a position on the delicate human body that would cause less bleeding.

Blood was messy, and it was hard to wash off of the fleece on his tail once it got on there. He did not like the mess at all.

The purpose of youkais of his kind was not to cause bloodshed. Well, actually, he wasn’t all too sure what the purpose truly was, given that he really wouldn’t gain from any of this. He had simply been told that this was what his kind did, and he carefully followed this task bestowed on him by his origins for more years than any of the measly humans that had been tripped by his wind could count.

So that was what he had been doing ever since he had a memory of his existence, and he intended to finish his task this time around too. But when his eyes met yours, your lips slightly agape as you sat on the ground from the shock, he found that he couldn’t swing the hook of his tail down onto your skin.

His moment of hesitation was enough for you to come back to your senses, climbing up with scrambled steps as you dashed towards the direction of your house without the time to even look back.

Sakusa realised that he was staring at the floor when he snapped out of his trance, letting out a muffled groan as he looked towards the direction you had headed.

What was it? Why didn’t he do it?

Sakusa had never felt so tortured in his many years of life than he did after he let you escaped completely unharmed. He had failed his one job for the first time ever and he wasn’t the happiest about it. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t get you out of his head no matter how hard he tried and it was really, really irritating him.

It must be that he couldn’t stand having an unfinished job, it must be it.

He spent the next few days in the air of the neighbourhood he saw you at, which wasn’t exactly his proudest moment. It was stupid for him to care so much about a random human that got away through luck, but he was determined that he would right his wrong. There were several times when he caught you alone, but he never managed to do it. He spent a lot of time observing you but always missing the prime timing. It could be that he was far too enticed by the book you were reading (which he tried very hard to see the title clearly because he was so far away from you), or he simply got lost in the way you laugh to yourself when you thought no one was watching (he was, in fact, watching), but he always remembered in absolute frustration that he was there for a proper reason when you had left.

So he kept going back to you again and again, waiting for the chance to make his strike.

Not because he wanted to, absolutely not.

He swore he only found out about where you lived on accident. He wasn’t really intending to be so stalker-ish but one day when he didn’t see you around all day long when he was waiting for you to show up only to spot you pacing down the streets late at night, he thought that it was absolutely foolish for you to be alone at the hour and just had to make sure you got back to your place safely. Humans were very fragile creatures was what he had learned after years of observation, and if you happened to bump into any of the more vicious youkais or worse, vicious humans, then he wouldn’t get to finish his task with you gone.

(He grumbled, as if he wasn’t one of the said dangerous youkais lurking around.)

He had resisted the urge to look into your house. There were youkais that broke into people’s residents but that wasn’t the nature of his kind and he intended to stay in his own lane. But now that he knew where you lived, it was getting harder and harder for him to stay away.

Sakusa was circling the area midair one day when he saw that the door to your tiny balcony was wide open. He felt his eyelids jumped, did no one ever tell you that you should keep all doors and windows locked when you were out? He floated close with a disapproving tsk of his tongue, wanting to help you close it up when he got a brief glimpse of what was behind the window.

He swore to all the gods whose name he could not even remember because they were far too long to utter out that he had never seen a more horrendous sight.

He took a step back, absolutely disgusted. Had humans gotten to this point of their survival now? That they could live in a condition like this? “Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself as he tentatively entered your home, careful not to step on anything that was on the ground.

The trash can at the corner was filled to the top and threatening to spill out. He felt a sharp ache banging in his head when he saw the empty boxes piled up at the side. There were bunches of tissue paper shoved onto the back of your table that had no empty space on it with so many things that were scattered on top. Now that he started paying attention, there were marks on your balcony window clearly left behind because you never bothered to wipe it clean after downpours of rain.

Ridiculous. His brows furrowed together in disapproval, picking up any trash on the ground with the hook of his tail as he inspected the place.

This would not do, he would not allow it.

Right, he clicked his tongue as he looked around, searching for anything that resembled a broom, where should he start?

You were sure you must have tired yourself too much that you were starting to see illusions when you came home that night to see the same kamaitachi who had shoved you to the ground and proceed to let you escape furiously wiping your window with a towel hooked onto his tail while grumbling about how stubborn the stains were. You did not dare to move when he must have heard you come in, slowly and stiffly turning around until you two were staring at each other. Neither of you said a word, and you blinked as you tried to make sense of the situation.

You didn’t know that kamaitachis also break into people’s houses just to help with the cleaning?

“Um,” you gulped, feeling small under his inky eyes even though he was the intruder here, “do you want something to drink?”

This was wrong. Kamaitachis were not supposed to mingle with the mankind. He should have escaped through the little gap on the window he had left for ventilation (your house was far too dusty for his comfort), or throw you off by causing a whirlwind inside your tiny city apartment which was guaranteed to make quite the destruction., or just do what he thought he was there to do all along and slit an open wound on any part of your skin.

Sakusa Kiyoomi had a moment of silence when he realised that he didn’t want to do any of those things.

He did, however, really wanted warm tea.

Sakusa Kiyoomi made several discoveries about humans after he met you:

1. under the right amount of pressure, they are able to keep up with a hygienic living environment, you were just too lazy for your own good

2. they make really decent tea (you made him this thing where you pour tea onto rice and umeboshi once and he was completely floored)

3. they invite people to move into their residence as a gesture of affection (you had brought it up after he waited outside your balcony for a good hour before you came home and let him in, claiming that he always around anyways

4. youkai-human romances are a thing now and people wouldn’t get burned alive for it (you laughed very hard when he brought up his concerns on why you didn’t have any issues letting your neighbours see you with him, he didn’t understand why)

Oh, and they were soft, very soft. Sakusa held you just a little closer to his chest as you two sat cross legged on the mattress, his arms wrapped around your waist as he leaned his jaw onto your shoulder while you mindlessly played with his tail.

So soft.

“Careful,” he warned when he saw you tracing your finger along the edge of his reaping hook, “you’re going to cut yourself if you slip.”

You chuckled, watching as he flicked his tail as far away from you as he could. “Shouldn’t you want that to happen?” you mused, twisting around so you could see his face. The two dots above his eyebrow shifted as he narrowed his eyes, his lips pursed into one thin line. You could see the very tip of his tiny white ears peeking out of his wavy black curls, twitching ever so slightly.

He sighed, clicking his tongue at your triumphant expression like you had gotten him good. Light reflected on the silver blade as he lifted it up to your eye level, twisting it slowly so that it glimmered. He always kept the blade clean and sharp even though he hadn’t used it since meeting you. You could see your own reflection on the polished surface and you stared into his inky eyes through it.

For a moment, you were mesmerised, and you could hear your own breaths as your gaze travelled to the very tip of the hook which could draw blood even from the slightest bit of force.

“Omi,” you licked your lips and gripped onto his forearm that was around your stomach, “is it true that I wouldn’t feel it even if you slice down?”

His eyes widened, “I’m not hurting you.”

“I know, but is it?”

Sakusa paused, he hadn’t thought about it in a long time. Gently and with caution, he turned his hook to its dull edge and trail it up to your leg. You stiffen at the feeling of the cold metal on your skin, goosebumps rose on your skin where the hook just grazed past.

“Apparently,” he said, his voice coming out as a whisper as he took in your reaction. Any hint of fear and he would pull back, but you only seemed to lean back against his chest even more as he brushed the blade along your calf. You were so delicate, he could leave such nasty scars on your skin if he did so little as flick down and you knew it. But the heaving of your chest only got more obvious when the edge of his blade reached higher and higher up on your leg until it was pushing up the hem of your shorts.

He stopped when the curved hook was right at the root of your thigh, and pressed the flat edge down.

He nearly lost control of himself when he heard the faintest resemblance of a moan slipping from your mouth.

“Do you like this?”

Your face burned up at the question and the gravel in his tone. His arms slowly pulled away from your waist, warm palms running along the curve of his waist until they were resting right at the side of your hips. Your breath hitched when you felt his fingers digging down and gripping onto the hem, the fabric of your shorts now bunched up around the silver hook.

“Do you like this?” he asked again, the fleece of his tail brushing against your skin as he crooked the tip. You could see it poking under the fabric, pulling it taunt around the edge, and you felt your own voice betraying you at the thought of how easy it would be for him to just ripped it to pieces.

“Yes.”

A loud tear ripped through the room and sent numbing sparks all the way to your scalp as you held your breath in reflectively, the hook gliding across the flimsy fabric of your room wear and dangerously close to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

You whimpered when he slipped his hand under the baggy t-shirt you were wearing, pushing it up until your bare chest was out on display.

“Bite.”

You parted your mouth and took the hem between your teeth, the heat spreading onto the tip of your ears at your lewd position. He brought the sickle up, his eyes bearing at your form when he slowly ran the dull edge down the valley of your breast and onto your stomach. You wanted to arch against him so badly but held yourself still, your shoulders shaking slightly as you did not dare to move.

“I remember how people used to scream when my blade touches their skin,” his lips ghosted on where your neck met your shoulder, warm breath fanning onto you and making every hair on your back stood up. He sniggered when he heard your breath getting heavier when he brought the blade to your front. The chilling metal barely touched your nipple before it pebbled up and stood almost painfully. “But getting aroused... that is a first.”

“O- omi...” you managed to utter his name through your teeth and he brushed against your nipple with a flick, the feeling of steel still lingering on the sensitive bud.

“Look at you getting all antsy,” he clicked his tongue and the sound sent shivers down your spine. He shifted underneath you, hoisting you higher up on his lap. Something hard poked at your ass as he held you still, his erection pressed firmly against you through the shorts that were struggling to hold together.

You let out a pitiful whine when he hooked one nimble finger under the crotch of your panties while the sickle scrapped down from your shoulder to your arm, an inaudible rumble slipping from the back of his throat when he felt the slick that had seeped into the cotton.

Humans, their bodies react in the most fascinating ways.

You froze when the hook brushed past your inner thigh and under the strip of fabric his fingers were holding onto.

“Scared?” he asked, the elastic choking snugly around your skin in tension as he held the hook still, “just one wrong move and I could hurt the most delicate part of your body.”

You pussy couldn’t help but clench around nothing when he cut the last bit of fabric covering you with a forceful pull, the clear essence that was already pooling up all the more obvious when dripped onto the metal.

“Tsk tsk...”

You could not even press your thighs together to get the friction you so desperately wanted with his hand giving you a squeeze in warning, bringing the hook up to your face as he turned it under the light.

“You are getting my sickle all dirty,” he said, referring to the shine on the usually spotless surface that was from your arousal. Sakusa’s fingers danced along your inner thigh before bringing them to your sopping folds, brushing past your slit and felt the wetness gushing out.

He brought the hook to his lips and poked his tongue out, the sound of his tongue against the metal where it had just touched your skin forming a blood curling image in your head even though you could only hear him. He twisted his tail, letting his tongue ran along the blade from the base to the tip.

You whimpered when you felt the coldness of his saliva on the blade right at the side of your neck.

“Up.”

You shakily lifted yourself off his lap, getting onto your knees as you waited with bated breath. The sound of zippers had your heart pounding in your chest all while the sharp blade of the reaping hook was starting to make your skin go numb.

He could slit your throat if he wanted to.

Your jaw was aching from how hard you bite down and it only got worse when you felt his tip prodding at your entrance. He signaled you to sink down with a tap of his finger at the side of your hips. You could not hold yourself back anymore as his girth slowly stretched you out, your shirt falling back down over your abdomen as a breathy moan rolled off your tongue.

“Mph-” your toes curled when he was balls deep inside of you and he tilted your head back until the curve of your neck leaned right on his shoulder with the tip of his sickle, the metal growing warm under your chin as he held you there.

He groaned at the feeling of your tight walls around his cock, the sudden penetration without any foreplay had your cunt now leaking with wetness just to get used to him.

He slowly started rocking against you before upping his pace. He throbbed inside of you, the heat of him burning into your lower stomach and spreading all over your body. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, guiding you to roll against him all the while never removing the blade from your neck. You let out a choked mewl when the tip of it trailed down your neck, poking against the fragile skin ever so slightly when he thrust up.

Sakusa had never felt any hint of emotions in his brain when he held his blade at any of his past victims, he did it because that was simply what his kind does and that was it. But when he saw the lighter streaks left on your skin where the tip of his sickle had pressed down on, your breaths rigid but with desire dripping from each heave of your chest, he felt all sorts of feelings screaming in his head until all he could do was lash them out through each merciless rut of his hips.

The sound of his balls slapping against your ass bounced off the walls as you panted, your hands threw back to circle around his neck the blade was pressed down flat on your neck. It almost felt like you were being choked as the metal grew warm on your skin, your eyes seeing white in the corners as your walls contracted around him and his name slurred off your tongue like a mantra.

A low moan rumbled from his chest at your walls clamping down on him and the vibration seeped through your back, making you whimper. You sucked in a hasty breath when the hook was removed from your throat, his tail stiffening up at the side as he felt his own climax getting close. He buried his face at the crook of your neck, muffling his moans as he held you tight against him.

He came with a shudder, his hands still clutching you tightly before his muscles relaxed and he slumped onto your body. Your lips parted to let out a soft sigh at the feeling of his release inside of you, the sticky substance slowly leaking out of your fluttering folds down onto the base of his cock with him still buried inside of you.

His tail, the part that was just fur and not blade, rubbed soothingly against your waist as he gently lifted you off his lap. You whimpered at the feeling of his warmth leaving your body, the sudden emptiness making your still sensitive walls clenched and more of his cum trailed down. Turning you around so that you could lay on his chest, you listened to his heartbeats slowly easing down from the rapid beating as it rose and fell underneath your chin.

His tail was swung over your back, locking you in as his palm ran up and down on your back. You brushed at the white fleece with your finger, a light coo slipping past your lips at how soft it was. It was a wonder how just a few inches down and the fur would blend in with the unbending steel of his sickle.

“You know,” you said, still relishing in the feeling of his fur brushing past your finger tip, “sometimes I’m really glad that you tried to attack me that day.”

He huffed, “You mean you’re glad I didn’t actually do it?”

“Well,” you looked up, smiling a little as you stared into his inky eyes, “you would not be here if you didn’t stalk me weeks after that because you let me went away.”

“I did not stalk you.”

“Yes you did!” you laughed when he rolled his eyes. You paused, letting out a short hum before leaning your jaw on his chest again.

“I’m happy you did though.”

He looked down at your murmur, and closed his eyes as he took in your scent with his face buried into your hair.

Sakusa Kiyoomi came into your life as a strange, sudden whirlwind and in a stunning twist of events against his very nature, he stayed.

And he was very happy he did that too.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #sakusa x reader #sakusa imagine #sakusa imagines #sakusa smut #kinktober 2020

409 notes · View notes