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lilacs-stars · 4 months ago

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sweet like you

pairing: bridget x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is charming's sister) SUMMARY: you and your pink-haired best friend have your own ways of showing affection. but what will happen if you take things to the next level? GENRE: tooth-rotting fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining CW: nothing really, reader is down bad, thoughts of loneliness and worries she's not good enough, mouth-watering descriptions of food WC: 7k

A/N: this one was heavily based off of the five love languages! I personally think that bridget shows love by gift giving and quality time (although I am willing to hear people out on this), and reader is words of affirmation and physical touch, with maybe a dash of acts of service. hope you guys enjoy, and thank you to the anon who requested this! please give me feedback and suggestions, I’d love to know your thoughts!

You fidget nervously, skittishly glancing up at the girl in front of you.

You were so afraid to do it, to maybe ruin what you two already have.

But if you don’t, you’ll be trapped in a life overshadowed by regret, yearning for a love that will forever linger in your heart like a forgotten memory just out of reach, a devotion that has taken root in you so deep you know it is impossible to abandon or ignore.

And with that thought, you gently lean in towards her soft, pink lips.

“So? How is it?”

The pink-haired girl in front of you stands with her arms hugged to her chest, hands curled in fists that sit right below her chin. She looks at you with an anticipation so potent it's practically overflowing, rocking back and forth in a way that makes you think she’ll combust at any second. Her kind eyes are stretched wide open, staring down your every move as she eagerly awaits your answer.

You take a bite into the freshly baked fruit tart in your hand, the perfectly golden crust and masterful arrangement of strawberries, blueberries, and kiwi slices on top making it look almost too good to eat.

As soon as the flavors make contact with your tongue, you practically melt away at the sweet, delicious taste that graces your tastebuds. The pastry base is like a crisp and delightfully buttery embrace that unifies all the elements, a shell that cradles the flavors with care. The fruits on top are delectable and juicy, the natural sweetness and burst of tang adding a refreshing balance to the sugary taste of the pastry, like little fireworks on your tongue.

Your favorite part, however, is the heavenly vanilla custard filling. It’s smooth and decadent, like diving into a saccharine river of vanilla that glides across your tongue. It’s as if the very essence of pure bliss itself was captured and transformed into a rich, sweet nectar. The cool, silky filling and fresh fruits are delightful in how they contrast the warm, flaky crust, all the ingredients coming together in a harmonious composition of textures and flavors.

Your eyes, which had fluttered closed in sheer ecstasy, open again to see a Bridget that is buzzing with excitement.

Your mouth, still stuffed and chewing, manages to mumble out, “It-it’s incredible," as you cover it with your spare hand—proper etiquette being second nature to you by now—trying to get out the partially coherent words.

Bridget still looks at you with a zealous sparkle in her eyes, expression unchanged and expectant, relentlessly teetering on the balls of her feet like a hummingbird rapidly flapping its wings as it hovers by a flower. Most people would have stopped at the compliment, but you, being a near-professional taste tester from the number of Bridget’s creations that you’ve tried since you met her, have a full evaluation prepared as you swallow.

“The crust is very buttery and just the right amount of crispiness, perfectly balancing out the smooth creaminess of the custard. The fruits add a bit of tartness and a fresh, juicy taste that evens out the sweetness of the rest of the pastry, that could be a bit overwhelming otherwise. As for aesthetics”—you shift around slightly from your position on the edge of her bed, the fluffy pink comforter beneath you practically swallowing you whole—“your placement is very well-done. I would recommend adding a glaze to the fruits, both to make them glossy and to enrich the taste.”

Bridget nods her head fervently, absorbing your every word like your suggestions are an indisputable truth. “I feel like the crust is a bit soggy, too,” she adds, face wrinkled in a frown as she stares at the dessert in your hand.

You look down at your half-bitten treat—its original, untouched beauty now destroyed—in a scrutinizing consideration. “Did you wait for the crust to cool down before adding the filling?” Bridget tilts her head upwards, eyes deep in thought as she looks to the ceiling. “Hmm, now that you mention it, I don’t think I did.”

"That must be the cause." You are certainly no baker yourself, but you’ve had lots of practice critiquing Bridget’s creations to the point where you are highly knowledgeable in the theory of baking. “Still, it is unbelievably delicious.” As if hearing those words for the first time, Bridget’s face lights up, her features all but radiating a brilliant glow as she beams. She clasps her hands together, crying, “Aww, thanks!”

You can’t help but laugh a little—Bridget’s limitless joy is truly contagious. At times like this, when you're staring up at her, gaze swirled with pure adoration and awe as if she's an angel that descended from the heavens in front of your eyes, you start to think just how lucky you are. For once in your life, the strings of fate finally pulled in your favor, crossing your paths with the girl clad in a bright pink dress facing you.

Fate is often cruel to you, like an unrelenting winter wind blowing in your face and biting at your skin, like nature laughing at you as you shiver in raw misery, coldness seeping deep into your bones. A cruel trickster that seems to follow you with malevolent intentions, a vicious smirk painted on its face as it sends every misfortune barreling your way.

You might have been born a royal, a princess that has an unfathomable number of gowns stacked in her closet and an equal number of suitors lined up for her hand. But you aren’t like your brother; you don’t approach groups of strangers and introduce yourself with a wink and an alluring demeanor. He is Prince Charming, after all, which causes you to often ruminate over how accurately your parents named him.

Instead of flashing a winsome smile to every guest at a ball, or every visitor invited to your house, and strike up a conversation with them, you often seek refuge in the quiet expanse of your own room. When required to make an appearance, you prefer to loiter around in the shadows or pass by unseen, like a ghost. This has made you quite the anomaly in the royal world; everyone always whispers behind covered hands and in hushed voices, spreading rumors and wildly speculating about why the princess of such a gregarious family never makes a presence of herself publicly.

And it’s the same at school. Bridget, like your brother, will approach absolutely anyone with a smile gracing her features and kind eyes crinkled in the corners, oftentimes with a home-baked treat in hand. She has countless friends, many random people she mentions or smiles at in the hallways that you’ve never even seen before. She’s never had to worry about finding a partner in class, never avoided eye contact in a crowd of people she didn’t know, never sat watching other people’s carefree conversations with the weight of being an outsider, always looking in through the glass of isolation keeping you from them.

Which is why, to this day, in moments like these, you question whether fate has made a mistake of some sort—maybe jumbled up different karmic ties or gotten confused with names when it came time to draw people’s futures. Or, your biggest fear, is that this is all some elaborate plan, a puzzle piece in destiny’s plan to make your life as ill-fortuned as possible.

In times like this one, you peer up at Bridget and wonder, why in the world, out of her multitude of friends, did she decide to spend the most time with you? To dub you her “best friend”, if you will.

Bridget had noticed your solitary manners a long time ago—like a magnet, she’s drawn to the people who are most in need of a friend, the most ostracized of the outcasts. And so, she had patiently sat with you every day, struck up a conversation even when you gave her the shortest answers possible that were still deemed polite, and attempted to make plans with you, although you always tried to cover up your outlandish excuses with gracious thank-yous.

Over time, the girl with the bright eyes and unfaltering smile finally wore you down, until you began sitting next to her yourself, began looking forward to your idle conversations, and even sought to spend as much time with her as possible. In fact, you spend more time at her dorm than you do yours; neither of you have roommates, so the only time you go back to your room is to get into bed. Besides that, you spend every waking moment basking in Bridget’s cheery presence, so much so that half your belongings are scattered on her floor (your doing), or neatly tucked away in a drawer (her tidying up after you leave).

Your relationship grew to a point where you began to know Bridget well enough that you couldn't keep denying the way she seemed to know everyone, and on a rather personal basis as well. How she had a party or event she was invited to every weekend, or how she had an entire roster of people willing to help her at the smallest of notices anytime she needed a favor. Sure, she may not seem like the “popular” sort, which had definitely deceived you as well when you first met her, but she was definitely well-known and especially well-liked.

So you found yourself many a night sitting on her bed—as you are now—looking at the stack of pretentious letters and notes, carefully placed in ostentatious envelopes with cloyingly ornate lettering, wondering what about you made Bridget seek you out. And that’s when you first thought of it. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t actually like you.

And once that thought popped in your mind, once it was planted and dug its roots in your brain, it grew rapidly, spreading uncontrollably like a weed that was left unchecked for a bit too long. Bridget probably only talked to you in the beginning just to be nice, the intrusive, unwanted voice hissed in your mind. She didn’t really like you. And now you keep on leeching onto her, and she’s way too nice to say she finds you annoying.

Fueled by your disbelief that anyone, especially someone with as many options as Bridget, would actively want to spend their time with you, you started to believe that Bridget was only entertaining you out of required courtesy. And so, you tried spending less time with her after that, building up your walls again and shutting her out; suddenly, you didn’t approach her in the hallways anymore, were always too busy “studying” to hang out in her room, and your long rants about various, trivial topics were reduced to simple, curt responses.

But Bridget persisted, always choosing you amidst a myriad of familiar faces beckoning her over. She still wanted to make plans with you, still left you treats outside your door to taste test. And so, with a hesitant uncertainty, only brought out by your crippling fear and burning shame at the possibility of even coming close to hurting Bridget’s feelings from your cold actions, you decided that she might actually want to be with you, of her own free will.

That night, you had thanked her for being such a good friend to you. She replied as sweetly and modestly as ever (“Oh, it’s nothing! Don’t even mention it.”) When you brought up how you wouldn’t have any friends if not for her choosing to persistently break down your walls, as you are undeniably terrible at making friends, she had simply told you that your style of befriending people was to wait for them to approach you first, whilst her style was to approach them first.

She had pointed out, with a compassionate wrinkle in her brow, that with your way, at least you could be certain that whoever cared enough about you to initiate something and work towards befriending you probably had genuine intentions, which was a drawback of becoming friends with just anyone, like she did—you never who truly likes you, and who’s plotting to stab you in the back. You kept your mouth shut that night, but you really couldn’t help but think if that were true, then did that mean that the only person with genuine intentions towards you in the entire school was Bridget herself?

Fate, you decided, is certainly an interesting character.

“Maybe I should make another batch.” Bridget’s musings draw you back to the present, where she now stands with a bitten fruit tart in her hand and two unoccupied cavities in the tray she had baked them in. “I was thinking of handing these out to my History of World Magic class tomorrow, but they aren’t very good…” She frowns again as she looks down at her pastry, as if furrowing her brow and staring intensely at it can miraculously fix it, or at least give her some insight into discerning what to improve.

“Bridget.” You push up off the bed, taking a step towards her and placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to make another batch. These ones are already great.”

Abruptly, you swoop in towards her opposite hand, stealing a bite from her already partially-eaten dessert. You chew with a smile on your face as you look at Bridget’s slightly startled expression, commenting, “See? This one is just as good as the other one.”

Bridget remains frozen for a moment, her forehead still puckered, before she relents into a soft grin. “Alright, then. If you say so. I guess they are alright.”

“That’s the spirit.” You let go of her shoulder, now leisurely strolling around the room, eyeing the various objects neatly placed on her furniture. Eyes scanning over each item, your hand subconsciously reaches out, fingertips languidly brushing along her possessions as if soaking up her essence. “About History, I’m so unprepared for that test we have coming up. Ugh, who even assigns that much work? Especially since Mr. Poirier already grades so harshly. Like, last test, he marked me down because I only gave three examples of goblin strikes in the past century out of the five he taught. I mean, you can’t mark someone down if you never said how many examples to give! He’s so unfai—”

Your voice cuts off as your eyes snag on a collection of objects on Bridget's desk that weren’t there before, an assortment of various tools and materials that when combined appear to belong to a crafting set: multicolored beads, tubes of sparkly glitter, delicate metal chains, a set of pliers, and a bright pink vial of glue.

“What are these?” you ask curiously, leaning in closer with a furrowed brow as you inspect the items on the desk, trying to make out what they are, or rather, what they are going to be made into.

“Ah! It’s nothing!” Bridget squeals, rushing over and throwing a spare blanket over the desk before you can take a closer look.

You spin around to face her, a frown etched into your features. “If it’s nothing, then why are you hiding it?”

“It’s not important!”

“You know you’re only making me want to know even more.”

“It’s really nothing! Just don’t think about it.”

You lift your hand, inching it closer to the draped cloth. “I’m thinking about it,” you tease, playfully moving your arm at a gradual, yet deliberate, pace towards the desk. “Still thinking about it. I’m getting closer, closer, closer…”

Just as your fingers are about to make contact with the blanket to pull it off, Bridget lurches forward, taking your troublesome hand in hers as she leads you away, towards the other side of the room with a nervous giggle.

“Come on!” you exclaim with a huff. “What’s so bad about what you’re doing that you don’t want to show me?”

“It’s not bad!” Bridget counters. “It’s just…look, you’ll find out what it is soon. Just give me some time, okay?”

“Hmm…” you hum, glancing upwards with faux consideration. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait that long.” A small, cheeky grin dances on your face as you try to conceal it with a feigned pout.

Bridget shoots you a look, a small smile finally spreading across her lips. “What were we talking about again? That’s right, History of World Magic. So, what were you saying?”

You notice the sudden—and rather forced—attempt to change the subject, but ultimately decide to brush it off. “Yeah, I was saying how Mr. Poirier is so unfair when it comes to grading! And his tests are always so hard. Like, seriously, he makes up test questions that he never even talked about during class. He just expects us to memorize the whole textbook or something.”

Bridget gives a small, rueful shrug. “Well, I guess he just wants us to learn the information well.” You shoot her a sharp look, one that screams, "Seriously? You’re defending him?"

“Hey, I have an idea!" Bridget exclaims, eyes lighting up again. "How about tomorrow, after school, we go to the library and study for the test? With both our minds put together, we’re a lot less likely to miss something. After all, two heads are better than one. You aren’t busy or anything, right?”

You shake your head no, although it does pass your mind how Bridget must already know that you never have any plans besides the ones she makes with you. “’Kay, study session tomorrow sounds good. Although we’re probably going to be there till midnight. I mean, seriously, who assigns one test on four different chapters?”

Just as you launch into yet another rant about your insensitive teacher whom you practically despise at this point, a deep, low horn sounds from somewhere out in the hallway, reverberating against the walls.

Both you and Bridget glance up at the clock on her wall, which is custom-made in the shape of a pink heart surrounded by a white rim, now with its glittery hands pointing at ten and twelve.

“How is it curfew already?” you groan, rolling your eyes. “Guess I have to head back to my room.” Many times, you’ve contemplated requesting to move in with Bridget, so you two can officially be roommates. After all, you practically are, with the way that people always knock on Bridget’s door first when asking for you (although that seldom happens, and the few rare times it has, it’s always been on a teacher’s behest). But every time you start to consider it, your mind plummets back into that dark place, the belief rooted deep into your consciousness whispering that you’d just burden Bridget with your inescapable presence and occupied space.

“Aw, well, I’ll see you tomorrow in class! And at the library!” Bridget says as she walks you to the door, her constant smiling shining through once again.

You both bid each other goodnight, and as you walk the familiar solitary path back to your room, the absence of Bridget’s cheerful and bright energy is achingly present. It’s as if a piece of you was stripped away, torn from your very being and leaving you numb and hollow, merely a void of fleeting emotions just out of your grasp. Like the sun disappearing during an eclipse, leaving everyone shrouded in darkness as they await its return, you feel as though your very liveliness is missing from you. You glide down the hallways soundlessly like a ghost, your body nothing more than a shell of the exuberance brought out by the girl who’s constantly emanating pure, unbridled positivity.

Despite your feelings of emptiness, a soft ray of warmth settles onto your soul as memories of the evening, and every other moment you spent in Bridget’s company, replay in your mind. You still hear her melodious laugh, still see the bright sparkle in her eyes only displayed in someone who has not yet been dulled by the merciless, unsparing nature of the world.

Even though she’s not there, you still feel as though she is, carrying a piece of her deep in your heart while you reminisce over your memories, as you always do when you’re in the quiet loneliness of your own company. Even though she’s not there, your heart races at the mere thought of her: her gaze as she listens intently to what you have to say, the way her arms wrap around your torso and how her hair tickles your neck as she gives you a tight, enthusiastic hug.

Even though she’s not there, a shadow of her presence forever lingers in your heart and mind, leaving you yearning to bask in her warm glow again.

You step into the library the next day, after the final bell dismisses you from your last lesson. The library is one of your favorite places in the entire school—aside from Bridget’s room, of course. The peaceful retreat of the rows of dusty shelves and worn, rickety tables is unmatched. The tranquility of the gentle silence that always covers the area like a blanket, the smell of weathered books holding untold quantities of knowledge soothing you with the smallest whiff. Whenever you step across that threshold, it’s like being taken into a different dimension, one with fewer heavy burdens weighing down your shoulders and more blissful ease, a feeling one only reaches when in an untroubled state of mind.

No one looks at you as you walk in, not even sparing a single glance or the slightest movement that acknowledges your arrival. Not that that’s an unusual feeling for you.

You make your way down the aisles of books to your usual table, where you and Bridget always sit, standing in a secluded corner. The book bag slung over your shoulder is weighed down with all the books and notes stuffed into it, causing your arm to ache with strain. Grimacing as the hemp strap painfully digs into your shoulder, certainly leaving a mark that you’ll discover later, you mentally hurl a few obscenities at your teacher for his absurd teaching methods that make your bag so heavy.

However, as you move towards the table, you can see that there’s already some foreign object placed on top of it. A shocked, annoyed anger sizzles inside of you, vexation pumping through your veins at the thought of someone stealing your table. Sure, it doesn’t actually belong to you, and everyone has an equal right to choose any seat they desire, but it’s still your preferred spot and any other one would feel disconcerting and out of place.

As you near, now silently directing your colorful words towards the table thief, you begin to notice that no one else is around; nor do you see any materials on the table besides the peculiar item, which appears to be a small plastic container.

You approach the box, noticing that there’s a small, fuchsia-colored note stuck to the top as you get closer. Instantly, you recognize the handwriting, the half-cursive swirls and loops paired with the little hearts topping all the i’s instead of dots engraved into your brain.

“Dear Y/N,

I’m so so sooo sorry, but someone had an emergency and I had to go help them! I feel really bad for leaving you, and I promise I’ll make it up to you!

For now, I made you some treats as an apology (and to help make studying a little more bearable). Sorry again! I hope you enjoy them!

Love always,

Bridget

You smile at the little heart drawn next to her name, a staple of her signature. Opening the lid of the container, you see that sure enough, it’s stocked with plenty of macarons, a multitude of colors and flavors beckoning at you to try them.

You sigh as you grab a chair to sit in, the small wave of relief that washes over you soon overshadowed by the returning feeling of loneliness, rekindling inside of you like a greeting from an old friend you haven’t seen in a while. You reside in its arms with a comfort brought not by the warmth of a tender hug that soothes your pain and fills the hollow void residing in you, but instead by the ease of familiarity, the peace obtained when the outcome is a cruel one, yet one you foresaw. The security granted by basking in the solace of numbing arms wrapped around you, the feeling of being all alone and undesired, unwanted, something you’ve grown all too accustomed to.

Once again, you’re given a painful reminder of how popular Bridget is, how many other friends she has. How at the end of the day, you're simply an option, a choice she chooses to make. One that she can always change in the blink of an eye.

But you know that you can’t really be disappointed or feel so rejected because of this. After all, it's not like you can expect her to not have a life outside of you—ignoring the fact that you don’t really have a life outside of her. It would be selfish of you to want her to yourself all the time, right?

Readjusting your chair closer to the table, you remind yourself that it’s nice enough of her to even remember your plans, much less take the time to stop by here and leave you a note explaining her absence, in addition to a sweet—both figuratively and literally—gift. She could have just forsaken you with no note, no warning. But then again, that’s simply not the type of person Bridget is. If she knew just how much her presence affects you, how she fills your days with a joy, a happiness so pure and unparalleled by everything and everyone else, you’re almost certain she’d never leave your side again.

To her, you’re just another friend, someone she enjoys seeing. To you, she’s your sun, the very being you revolve around and depend on to survive.

She truly is your everything.

The mouthwatering macarons eyeing you through the clear plastic invite you to take a bite, and you indulge yourself as you rip off the lid and relish in the soft crunch of the outer layers and the smooth flavors bursting within, reminding you of something akin to a dessert sandwich.

After munching on quite a few of them—you simply couldn’t help yourself, they were absolutely delicious—you begrudgingly heave your bag onto the table, pulling out the materials you so diligently packed.

You crack open your textbook to the first chapter, then your notebook to the first blank page. Ripping a sheet out from the spine, you place it down next to your notes. Every time you write something in your notebook, you copy it down on the empty page.

After all, you couldn’t let Bridget’s kindhearted nature get in the way of her good grades. Even if it did mean more grueling work on your part.

For her, you are willing to do anything. Just to see her beam at you again with those rosy lips, the sparkle in her eyes twinkling brightly at you. Reminding you that you’re the cause behind her happiness.

No matter the cost for you.

The sea of faces and bodies in front of you is slightly overwhelming, blurred flashes passing you as you struggle to find your way through the crowd. But then, your eyes snatch on a head of pink curls bouncing up and down animatedly, and instantly, you’re washed over with a wave of relief. Slipping through the cracks between the meandering crowd, you make your way over to the table Bridget is sitting at today in the Dining Hall.

“Hey,” you say gingerly, placing a hand on her shoulder to get her attention as you approach her from behind.

Bridget twists her head back, face visibly lighting up at the sight of you. “Y/N!” she exclaims, scooting over and excitedly patting the space next to her.

You take your seat, turning to face her. “Uh, so, about yesterday…”

Your plan was to thank her for the macarons and the thoughtful note, but before you get the chance, her eyes widen at your words as her face erupts in a look of deep penitence. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Fay was trying a new spell and accidentally burned half her hair off…” Her face contorts to a look of serious shock and concern, probably reimagining the scene.

“I know that’s no excuse though! I felt so bad for bailing on you, that I stayed up all last night just to finish this…”

She turns around and bends over her seat, reaching into her bag on the floor. She grabs something, then twists back around to you, clutching the mysterious object tightly in her hand.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands!” she instructs, vibrant with pulsating enthusiasm. A bit tentatively, you do as she says, putting your cupped palm out in front of you as you shut your eyes.

You feel a small, very solid object get placed in your hands (So not a new dessert to try, you think with only the slightest tinge of disappointment). But that all dissipates as soon as Bridget exclaims, “You can open them now!”

Your eyes flutter open, gaze pointed downwards towards your palms. Immediately, a tender surge of awe floods your heart, making its pace quicken as it beats rapidly. Your heart throbs with such a profound gratitude you worry it’s going to burst any second from how touched you feel.

You pick up the chain placed in your cupped hands, an elated smile breaking through as you take in the bracelet Bridget gave you. Decorated with numerous charms, you take the time to study all of them carefully, running your fingers over the meticulous hand-crafted details as you realize the significance of each one.

They’re not random designs chosen simply for aesthetic purposes; no, each one resembles something, either about you or your relationship with Bridget. A clear-cut gemstone of your favorite color placed next to a small depiction of your favorite animal both hang off the chain. Then there’s a metallic red apple symbolizing the one time you two went apple picking at an orchard; a little set of playing cards with the same design at the deck she used when she first taught you how to play; a small face of a gray kitten with white whiskers, resembling the one you two saved from an incredibly high and strangely twisted tree the first time you visited Wonderland.

Nevertheless, the finest of them all is the pink, glittery heart that sits right in the middle. Embellished on its surface is a fancy cursive B next to your first initial, conjoined with a small plus sign.

An everlasting symbol of your intimate bond.

Your mouth is fully agape, eyes round as saucers and eyebrows arched in a mix of nearly tangible astonishment and disbelief as you turn the bracelet around in your hands over and over, examining each charm with a sharp, precise eye. Bridget sits in quiet anticipation, holding her breath as she awaits any kind of reaction that can give her even a glimmer of an idea as to how you feel.

“Remember when you were asking me about the stuff on my desk the other day and I said I'd show you soon?” she asks, breaking the thick silence that has grown to be unbearable for her. “Well, I was working on this as a surprise for you. And, I mean, I felt so bad for leaving you yesterday that I wanted to give it to you today as a little apology.”

Your gaze finally breaks away from the bracelet, meeting Bridget’s jittery eyes. Before she can even process what’s happening, the next thing she knows you’ve lurched forward, arms wrapping so tightly around her body that she struggles to even breathe.

After she gets over the initial wave of shock, Bridget’s wide eyes melt into a compassionate smile, returning the embrace. You hug her firmly, getting lost in the moment and not letting go until you hear a little, “I can’t breathe,” paired with a soft tap on your back, drawing you out of your daze as you realize you’re practically smothering her.

“Oh! I-I’m sorry!” you exclaim, drawing back quickly and examining her figure with knitted brows, making sure she’s alright. “I just…I love it so much! It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me!”

Bridget gives a bubbly laugh, eyes matching her grin as she says, “Oh, it really was nothing. I mean, you’re a princess. I’m sure you’ve gotten much nicer things.”

Smiling, you don’t mention how even the most lavish of luxuries, the most exorbitant of material goods only the finest money can buy, all pale into nonexistence when compared to her gift. The thought, the care, the hours of painstaking work and dedicated moments spent carefully crafting, all for you, is simply unfathomable and impossible to match. You may be holding a small bracelet worth not even a tenth of the simplest of rings you normally get gifted by your family, but to you, it’s worth more than every mansion and diamond in the whole world.

You shake your head left and right, tears of joy brimming and threatening to spill as you lean into Bridget for yet another hug (this time making sure not to squeeze her quite so hard). You know that later, you’ll probably lie in bed and wince at your brashness in this moment, hands covering your flustered face as you toss and turn in embarrassment—but for right now, you’re too swept up in your emotions to care.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” you exclaim, pulling away once again to reach into your bag this time. Retrieving a stack of papers neatly stapled, with lines and lines of orderly notes written in meticulous handwriting, you hand them to Bridget. “I figured since you probably wouldn’t have the time to take notes for the test, I took them for you.”

This time, it’s Bridget’s turn to be flustered from your benevolent gesture. “You really didn’t have to!” she cries, a stunned expression painted on her face as she flips through the numerous pages of detailed notes. She peers back up to meet your gaze with a swirl of shock and delight, her gently creased eyes and the lines on her forehead displaying her inner thoughts. Bridget often wears her emotions on her sleeve, and from sharing countless hours with her, you’ve learned to interpret her facial expressions so well you can practically read her mind. And through her gaze, you can see how she’s in disbelief at the thought that, despite your hatred for the subject and assignment—which you made very well-known—you still spent twice the time you had to on it, just for her.

“Well, I guess we’re even now,” you casually add, saving Bridget from having to formulate a response—you can clearly tell she’s having difficulty putting her emotions into words.

She shakes her head ardently from side to side, her springy curls bouncing vibrantly. “No, we still lost the time we were supposed to spend together! And I did promise I’d make it up to you.”

Before you can open your mouth to tell her that she’d made it up plenty, her head swivels to the side. You follow her gaze to a wide window a few meters away, the bright rays of sun poking out through the clouds and casting golden stripes on the table in front of you.

Her head snaps back towards you, the light in her eyes burning bright as she enthusiastically suggests, “I heard the weather is really nice this weekend! How about we go on a picnic?”

“A picnic?” you repeat inquisitively. You don’t know what you were expecting, but this certainly surprised you.

“Yeah!” Bridget’s talking quickens, the glimmer in her eyes shining brighter as she continues while the vague idea solidifies in her mind. “It’ll be a lot more fun than another study session. I can make the food and you can bring the stuff! The fields just south of here are a popular spot. It’s going to be so much fun!”

She squeals as she claps her hands together. You match her smile, her enthusiasm once again infecting you. “Picnic it is, then,” you reply, grinning as she beams at your approval.

A subtle sigh slips past your lips, unnoticed by Bridget. The same way you always wish she didn’t miss how you look at her, pure adoration and devotion mirrored in your gaze, staring at her as if she created the skies and stars with her own two hands. Which she really did—at least in your universe.

A soft breeze blows against your face, tenderly caressing your cheeks as leaves rustle overhead, whispering to the wind of secrets unheard. The sky is a clear, vibrant blue, all but a few clouds lazily drifting by. Sunshine filters through the branches, casting dappled patterns of light over the checkered blanket beneath you. Birds somewhere in the treetops chatter and sing their pleasing songs, weaving a tapestry of notes that paint the horizon with harmonious brushstrokes. The grass sways gently, mirroring the serene breathing of the landscape.

Everything is tranquil, from the fluttering of butterfly wings to the laughter that sounds from pink lips, like the most melodious of music to your ears. The conversation isn’t that important to you; trivial, inconsequential topics that you really couldn’t care less for. But what truly matters is the way her eyes fill with the purest of sparkles, the way she doubles over as she giggles, the breeze brushing her captivatingly gorgeous curls out of her face.

There’s nothing in the world you would trade for this moment, this sliver in time where you are completely at peace. Where not a single care or worry can reach you, not when the only thing on your mind is how much your heart swells with pure affection, how simply perfect the girl in front of you is.

After she manages to catch her breath from laughing, Bridget meets your gaze—one that is directed at her, but isn’t really looking at her. Your eyes are distant, the unwavering smile on your speaking volumes of emotions.

“Those sandwiches were really good, weren’t they?” she asks you, referring to the special-made lunch that you two had just finished.

You nod, still grinning at her with a persistent gaze. “They were great, Bridget. Nothing that you make could ever taste anything less than delicious.”

She blushes, swatting at your arm playfully. “Hey, that’s not true!”

You laugh, sitting up from how you were previously lying on your back. Catching Bridget’s hand in midair, you reply, “Well, it is, because I don’t lie.”

“Oh? Since when?” she asks, mirth dancing on her features.

“Since always.” You feign annoyance at her accusations, your smile still shining through.

“Ah! Speaking of food, I have something special for you.”

You hum in surprise, watching as Bridget reaches over to your woven picnic basket. She shuffles closer to you, to the point where her knees almost brush against your thigh, with how she’s sitting cross-legged and you with your legs outstretched whilst leaning on one arm.

Opening the lid, her hand disappears inside for a moment before reemerging with a singular cupcake, topped with a swirly pastel pink frosting and decorated with small sprinkles in shades of white and red.

“This is a new recipe,” she explains, holding the treat out to you. “I made it with this super rare flower essence, shipped straight from Wonderland. Let’s just say I gave the batter a lick, and I think it’s my best creation yet.”

“You haven’t tried it yet?” you ask, moving to sit in a position similar to Bridget’s as you accept the dessert.

“Nope! I wanted you to have the first bite.”

Your smile only grows wider, now stretching from ear to ear, an undeniable sense of glee emanating from you. You’d normally argue with her, telling her that she really didn’t need to do something like this. But from all those failed attempts you’ve only learned that Bridget never listens, always putting you first time and time again. So, this time, you simply take a bite, nearly melting away again as the flavors hit.

The frosting has a sugary, saccharine taste, the sprinkles adding a delightfully contrasting texture to the creamy richness of the pink swirl. The cake below it is soft and moist, as if eating a fluffy cloud. The vanilla flavor is smooth, an undercurrent that balances out the sweetness. There’s a slight twinge from a distinct flavor as well, something you’ve never tasted and can’t quite put your finger on. The same way that coffee elevates the taste of chocolate, this special ingredient brings out the sweetness of the vanilla, balancing out the sugar of the frosting. Every mouthful is incredibly light and absolutely delectable, making each moment it graces your taste buds feel like an indulgent bite of heaven.

“So? How is it?” Bridget asks as your eyes swiftly open. Her anticipation lingers in the air, along with your awaited response.

But you barely hear her words, too focused on how the color of the frosting perfectly matches her delicate, roseate lips. They’re so gentle, yet lush, almost forming the most endearing of pouts.

Eyes darting from her eyes, to her lips, back up to her wide, doe eyes again, you throw caution to the wind and spring forward. Your hands move in front of you, supporting your weight as you lean in.

Your lips make contact with her velvety ones, which are even smoother than you imagined. A stolen kiss, lasting but a moment, yet enwrapped by the tender caress of your mouth, the purest of affections seeping in as you hold her lips between yours, then draw back for the briefest pause.

Eyes locked with her wide, expressive ones as you linger a mere inch away from her face, you respond to her earlier question.

“Delicious and incredibly sweet. Just like you.”

end x

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sorcerous-caress · 1 year ago

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Faux Innocence | Halsin

[Smut, purity kink, slightly toxic Halsin, Durge reader, nb!reader]

Halsin has developed a false impression of who you are. Despite being a bhaalspawn, you were the picture of purity in his eyes and he let his urges to corrupt you take over.

If someone were to ask Halsin what true purity was, he'd merely point in your direction.

For how could anything else compare to you? How could the petals of a budding spring flower compete with you? Not even the sweet nectar of a honeysuckle rivals the sweetness of your innocence.

Is what he sincerely believed, constantly preached and defended with vigour against any conflicting view or opinion someone had of you.

He might have not gotten to know you much, but from what he has seen and through all the troubles you went through to help him and his grove, to help cure this land from its curse and save a child of nature, he has a solidified view about you.

A maniac? A murder? A bhaalspawn? Halsin will soon believe that the sun was blue rather than these blatant lies. You couldn't hurt a fly if you tried, you were the picture of a meek newborn deer in his eyes.

No matter how many times your companions attempted to tarnish his glass stained picture of you, it would never shatter.

Yet you accepted his advances, his proposition in broad daylight. Halsin was sure of one thing that day, and it's that you might have been even more naive than he thought you were, to allow a man you've barely known to bed you so easily.

It almost felt sinful of him to wait for you in the woods that night. His neglected cock throbbing and aching against his clothes, tip leaking pearly white droplets at the thought of your wide eyed stare and sweet smile when you finally arrived.

He was gentle, he really tried to be as gentle as he could. The most careful and delicate he has been in his entire lifetime, a stark contrast to his wild nature and usual intense sexual experiences.

Speaking slowly, softly. Allowing you space and asking you if you're sure multiple times in an almost condensing way. The man would coo at your endearing enthusiasm as he patted your head, amused by your innocence.

Your companions really don't know you at all huh? Spinning false tales of you allowing a priest of loviatar to whip and inflict pain on you so publicly, claiming you were flirting with the devil women after Wyll. They even had the audacity to imply that blood and gore turn you on!

These thoughts only make him chuckle, he has never heard anything so bizarre in his life before.

Halsin picks you up, you fit perfectly into his big arms. The urge to protect you, keep you in his embrace from this scary world that would devour you at the first sign of weakness. It's a miracle that someone as sweet and innocent as you managed to remain pure for so long.

As much as he wants to push you against the tree, he fears its bark might be too harsh for your delicate skin. He only wishes for your utmost comfort as he trails up your neck. Giving your forehead a tender peck before pressing his lips against yours, his tongue politely and wordlessly asking permission for your lips to part.

The kiss is slow, tender, and drives him crazy. He is using all of his self restraint, burying every depraved perverted instinct of his deep down being so careful not to tighten his grip around you.

You're like a fragile fledgling of a hummingbird that entrusted him with its delicate wings.

He asks permission before removing your clothes, swallowing down his saliva at the idea of finally seeing your naked body.

He interprets your casual nod as a sign of being embarrassed, what a timid shy thing you are. May Silvanus grant his soul mercy and give him strength for he is barely holding back. His cock painfully hard and left ignored for the sake of you.

The night is warm and calm, the perfect atmosphere to slowly strip you down. The moonlight illuminating your breathtaking figure as his large hands glide down your soft body.

You belong in a soft bed with featherly pillows, he thinks, covered in silk and veiled by white lace. Maybe even a nest of wool or cotton, as delicate and as precious as an egg, you deserved the same protection.

When he reached between your legs, his breath stopped for a second. Eyes drinking in your most intimate parts on display for him. How he longed to drink you up, swallow you like honey down his throat.

You deserve a hot wet mouth to grind into each night, both to wake you up in the early morning with his head between your legs, and to put you to sleep late at night with your thighs above his shoulders.

Before he realises it, his lips are already on you. Sucking and licking against your heat with the hunger of a dying man. You tasted like pure ambrosia and he was getting addicted.

Nothing could pull him away from you at that moment, no one could convince him to let go before you had your orgasm. How sweet your moans sounded as he drove his tongue further in, as he sucked and swallowed.

And when you held his hand, when you entangled your fingers with his instead of pulling on his hair, he almost came untouched. This simple innocent act of holding hands while he devoured you on his knees, while he shamelessly let his gluttony take charge, it drove him mad with lust.

That hand could never hold a knife or a dagger, he thought, there is no way these delicate fingers could handle a weapon. They were made to be held, to be kissed and to be pinned down.

The melody of your moans echoed through the night, getting louder as you approached release. Halsin felt a sense of pride when he saw the hints of tears at the corner of your eyes, what an intense experience his simple act must have been for someone as pure as you.

“Halsin…please” you breathlessly said, “I'm close, I'm…”

Your next words, asking his permission to cum, were his last straw.

For your orgasm never came. Halsin pulled his mouth away with a wet pop as his primal urges took over. Picking you up again and bending you against his chest, your legs over his shoulder as he kept you in the air.

“Please bear with me, I deeply apologise for this.” you felt something large prop your entrance, his eyes were glazed over.

He's an awful man, he thinks as he plunges his cock into your wet hole. He couldn't resist, he couldn't control himself, he couldn't not be greedy and selfish against your temptations.

The sudden intense change of position, the sudden insertion and the large cock pumping in and out of you with a trail of precum painting your walls, was more than enough to send you over the edge.

Your previous denied orgasm coming back twice as strong. Halsin kept fucking you through your release, pace never slowing down as you cried in pleasure and and your insides squeezed him fist tight.

Drool slipped from the corner of your lips, pleasure clouding your brain and making everything look hazy. Halsin lapped it up with the look of a hungry wolf about to devour its prey, kissing you again and pushing you down deeper onto his cock.

He wanted to ruin you, to steal your purity so it's his forever, to share his filthy fantasies with you until you're as much of a pervert as he is. To fuck each and every one of your holes, to fill you with his cum and bulge your stomach.

Apology after apology were whispered against your lips between each kiss, his brutal pace sending you into overwhelming sensitivity from your fresh orgasm. You could only hold on to his strong chest as you were used like a flashlight, fucked and made to cum so easily by the arch-druid.

The idea of keeping you on his cock forever stirs something dark inside him, to have you warming his cock each moment of the day. To stretch you out on it and bounce you slowly until you cum yourself to sleep, have you all pretty and ready on his lap to be fucked. He would protect you, he would treasure you and he would show you what's your true purpose.

Instead of having to worry about you each time you went out on these adventures, never taking him with you and coming back covered in blood courtesy to your careless companions no doubt. How could they let someone so meek and innocent even see the sight of blood?

You're crying his name, hugging him closer to you. Moving your hips as much as you can to match his pace. Even now you're indulging this selfish man's desires? Fucking yourself against him so he'd give you his cum faster? You really are a sweet thing aren't you. The most adorable person he has ever met.

He was never one to abuse his authority or power, but something tells him if you were a cute fresh druid in training in the grove, he would've made you his personal assistant since day one. Gave a million excuses and reasons on why it should be him to train you, to hold you and show you the proper positions to cast spells, to give you the permission to visit the arch-druid chambers any time.

But maybe even nature is too brutal for you. The sight of that bloodied brutalised squirrel just above the elevator still confuses him to this day, apparently animals can still be hostile whilst in a safe sanctuary like the grove. At least he fully assumed it was another animal that had taken its life.

And Halsin will make sure you never see that side of nature, only the most soft and cherry picked ascents. Have you tending to the flowers and caring for the baby bunnies. Maybe, feeding the kittens seems much more your style.

Your cries pull him out of his fantasy of what a different life with you could've been. There are tears going down your eyes from the intense pleasure and the most cute hiccups and pleads for him to please fill you with his cum, to please push his cock deeper in.

How could he ever say no? It would be criminal to deny you anything.

Halsin was already on edge for so long, it only takes a couple more kisses against your neck, a touch of your curious fingers against his pointy ears and he's spilling his seed inside you. Marking you with his cum and filling you the brim.

His cock pulses inside you as it empties itself, he keeps it plugging you and not allowing a single drop of his cum to escape.

Looking at your eyes, he wonders what you're thinking about in that pure mind of yours. Completely unaware to the depravity of gore inside, to your wandering thoughts about snapping his neck, to your dark urges for him to choke you with his large fists as he fucks you against the harshest tree.

No, instead he kisses your forehead. Smiling as sweat glistens on his skin, he keeps you on his lap.

#♡Halsin #♡smut #♡top Halsin #♡bottom reader #♡durge reader #halsin x reader #Halsin smut #smut #toxic relationship #durge reader #bg3 smut #nb!reader

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me-and-your-husband · 2 years ago

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if you lie down with me || e.w.

summary: there's one thing you and ellie don't have in common: immunity.

warnings: not beta read, swearing, blood, canon typical violence, death by suicide, ellie has concerning ideations, smut, oral, scissoring, multiple orgasms, angst!, crying during sex, arguing, probably more

word count: 6k

a/n: i know, i'm sorry for using this photo 😭 actually i'm sorry i wrote this entire thing

The end never feels like the end, does it? When you wake in the morning, the air is as fresh as the day before and the sun streams through the window at the same angle. You smile fondly at the incessant banging on your door, and at her urging tone when she tells you to get out of bed. “We have patrol,” she says, like she's said a thousand times before. What makes today any different?

The gravel road feels the same as it crunches under your boots as she leads you to the gate. Her auburn hair shines the same in the light, the same way you've admired since you were fourteen and she had just settled in Jackson.

You were helping out in the library, arms full of books stacked above your head. You struggled trying to keep them up with one hand and shelve them with the other. She noticed you from the corner, where she sat with a pile of beaten comics and a Walkman. “Need some help?” she asked, standing up from her spot on the ground. She took half the books from your pile and put them wherever you told her. After, when you asked her about the comics she was reading, her face lit up and she knew that you'd be a part of her life until death. Finally, someone was interested in knowing her.

The friendly faces of the watchmen at the gate were the same as they were yesterday, a week ago, a month ago, a year. They waved at you and wished you good luck as you mounted your horse and rode alongside Ellie onto the trail. The way she shoved her pistol in her back pocket and slung her bow over her shoulders was always the same. The way your horse galloped evenly alongside Shimmer did not deviate from the norm.

When she spoke up, her words were usual.

“Look, babe. A hummingbird,” she said with glee, pointing to the frosty trees.

You smiled at her excitement. “Poor thing, it's so cold out.”

“Don't you remember?”

“Of course I remember, El,” you laughed. “How could I forget?”

How could you forget? It was a humid summer afternoon, shortly after Ellie had turned sixteen. You had snuck out of Jackson to explore a creek you had found the day prior on group patrol. You so badly wanted to show Ellie, to share every part of you with her. You didn't know what to call it, but you assumed it was just because you were really good friends.

The soft rush of the water and the gentle breeze across your skin contrasted to the beating sun plastering your hair to your skin. You and Ellie sat with your backs against a wide oak, watching minnows skip through the water.

“Do you think animals have feelings? Like us?” Ellie thought out loud.

You hummed, “I do, but not as complicated as ours.”

She nodded in agreement before her eyes drifted to the source of a new sound, a gentle humming. She saw the gentle bird sucking nectar from a flower, tapping your shoulder gently and pointing.

“Look, a hummingbird,” she whispered.

“Woah!” You beamed, “I’ve only seen them in those nature books in the library. That's so cool. Did you know the sound actually comes from its wings?”

As you watched the hummingbird, she watched you. “It’s really pretty.”

You agreed. She said your name, but looked away from you.

“Yeah?”

“I think I like girls.”

You let the words settle in the air.

“I think I do too.”

It was the first indication that something else could happen between you and her, something less platonic than you would've thought. After that, neither of you said anything about it, confident in the fact that something more could exist in the spaces between.

It was the same confidence you had today as you followed her through the Wyoming woods, putting your trust in her. You took the same path almost every time you went out on patrol, knowing your way around, knowing the landmarks of the area. You knew you were getting close to the danger zone when you saw your favourite tree, the one you and Ellie would lean against by the creek, telling each other secrets into the night, crossing your heart to never tell another soul. Each of you knew that the other’s soul was the only one that mattered, anyways.

It was just over a year ago that you’d both carved your initials into that tree, reminders of that early morning on patrol bringing a smile to your face.

You had stopped for a moment to take a short break against the tree, letting your horses get some rest. Ellie leaned up against the tree as you pet Shimmer. The sun shone despite the snow and the brisk weather, illuminating your features gently. She admired the curve of your lips and the shape of your eyes, imagining her fingers tracing your skin under lamplight late at night. You looked up at her when your name tumbled from her lips.

“Yeah?” You said, continuing to pet Shimmer.

“I like you.”

The air stilled and your hand faltered, breath hitching. But what if she didn’t mean it like that?

You forced a laugh. “Well, I’d hope so. We’ve been friends for how long?”

“No, I…” she struggled for the right words. “I want to be more than friends. I like you. Like…romantically. And stuff.”

She played with her fingers, shuffling her feet back and forth in the snow, not meeting your gaze.

“Ellie, look at me. Please,” you whispered. She raised her eyes to yours, but still kept her head low, not bringing it up until your hand cupped her jaw. She moved her hand on top of yours, trapping it there, wondering if it was just a dream.

She closed her eyes tight when she saw you leaning in, praying that you weren't messing with her. When she finally felt your lips ghosting across hers, she leaned into you. Your touch was fire on her skin, leaving a red blush in its wake. She pressed your mouth to hers hungrily, never wanting this to end.

“I like you too,” you mumbled against her lips.

When you finally broke for air, chests heaving, you were both beaming. Ellie nervously reached into her pocket for her pocket knife, flicking it open. She held the blade against the bark of the tree, grabbing our hand and putting it on the hilt, sliding hers over top of it.

She guided your hand as you carved your initials into the tree, trapping them inside of a heart. It was cliche, but it meant everything to you.

It was the same tree that, a year later, you and Ellie passed on almost every patrol. The same tree that symbolized your everlasting love for each other. The same tree that stood since the dawn of your and Ellie’s time.

You rode casually in comfortable silence until you got to the watchtower, negative memories plaguing both you and Ellie. The floorboards still held the echoes of your voices yelling, still soaked in your tears.

Four months ago, when the rabbits were still brown and the path was clear of snow, you'd come through this watchtower to find two clickers. It caught you both off guard, as Jesse and Dina had just cleared it as safe the day before.

Ellie, always being the hero, snuck up behind one, taking it out easily, and lunged at the other. The second one, however, pinned her to the ground, and she held it by the neck, its arms clawing hers.

The sound of your pistol rang out as the body slumped on top of Ellie. She rolled it off and got up from the ground, chest heaving.

“Well,” she said, brushing dirt from her jeans, “that was pretty close. Thanks.”

When you didn't respond, she turned to see you standing with your pistol still in both hands, brows furrowed as you watched the dead body of the clicker intently. She called your name.

“What is it?”

You shook your head.

“Come on, tell me-”

“Every fucking time, Ellie,” you said, shoving your pistol back in your pocket and turning away from her. “Why do you have to run head-first into danger like that every time?”

She didn't say anything, gaze on your back as she watched you turn back around.

“What would I have done if you had gotten bit?” You said, voice a little watery. “Say something.”

She stumbled over her words, not knowing what to say. “I don't try to, you know, it’s just…” she sighed.

“You know, Ellie, sometimes I think that I value your life more than you do.”

The words hung in the air between you two, both of you knowing that you were right. Knowing that she could've been more, done so much more, saved so many people. But she was stripped of that. So what kind of meaning could she give to her life? What did she really have to live for? Before Joel, she never really had someone she knew would care if she died. Now she had you, and she didn't know how her recklessness would affect you. Now she did.

“Okay, you're right. I’m too reckless. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll start thinking before I react,” she said, voice softening.

You huffed, “I just worry about you, El. I don't know what I’d do without you.”

She hugged you tight, letting you nuzzle into her chest. She knew how you felt. Before you, she was hopeless. She didn't see a point in doing anything if her life couldn't be used by someone. What was it all for? Everything she'd struggled through? All she'd suffered?

Now she knew that she was forced to experience it all so that she could end up with you. And she’d do it a million times over.

She breathed your name. “I need to tell you something.”

You pulled away from her, “Well that's one way to start a conversation.”

She laughed nervously. “No, it's nothing bad. It's just…it might be hard to swallow.”

She gestured at an old, ratty chair. You sat and watched her intently.

She took a deep breath, drawing it into her lungs and releasing it. “Do you remember why I got my tattoo?”

“Yeah, to cover up that chemical burn.”

“I lied,” she said. “That's not why I got the tattoo.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, silently begging her to go on.

“When I was fourteen, I was bitten. On my arm.”

You sat back in your chair.

“I waited and waited for my mind to go, for my body to go, for anything to happen, but it never did. So…I’m immune, or whatever,” she said, searching for a reaction.

Seconds of silence passed. It was shattered with a laugh.

“That's a good one, Ellie. Real funny.”

“It’s true! Ask Joel. Tommy. Maria. They're the only ones who know…”

“And you expect me to believe this?”

“Just trust me. Please. It's all I ask, is for you to trust my word. Why would I lie to you about this?” She pleaded.

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Because Joel thinks it's dangerous for people to know. That's how we met, you know. He was hired to get me to the fireflies…they were going to make a cure,” she said, voice trailing off towards the end.

“It didn't work, I take it?”

She shook her head. “Joel says they didn't need me.” Joel says.

“Okay,” you said, making her look up at you. “I believe you. But that doesn't mean I’m fine with you running head-first into infected like that again. Just because you're…immune, doesn't mean you can't be torn apart. Got it?”

“Got it,” she said, crouching in front of you and putting her hands on your thighs. “God, I love you.”

You cleared out the watchtower and made your way back to the path. This part was one of your favourites, winding through the mountains. Your horses trotted casually beside each other.

“Okay, okay, here's one: What do you say when a chef dies?”

“Oh god, I don't know?”

“He pasta-way!” She said, giggling before she could even say the answer.

Her laughter was contagious, sending it bubbling through your chest. “That's so bad that it's good.”

“Come on, just admit that I’m a top-notch comedian. If the world wouldn't have ended, I’d’ve been up there with Dave Chapelle.”

“Who’s Dave Chapelle?”

“I don't actually know. Some old ass comedian Joel told me about.”

You both laughed, smiles painted across your faces. However, the giggles subsided as you felt your horse start to shake slightly.

“Woah, Shimmer, you okay girl?” Ellie said, patting her side.

“Beau’s shaking too.”

“Maybe they’ve got…I don't know, a cold or something? Can horses even get colds?” You shrugged. “Maybe we should let them rest for a bit.”

You agreed, dismounting your horse and planting your feet on the ground. The shaking underneath you didn’t stop. You looked at Ellie, who looked at the mountain behind you. She yelled your name as you looked behind you.

A loud, grating noise sounded as you watched the earth of the mountain loosen from its side, rocks and boulders tumbling from it, falling in your direction.

You hurriedly mounted your horses again, kicking their ribs to get them to go. You rode as fast as you could, attempting to beat the oncoming landslide. You'd never seen one before, only heard stories and read of them in books. You were about three quarters of the way through the mountain range when the land detached from the mountain and began to slide.

“Go, go, go!” You yelled, Ellie a few feet ahead of you as her horse was younger than Beau. She glanced behind her every few seconds to make sure you were still there.

The rocks falling created a settlement of dust around you, making it increasingly harder to breathe. You finally saw the green clearing outside of the mountain range. Almost there.

The grating noise died, and you peered behind you to see the path completely covered in rubble. A few boulders still tumbled from the mountain, or whatever was left of it.

“Watch out!” Ellie yelled. You looked to your right, seeing a massive boulder rolling down the mountain, coming right for you.

You acted before you could think, much like Ellie, and propelled yourself forward off your horse as the boulder hit Beau and rolled atop of his body. You landed on the ground near Ellie, propping yourself up on your elbows to gawk at the sight.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, running to Beau. His body was mangled, bones sticking out of the skin and blood painting the grass. You felt like vomiting.

Ellie dismounted her horse, still shaking from the adrenaline, and put her hands on your shoulders, attempting to get you standing.

“Wait,” you said, leaning back down, planting a teary kiss on Beau's muzzle.

You stood, holding her tight. “Let's never come through here again.”

“Don't think we can, sweetheart,” she said, looking back at the obstruction. “Come on, we've gotta find a new way back home.”

She was about to help you mount Shimmer when you both froze in your tracks. A low, husky groan rung out through the air, scaring Shimmer. She ran into the clearing out of fright.

“Shit,” Ellie breathed.

“We’ll find her later. Come on, we have to go. It's either a bloater or a shambler, and I don't really want to stick around to find out.”

You turned to leave when the ground shook again. You turned around, looking back at the mountain. It wasn't the mountain shaking this time. Spewing through the hole the landslide left like spiders were hundreds—if not thousands—of infected. Clickers, runners, stalkers, bloaters, shamblers. Everything.

There was no way you were making it out of this unless you legged it now.

In unison, you and Ellie started sprinting to your last checkpoint— the old cabin. You ran faster than you ever had before, the sounds of hungry infected hot on your heels. You couldn't feel your legs, the burning in your flesh too intense. When the cabin finally came into view, you couldn't even allow yourself a breath of relief. You and Ellie had your guns out, shooting behind you as you ran, picking off as many infected as you could. When you were close enough to the cabin, the idea hit you. You knew that the creaky boards of the cabin wouldn't hold that many infected off. You knew what you had to do.

“Ellie, cover me!” You yelled as you slung your backpack off your shoulder and grabbed what you'd need. You grabbed an old bottle of whiskey you and Ellie had found at the watchtower and a rag. Stuffing the rag in the bottle, you lit it with your lighter.

In the ten seconds it took you to do this, the infected crept closer and closer to you. Ellie tried picking off as many as she could, keeping them away from you. Until her magazine ran out.

You threw the molotov in front of the hoard of infected. It exploded, creating a wall of fire between you and your death.

Until a single clicker went at you from the side. The light of the fire flickered in your irises and cast an orange glow across your face, and you didn't even hear it creeping up amidst the roar of the flames. You didn't even hear Ellie yell your name.

It tackled you to the ground before you could even turn your head all the way, talons scratching your arms and legs, sinking into your stomach. Its jaw was inches away from your neck, begging to gnaw on your jugular. In the struggle for your life, you couldn't even tell where you were and weren't hurt, what was bleeding and what wasn't.

Blood gushed into your hair and eyes as you watched Ellie slice its head clean off with her pocketknife. The same one you'd carved your initials into that old oak with.

Something inside of you rattled knowing that something could be used so innocently and yet so dangerously.

Ellie picked you up from the ground and helped you limp into the cabin, reeds of grass tickling your wounds. When you entered, you stood in the centre of the room as she barricaded the entrances.

“There,” she said, returning to you. You were both coming off adrenaline, suddenly feeling the ache in your bones to an indescribable extent.

You put your hands on your knees and leaned on them, heaving a little. “Ellie. We were so close.”

She just nodded in understanding. Her eyes survey you from top to bottom. You had a scratch across your cheek, a few minor lacerations across your arms and chest, and a few on your legs. She couldn't see any bites.

You brought your right arm up to run it shakily through your hair. That's when she saw it, brutal and bloody, painted into your skin like a brand. One that would decide your fate. Except that it had already been decided.

The sight of the bite on your forearm turned her stomach. She blinked over and over again, hoping that she was seeing wrong. Maybe she was still coming off of adrenaline. “Your arm…” she breathed.

“What?” You asked, confused. You looked over your left, then your right, and…oh. “Oh.”

The silence was deafening. It wasn't like you'd been badly injured, still with a sliver of possibility for recovery. No, this bite sealed your fate.

In the next day, you were going to become something Ellie had to detest. Something she had to kill.

You felt the bile rise in your throat just in time to grab a decayed flower pot. You choked out everything in your stomach and more.

Ellie grabbed her stomach as she felt her body start to shake, that feeling creeping up her spine again. Her breath felt like it was being siphoned out of her. She needed air, but her lungs would not take any in. She hyperventilated as she threw herself back against the wall, legs giving out.

A sweat broke out across her body, knowing that she's losing you tonight.

Her mind shoved memories into her vision that she swore to never bring up again.

“There're a million ways we should've died before today. And a million ways we can die before tomorrow. But we fight…for every second we get to spend with each other. Whether it's two minutes…or two days. We don't give that up.”

She remembers the small, impossible slice of hope in Riley’s eyes, one that she knew was futile. Riley was her first love. She thought they were both going to die. She felt…horrible. You would be her last love, though she knew only you were fated to die. She knew she would die too.

Your voice calling her name broke her out of her fit. One look at you wiping your face and shaking was enough to make her want to break something, anything.

“Ellie,” you called. She stood and began pacing, running her hands over her face. “Ellie, stop it.”

“There's gotta be…there has to…we need…” she babbled, still pacing. An idea clicked, “give me your arm.”

You held out your shaking arm to your lover, expecting her to inspect the area. Instead, she took out her pocket knife and pressed the blade into her hand without any hesitation.

“Ellie! What the fuck?!” You said, trying to stop her hand from bleeding.

“Give me your arm,” she said firmly, a major contrast from before. When you hesitated, her hard gaze met yours. Her eyes softened when she saw the fear in your eyes. “Please,” she whispered.

You gave her your arm and let her rub her blood into the bite.

She took your arm and rubbed the blood into the bite knowing it wouldn’t work.

It wouldn't work on you.

She knew that.

She tried anyway.

As she massaged the blood as deep into the wound as she could get, all she could think about was that she would've been able to save you if they made the cure. Her life would've had meaning, so much meaning. She would've been able to cure you from this. But she was helpless, cursed to watch you suffer.

“Ellie,” you said, putting your hand atop hers to get her to stop and look at you. She could see in your eyes that you just needed to be close to her in that moment. She needed it too, needed to be impossibly closer as to grip into you forever.

She buried her head into your neck and you did the same, holding your breath. For if you breathed, time would pass. If time passed, you'd be gone.

You don't know how long you held each other like that, but it was long enough that your legs nearly collapsed with exhaustion. You were the first to speak.

“I need you to promise me something,” you whispered.

Ellie knew what you were going to say before the words left your mouth.

“No-” she began pulling away from you, but you squeezed her tighter.

“When it starts to happen…when I can feel it, I’m going to take my gun-”

“Stop it-”

“-and I’m going to go outside. You’ll know it's over-”

“-Stop-”

“-when you hear it. Just promise me you won't look.”

“Stop, please,” she begs, tears brimming in her eyes again. She takes a step back from you and turns around.

“Promise me.”

The words get caught in her throat. Her lip trembles. “Okay.”

Outside, rain starts to fall softly, tapping against the rotting wood of the cabin.

She breaks the new silence. “I should've been there. I should've taken my rifle out, anything-”

“El, it's not your fault. Look at me,” you say. She looks at you over her shoulder. You nearly crumble at her red eyes and wet cheeks. “Never blame yourself. You hear me?”

She just squeezes her eyes shut, willing for this to all go away.

You walk to her, putting your hands on her shoulders and leaning your forehead against her back. You tried not to look at the bite.

“Ellie.”

“Yeah.”

“Will you give me one last good night?”

The soft pattering of the rain against the wood, trickling off the roof and into the ground.

“Please?”

She says nothing, instead turning around and gently capturing your lips in a kiss. Your bloodied hands find her wet cheeks, noting that the tears haven't stopped.

Ellie wanted to give you everything you wanted and more, and she had sworn she would from the moment she met you. If this was the last thing you ever asked from her, she would give it to you.

But it was so unbelievably hard knowing that this time would be your last.

She pushed you back against the wall, nearly devouring you. The salty mix of your tears and hers slipped into the kiss, but you didn't care. She moved her hand down to cup you where you wanted her.

You bucked your hips into the friction, already needing her. You began to undo your belt, but Ellie’s hand on your wrist stopped you.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” She said, voice gravelly.

“Yes, El,” you said. “I don't know where I’ll be tomorrow, or…what I’ll be,” she let out a shaky breath, “but I know I want to be with you right now.”

She sniffled and nodded, getting on her knees to take your belt off. She threw it to the side, unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them down along with your panties. You opened your legs wider for her.

She ran two fingers through your slit before sinking one into your hole, tongue giving kitten licks to your folds.

You could tell that she wasn't going to be as vocal as usual.

You couldn't really blame her.

You whimpered as she added another finger, pumping them in and out of you, filling the air with obscene sounds. She lapped at your cunt, trying her hardest to give you what you want.

“Ellie, don't stop,” you moaned, whimpering when she used her other arm to hold your hips down against the wall. “Almost there.”

You could feel the coil tightening inside if you quickly, your climax coming in record time. You thought for a moment that it was because of how sensitive you were in this moment.

You moaned wantonly and grabbed her hair as you came, her tongue working on your clit and her fingers scissoring you open.

You expected her to stop, but she kept going. In fact, she added a third finger.

You heard her moan into your pussy, looking down to find her grinding into the floor, a wet spot forming on her jeans. She was so messy, your juices coating her face, red-rimmed eyes and messy hair, rutting into nothing and moaning into your cunt.

When the fabric of her jeans caught her clit just right, she took her mouth of your pussy, replacing it with her thumb instead, and leaned her forehead against your stomach. You came with her from the sensitivity, both of your moans filling the air, pleading for more.

When she laid you down on a thin blanket from her backpack and undressed both of you, you noted the scared look in her eyes. The way she looked at you, drinking you in, knowing this would be your last time together. Some part of you wished that neither of you knew about the bite, that you didn't have to treat this so differently. That you could enjoy it. Enjoy your last moments together.

She threw her leg over yours, kissing you messily, yet softly, as she ground into you, folds slotting against each other. You both moaned each time your clits touched.

As she grew closer to her climax, she buried her face into your neck. You tried to ignore the feeling of her tears trickling down and pooling at your nape.

You came together. You moaned, but she cried out, more guttural than you'd ever heard from her.

“I love you, I love you, I love you—!” she cried into your neck as she came.

When you slowed down, she held you like that without words.

“I love you too, Ellie,” you whispered, just loud enough for her to hear over the rain.

You held each other as the sun set, through the night, and through the rain.

The golden rays of the sun shone through the cracks in the walls and shudders, dancing across her bare body pressed into your side. Hours ago, her body had stopped shaking and her tears stopped spilling onto your chest, your hands running patterns across her skin lulling her into an exhausted sleep.

Your eyes had never closed, however. You knew you wanted to be awake to feel it happening, to know when you were losing control over your body. For Ellie’s sake.

The rain had stopped and the clouds were cleared. Birds sang outside and all the animals went about their day. You thought it strange that the world would continue on without you, that people will age and new ones will be born, that people will die and people will forget about you in time. Your impermanence had never struck you as hard as it did now.

You felt the twitching in your feet first, unnoticeable at first, but is it crawled up your limbs, you knew it was happening. It happened over three or four hours, and once you felt your neck jerk the first time, you knew.

Your blood didn't feel like your own anymore, like someone exsanguinated it and replaced it with jelly, slowing you down. Your vision wasn't gone, but you couldn't focus it on anything. It constantly sounded like you were underwater, drowning, gasping for air to no avail.

Your eyes hardly left the woman in your arms, clinging to you even in sleep. You know she'd curse herself for falling asleep, but you were thankful for it. You were thankful that you could press a tearful kiss to her forehead before gently escaping her grasp, muffling your sobs behind your hand. You threw your shirt and jeans on quietly, dizzy, slipping your shoes on. Your world spun, your lungs burned, your head throbbed.

You picked up your pistol, watching Ellie stir slightly in her sleep, creamy skin illuminated in the sun, her freckled face creased slightly with worry, even in sleep. You put the gun in your pocket.

You tried, as silently as you could, to move the barricade from the door. You were thankful that she was a heavy sleeper.

You were thankful that you didn't have to see the despair in her eyes when you said a forceful goodbye, thankful that you didn't have to convince her to let you go, thankful that your last memory of her was this, thankful that her last memory of you was bliss.

Through your sobs, you squeezed through the door and shut it behind you, leaning your head against it, willing for this all to be a nightmare. It wasn't, because you started to feel something else take over your will.

Before you could lose it completely, you forced yourself into a dense brush of greenery, somewhere you hoped she wouldn't look.

You panted, sweating, trembling, as you took the pistol out of your pocket. It shook with your hand as you held it to your temple, bright eyes taking in all of the world that you could before it was gone.

You squeezed them tightly, willing yourself to stop shaking. You conjured the image of your lover in your mind, her auburn hair, milky skin, pretty green eyes, and those familiar freckles. How could you ever forget her?

You took a breath in, and breathed out: “I love you.”

Ellie sat up in terror when she heard the sound of a single gunshot ring through the air, seeping in through the cracks of the window and underneath the door. It took her a moment to process what it was, reaching for her pistol next to her discarded clothes. When her fingertips brushed the gun, it settled in. She craned her head to look beside her, half expecting you to still be asleep.

When she remembered what the sound of the gunshot meant, what you had made her promise, her lungs collapsed and she couldn't take any air in. Tears spilled from her eyes as she heaved, clawing at her chest for any relief. It didn't come.

She knew it never would.

When Joel got word that you and Ellie still hadn't returned from patrol, he worried that you'd gotten stuck in the landslide. He pleaded with Tommy and Jesse to go out with him to search, knowing he wouldn't be at peace without knowing what happened.

When the two agreed, they set off on horses to clear all of the checkpoints. It took an extra day to get around the mountain range that was blocked off by rubble.

When they only had one more checkpoint to clear, Joel got increasingly worried. If you weren't here, where were you?

When the three men got to the cabin, they held their breath as they dismounted their horses. Joel tried pushing the door open, but the barricade stopped him. It took the three of them to open the door, pushing the barricade out of the way.

The open door shed light on the figure against the back wall covered in a thin blanket, trembling. Joel let out the breath he was holding in when he saw Ellie. She was clutching your backpack to her chest, trying to keep any remaining part of you alive, hers.

She had hardly noticed Joel pick her up and carry her to his horse, wrapping the blanket tighter around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, not ready to see the world without you in it.

“Ellie,” Joel’s gruff voice intruded her thoughts, “where is she?”

Ellie’s words failed her. All she could do was point to her forearm, to the bite that only Joel and Tommy knew hid underneath the tattoo.

She doesn't remember what happened after that.

It was warmer now, the flowers blossoming and the green coming back to Jackson’s landscape. Ellie sat facing your headstone, wishing you could've seen it. Wishing she could've shown it to you.

“It’s summer now,” she began. “We started planting these new flowers in your garden…Joel thinks you would've liked them. I think so too. They're really colourful…you know.”

She hesitated.

“Sometimes I wonder if you can hear me. Or if I’m just talking to myself like a crazy person. Joel says it's good for me. I don't know if I believe him.”

She played with her hands, tracing her tattoo.

“I wish you were still here,” she whispered. Her eyes drifted over all the flowers left by your grave from all the people who loved you.

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched a pretty red hummingbird land on your grave, searching for pollen in the flowers.

ellie taglist:

@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz @pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams x reader angst #tlou #the last of us #tlou 2 #the last of us 2 #lesbian

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 1 year ago

Text

How You Turn My Word; Chapter 2

The day continues, and this time you find yourself in an entire new world... a world called The Underground.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, more shenanigans, reader isn't happy

Content Warning; Intoxication (Lilia), swearing

Word Count; 2.7 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Don't put my work into AI; I'll make sure you end up in the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Lilia’s night was not going according to plan and he was mentally cursing himself over it.

Thing Lilia did not plan for #1; he got lost. To be fair though, many a thing had drastically changed since the last time he romped around the mortal realm. A few hundred years would do that though. Humans now seemed to live in tall metal boxes rather than the humble cottages of ages past.

Thing Lilia did not plan for #2; a red flower deceiving him and containing something akin to liquor. So he was flying around lost while under the influence, which only worsened his situation. (Lilia did not know it, but the red flower was in fact a hummingbird feeder with sugar water which had been left out in the sun for too long and had fermented. Make sure to change your hummingbird feeder often on hot days so you don’t cause a nectar-loving friend to fly while wasted)

Thing Lilia did not plan for #3; getting himself stuff in one of those tall metal boxes, and he was now stuck inside some cursed metal labyrinth. At least it was not iron or silver, as it did not burn, apparently, humans no longer fortified their abodes with those metals. Perhaps the times have changed for the better?

But Lilia finally escaped the infernal metal labyrinth, perhaps luck was finally on his side tonight after all! He bumped around a few corners. My my, what a small hovel. Perhaps things have not changed all that much from the last time I was here… But Lilia was rudely pulled from his thoughts when something swatted him clean out of the air. And the culprit? A rather rotund grey cat with large blue eyes, which was now carrying Lilia into its lair, most likely to play with him for a bit before deciding that it had had it’s fun and ultimately put him out of his misery.

His night went from a jolly and somewhat embarrassing tale he would regale about at the local tavern, to a bedtime story parents would tell their children about the dangers of going places that you really shouldn’t. Should he get out of this sticky situation Lilia would not live this incident down.

The cat placed Lilia in a collection of socks and then sauntered off, calling out at the top of its lungs. Great, it's getting company for supper, and I’m the appetizer. How lovely. But Lilia knew he would have a better chance of getting out of this situation if he stayed calm and waited for an opportunity to escape. Even while tipsy, he could keep his cool.

And the feline was back and yanked Lilia out of the sock hole. Cracking open his one eye he saw that the cat did not come back with its hungry friends, but rather, a human. That was both good news and bad news. Good news; he most likely was not going to be eaten tonight! Yippee! Bad news; the last time he was in bat-form in a human’s abode, he was chased around with a torch, which he really did not want to go through again. So his best course of action was to play dead in this situation.

When the human left the room though, he took his chance and took flight once again, trying to find a way out. The cat was trying to catch him again, but Lilia knew of its tricks this time and dodged every swipe it sent his way.

But he was pulled out of his thoughts when the human screeched at the cat, “YOU CAUGHT A FUCKING BAT?!”

Oh yeah, they did not sound happy, not at all, but it seemed to be directed more at their feline companion rather than him.

As he was busy flapping around, trying to find an escape but to no avail, he also heard the human whispering to him. “Don’t fly towards my head, bat. I’m just trying to get you back outside. You’re a nice bat, right? Nice bat, nice bat.”

Were he not preoccupied and in a better state of mind, Lilia would have been amused by this. Currently, though he was occupied with trying not to be eaten and finding a way out of this cursed place. He was not in a laughing mood. All Lilia wanted to do was get back home, pass out in his bed but he would also be happy with his sofa as well, and pretend that this was nothing more than a bad dream after a night spent tavern hopping. Dealing with a horrid hangover would be better than this… and he was most likely going to have one of those anyways. Tonight really wasn’t Lilia’s night, not at all.

Then the human grabbed the cat, and Lilia was finally left alone. The window was open, but he didn’t know that, as his mind was too preoccupied with you know, not dying, that he hadn’t noticed that the human had opened it for him. So where did Lilia go? Well, he went back into the metal labyrinth (air duct), and fumbled around until he tired himself out. It wasn’t the most ideal of spots to crash for the night, but it was better than going back and possibly being eaten, Lilia would rather avoid that. So this was going to be his bed for the night, a lonely quiet corner of the air duct system, where he could hopefully wake up sober tomorrow. But he yearned for his warm quilts that awaited for him back at home, back in Faerie, or as some call it, the Underground.

Lilia wasn’t even supposed to be in the mortal realm in the first place, but curiosity had won him over, and he even ignored the travel advisory that was in place. Some crow fae had travelled there about a century or so ago and had yet to return back, hence a travel advisory. But yet here he was in the mortal realm, tiny, drunk, and utterly lost. His bad decisions could be looked into further detail once he got some shut-eye. So he wrapped himself in his wings and passed out in the corner of the air vent. Hopefully, when he woke up he could turn this disastrous day around.

…

Upon waking up, Lilia groaned — or rather, in this case, squeaked — and stretched his wings out. So the wretched metal maze and last night's fiasco was not some liquor-hazed dream; how lovely. Utterly delightful.

At least the strange maze echoed sound quite well, so he knew what exits to avoid. Not that one, he could hear a dog barking, and the feline encounter was enough for him. No, not that one either, he could hear children screaming.

Finally, he came to an opening, there was some quiet chatter, but it was far enough away where Lilia felt comfortable enough to explore this potential escape route.

Why does this look familiar? AM I BACK IN THE BUILDING?! Yes, yes he was. At least there was no sign of the ca–

“Mrp?” Speak of the devil.

The cat got out of its den and lept at Lilia, who dodged the attack, and the cat pushed some books off a desk. The cat was also screaming at him, and causing an all-around ruckus. Lilia managed to outmaneuver the feline, but soon a brand new human came into the scene.

The new human took one look at Lilia and backpedalled out of the room. But the human had just created another escape route for him, and Lilia flew, well, like a bat straight out of hell for it. Too bad the next room contained two more humans, including the one he had encountered from last night… maybe they would be nice again and spare him for trespassing on their small abode?

In the midst of the chaos, the human from last night knocked him out of the air with a broom. Okay, that hurt little Beastie. But that swing and the crash landing into a table caused Lilia to shift back into his human form, which also caused sparkles to happen. Did humans still think magic was evil? Well, he was about to find out.

Everyone remained silent, and after the sheer noise of the chaos, it was deafening, even the cat was quiet. And Lilia stared at the human that had knocked him out of the air, you. And you were staring straight back at him, looking utterly baffled. Well, this is awkward… I think I have overstayed my welcome…

Lilia snapped his fingers, and he started to disappear into sparkles yet again, this time going home since he wasn’t able to use his magic when stuck in bat form. And it was happening without a pinch, but you seemed to trip on thin air and crash landed on his feet, disappearing with him; a stowaway coming to Faerie.

… Well this is no good now, is it?

…

When the green sparkles subsided, you found yourself sitting in some sort of bog, and the water had made it into your mouth by some twist of fate. While you were busy spitting the bog water out of your mouth, the stranger was standing by the bank, dry, without any sulfuric-tasting water in his mouth, and looking better for wear.

Pulling yourself out of the bog water — eugh, you smelled like eggs now, great — you pointed an accusatory finger at him, water dripping from the end. “Where,” you spat out some extra bog water from your mouth, “am I? And why does it reak of eggs?!” You would have looked and sounded more imposing, but you were sopping wet, covered in mud, and spitting out coughs trying to get the bad taste out of your mouth; which wasn’t really commanding any sort of respect.

The stranger, Lilia, snorted before letting out a cough, trying to hide his amusement very poorly. He waved his hand, green sparkles surrounded you and you were now dry, still covered in mud, but dry. “Faerie, although some call it the Underground.”

You opened your mouth, but he wagged his finger at you. “And before you blame me for bringing you here, you have no one to blame for this but yourself!” Despite the cheeriness, there was something cold and off putting in his eyes, like he was calculating something. But that moment passed, and the almost annoying cheerful facade came back in full. “As for the smell? That so happens to be The Bog of Eternal Stench!”

“Like eternal eternal?” You really didn’t need to smell like rotten eggs for the rest of your days.

The stranger just chuckled, “Fret not, Beastie, I decided to return the favour, since your feline friend decided not to eat me. But it is indeed ‘eternal eternal’ if you don’t have the means to get rid of it.”

Beastie? “Uh, okay.” not the most eloquent of things to say, but really, could anyone blame you? You just fell through some kind of portal, magic(?) was real, and oh yeah, so were fae/faeries or whatever the hell they called themselves. So ‘Uh, okay’ was perfectly fine in this situation.

Mr. Sparkles — if he was going to call you Beastie, he deserved a dumb nickname — just gave you a smile, exposing the barest hint of his fangs; despite his small frame, he was still dangerous, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. It was as if he was assessing you, to see if you would be worth the trouble to help. You didn’t know if either option would be good by the way his magenta eyes twinkled with mischief.

He let out a huff and started walking away, and you followed. “I wouldn’t recommend following me, Beastie,” he hummed, and you tripped over a rock, vines keeping you to the moss. “The court would not take kindly to you.”

You glared at him and tried ripping the vines off of your feet, but they didn’t budge. “And why should I listen to you?”

Mr. Sparkles booped you on the nose, “Well, it would ensure that you made it out of here alive, which I believe you would find beneficial and all.”

Obnoxious prick. But he did have a point, you would rather make it back home alive rather than fucking around and finding out (aka dying). “So what? Are you going to just leave me here? No welcome brochure? Thanks.”

You were being sarcastic, since it was either sarcasm or having a full-on existential crisis, since hey, magic wasn’t real in your world! Dimension? Galaxy? Where the fuck was this place?! How the hell did you end up here?!

“Hmm good point…” he snapped his fingers and there was now a book sitting in your lap. “This should suffice, do be warned though, Beastie, I may call on you later to return the favour. For now though,” he started to turn into green sparkles, “toodaloo!~” And he turned into a bat, flying off into the sunset, leaving you alone at the edge of the swamp with the only things to your name being the clothes on your back and a book in your lap.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! … Did he just give you this world’s equivalent of a For Dummies book? What the fuck? Was this kind of sick joke to him?

…

Once some of your ire had subsided, you decided to sit down on a boulder and read a bit of the book while there was still some sunlight out, but it was dipping into the horizon fast.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! By Yelworc Erid Preface …… i - iv Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night…… 1 - 10 Chapter 2; Edible Food for Humans …… 11 - 31 Chapter 3; The Basics of Fae Etiquette …… 32 - 35 3.1; Species Specifics …… 36 - 146 3.2; Government Specifics …… 147 - 169 Chapter 4; Help! I Have Been Indentured to a Fae! …… 170 - 200 Chapter 5; Adjusting to Fae Social Life …… 201 - 224 Chapter 6; Transmittable Illnesses & Diseases …… 225 - 261 Chapter 7; Fae Courting Practices …… 262 - 264 7.1; Species Specifications …… 265 - 366 7.2; Government Specifications …… 367 - 389 7.3; Accepting a Courting Proposal …… 390 - 393 7.4; Refusing a Courting Proposal …… 394 - 401 Chapter 8; How to Handle Fae Children …… 402 - 452 Chapter 9; How to Leave the Underground … 453 Chapter 10; Adjusting to Life in the Underground …… 454 - 482 Acknowledgments …… 483 - 485

Looking back up to the horizon, you quickly turned the pages to Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night.

“If you are unable to find yourself some suitable shelter, one should find themselves safe by camping out in a rowan tree. These trees can easily be found by their vermillion clusters of berries. They keep away all native species of the Underground,” you read out loud, turning your attention to the trees nearby, searching for those berries. “Rowan tree, rowan tree–”

A loud screech coming from the undergrowth only pushed you further.

Nope, I do not want to find out what THAT was! Nope! NoPe! NOPE!

Finally, you found a tall enough tree and you hauled your ass up it like there was a fire below you, and you were up in the canopy, far enough up that nothing could reach you, but also high enough where you needed to be careful, since you didn’t want to meet an early death because you made a wrong move. But for now, you were safe.

“Nice try buddy,” you muttered to yourself, trying to get comfy. Wood wasn’t the comfiest thing in the world, but you weren’t really in the position to be complaining. “I am not on the menu.”

The screech came again, this time closer; yeah, you weren’t sleeping tonight. The sun was now beyond the horizon, and there was no moon, the only light coming from the stars above; it was very pretty, but you could see jack shit. This was going to be a long night… and not a fun one, since you could also see the glowing eyes of unknown creatures which were, quite frankly, freaky as fuck. So yeah, no sleep for you.

“This fucking sucks,” you grumbled, and a chittering from the bog seemed to mock you. “This really fucking sucks.”

…

Tags; @busycloudy, @eynnwwyjth, @identity-theft-101, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @lucid-stories, @ryker-writes, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

~~~~~~~

Author's Note; This chapter is shorter, but it felt natural to end the chapter like this. This chapter, and the previous one, were both rewrites of an old WIP, so from here on out I don't have to rewrite! YIPPEE!!! Rewriting takes me forever, so we shall see what I come up with next.

If you liked this, do check out my masterlist for more content!

#twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x gn reader #still building up that aspect; yeah it's gonna be a while but that allows for some yearning #got another labyrinth mention in there #i decided to be nice to reader where they don't end up smelling like rotten eggs for their entire stay in the underground;#; it would be funny but reader has been through enough without needing to smell bad on top of that #twst labyrinth au #gilf enjoyers rejoice #why does rewriting take me so damn long? i even deleted scenes that i didn't feel like keeping #writing is pain and suffering yet it brings me immense joy... not gonna elaborate on that #not a bunch of fun stuff hidden in the tags this time but oh well

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tauforged · 2 months ago

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if we assume warframes have some amount of biological function rather than being meat suits, it would only stand that in the process of becoming protoframes, the hex would not only change appearance-wise but the way their bodies FUNCTION would change as well as their behavior. I don't have solid ideas for everyone YET, BUT i'll elaborate on what i have so far below...

we don't have a lot of solid info about how cyte-09's kit would work, but being that he's a sniper-centric frame, it makes sense that quincy would start to subconsciously adapt to that 'ambush predator' function, in terms of behavior and also metabolism.

instinctually he feels safest/most comfortable when he's somewhere High Up and Isolated. he likes a vantage point, not much else to it. randomly feeling compelled to climb on top of shit and Perch even outside of patrols while just hanging out because it just feels more secure

bradymetabolic -- his 'natural' state is objectively slowed down in comparison to a normal human being, his resting heartrate is slow his body temp tends to be lower and he can go considerably longer in between meals if he isn't actively making an effort to eat on a schedule. his body is rewiring itself to be best suited towards finding a vantage point and lying in wait, staying as still as possible and expending as little energy as he can until the moment is just right.

HOWEVER, the moment something triggers him to act fast (usually in combat situations although its technically a 'prey response') his metabolism will kick into overdrive and he strikes FAST. for the brief period where he's active, heart rate and body temp shoot up and he burns through however much energy he's been storing in the interim. once the adrenaline wears off, though, he's back to business as usual. if he's in a high-energy situation for an extended amount of time, though, he runs the risk of exhausting himself, hyperventilating, or overheating.

tends to blink less than it seems like he should and picks up a habit of unintentionally holding his breath. trigger finger twitches unintentionally when he's focused on something/someone in a way that kinda resembles how dart frogs will tap their toes while hunting or how the raptors in jurassic park click their claws on the ground. develops and exaggerated freeze response -- when something startles him when he isnt expecting it, he goes completely stock still in an attempt to 'blend in' and wait out the threat.

on the opposite end, amir adopts a fucking hummingbird metabolism. he runs hot and fast and needs to eat a lot more than you would expect because his body is CONSTANTLY. GOING. he's somewhere int he middle between regular human and obligate nectar-eater -- he processes sugars WAY faster/easier than normal and is pretty dependent on them for energy in the immediate moment, although he does still have the capacity to store longer-lasting energy for later rather than having to eat every thirty minutes lest he starve to death. the more active he is, the more demand is on him, though and he is VERY fucking active. he's built to be on the move 24/7 now, and gets really antsy when 'at rest' because even when wholly idle his body burns energy like a motherfucker and it makes him restless. constantly craving sweet things because his body is demanding sugar NOW or we are going to DIE (this is not true, he's mostly being dramatic, but he DOES feel adverse effects from lack of food or water much sooner than he normally would)

can take short rests that are basically like power naps where he sleeps "normal", but when he actually Sleep sleeps he goes into a torpor state to preserve his energy, slowing down and dropping his body temp and it takes him between 20min to an hour to actually Wake Up completely. does not like doing this but while his body is meant to be constantly moving, his brain still runs on a human schedule and he Needs to get actual sleep. he needs to hard reboot every couple days or else he starts fighting demons. you know how it is.

aside from inconvenient desires to eat raw meat/random animals (imagining excal as an obligate carnivore just feels right), arthur isn't too METABOLICALLY different from the average human, but behaviorally he is fighting for his life. in contrast to quincy preferring open, elevated spaces, arthur is compelled to seek out dark tight enclosed spaces and hole up like a sick animal looking for a place to die (he's fine, but the way he's always stressing out crosses some wires in his brain and makes him Feel like he's dying)

you can tell when arthur and quincy have been getting on eachothers nerves or arguing because they will Immediately retreat to their respective territories to Sulk (quincy starts climbing on top of the stage light scaffolding, arthur is in the security office trying to find a dignified way to crawl under a table). it's objectively really funny to witness. they both do this when theyre in bad moods but when theyre BOTH doing it the chance of it being coincidence is very very low

both arthur and eleanor are VERY catlike, not really in a cutesy fun 'uwu nya' way, but in a 'bites people and knocks shit over and gets random bursts of energy at ungodly hours and feels compelled to chase things that move like prey' way . eleanor leans into this and does not care, she is biting you as a show of affection and you WILL accept that. arthur hates it and suppresses it at all times. catboy instincts calling to him like the green goblin mask 24/7

in tandem with the 'aoi's teeth are more like a squid beak and are dark in color because they're reinforced with metal' hc ive discussed before, i feel like she might feel the urge to try and Consume metallics somehow to feed that process. or maybe her constant melting down and playing with metal is how she assimilates it. not sure yet

i have not many ideas regarding trinity or lettie yet because i almost never play trin and dont have a good handle on how her kit would translate to biological functions LMFAOO im so sorry girl i love you so much but im still chewing on this one. welcome to ideas!

aaand of course, the conversation that started it all:

and the grand finale: bullying arthur

#thank the lord for the extended image limit on desktop LMFAO #but. yeah. sorry for the novel . i just think theyre neat!#warframe 1999 #quincy isaacs #arthur nightingale #amir beckett #eleanor nightingale #I REALLY BADLY WANTED TO INCLUDE AOI AND LETTIE MORE BUT IM STILL CHEWING ON IDEAS FOR THEM AND IF I WAIT ANYLONGER TO POST THIS ILL LOSE I #SORRY GIRLS

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moki-dokie · 5 months ago

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rating the birds in my backyard on their tendency towards violence

@luulapants inspired me to make a bird post as well. we should talk about our local dinosaurs more! (not including the same birds from their post we also have here)

great-tailed grackle 7/10 physical violence is not how you guys operate. you wage mental warfare with a barrage of unending noises on the most annoying frequency imaginable to man. also some of you have mastered mimicry in the wild and this is simply too much power for a beast like you to wield. (similar to the common grackle but infinitely more annoying)

american kestrel 3/10 she's beauty, she's grace, she'll smack an eagle in the face. fearless and skilled little predator that delights me every time i get to see one. bit more secretive than other raptors tho.

red-tailed hawk -1/10 a majestic cry that always gets used for eagles in voiceovers, absolutely stunning, and a staple of the midwest and west but... baby ain't got a single braincell. head empty. mobbed on the regular by birds a tenth their size. i've personally watched a single sparrow harass one for 30 minutes before it gave up and ran away. can't steal shit to save its own life. scared of everything ever. they're basically horses of the birds of prey, if horses were a little less psychotic.

mallard duck 1/10 just little dudes doing their own thing. females can get a little aggro when nesting thats about it. sometimes pushy when food is involved. otherwise just chill, beautiful guys. but do me a solid, my web-footed friends? stop fucking nesting in my garden!! i don't like stressing you out when i'm tending to it!!

northern bobwhite (quail) -5000000/10 you're doing great sweetie just keep doing what you're doing. bob-bobwhite amirite

red-winged blackbird 4/10 you lot have a scare tactic technique that sparrows wish they had by just squaring up in numbers and looking fabulous while doing so. no notes.

eastern bluebird 0/10 they've literally never done anything ever wrong. perfection. little fairies but without all the deviousness. absolute cuteness. a blessing to be in ones presence.

scissor-tailed flycatcher 9/10 ahhh yes our stunning state bird. the herald of summer. the graceful acrobatic dancer. the beautiful singer. the brutal serial killer of all things insect. watching them 'hunt' is spectacular. one of the few birds that can hover. they're deadly accurate. almost exclusively capture their prey mid-air. but sometimes they'll get a bug too big to snipe on wing and do you know what they do in that case? they'll take it to their perch and beat it to death. remarkable.

carolina chickadee 4/10 don't let their round sweetness deceive you. they are full of spite and precisely zero fear. will absolutely pick on birds twenty times their size. small man syndrome.

mourning dove 0/10 hwoo hoo hoo hoo?

bald eagle, 2/10 WHAT are you doing this far south sir. we are landlocked my guy. the ocean is that way. big rivers and lakes are the other way. certainly there cannot be enough fish for you here!! surprisingly docile, for a giant raptor.

golden eagle 10/10 he'll eat your dog in front of you and then fuck your wife while maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. everything is afraid of this motherfucker.

great egret 0/10 they're chill and serenity incarnate. and their smaller cattle cousins are exactly the same. their size is the only thing intimidating about them. fuckers are HUGE

american goldfinch 3/10 food aggressive, mostly. lovely to look at. they really like to bitch up a storm tho.

california gull 90000000/10 nature's biggest asshole. we don't even have large bodies of water here. get out.

hummingbirds, all (ruby-throated pictured) 10/10 they choose violence every waking moment. god help you if you've forgotten to refill a nectar feeder. all they know is speed, feed, make things bleed.

barn swallow 9/10 Do Not Go Near The Nest. willing and able to peck you to death.

baltimore oriole 1/10 goofy guys with a great sense of fashion and one of the prettiest songs. they're just here to flirt and have a good time

greater roadrunner 3/10 i love our mini velociraptors so much i dare not speak ill of them. also one of the few birds that fuck outside of the need to reproduce. hell yeah my dudes get it on you freaky little dinos.

northern mockingbird 5/10 i think these guys are on par with how the europeans feel about magpies. they don't really steal shit, but they will, like grackles, commit psychological warfare by being the most annoying little shit possible. and sometimes they're bold enough to chase you. their hatred of cats outweighs their sense of self-preservation, too. they will get into a metaphorical fist fight with a cat. and win, usually.

eastern meadowlark 6/10 i know our prairies are awfully tempting to go frolicking in but unless you crave an unusual death that involves being relentlessly shrieked at with drive-by stabbings, i wouldn't recommend it. these guys are lurking in the tall grass, just waiting to fuck up your day.

black vulture 1/10 slightly smaller than their red-faced cousin, way more common here, and so so chill. they're all bark and no bite, unless you're roadkill. is one in the road blocking you from passing because he's chowing down on a dead opossum? go around, bitch. you are not important enough for him to get out of the way.

wild turkey 11/10 (males) female turkeys are pretty cool. they can be a bit Extra but generally they just want to eat. males, however. males would love nothing more but to beat you to death and then take a shit on your corpse. persistent. unyielding. once you have become a target your only hope is getting in a car and quickly driving away. if they don't beat the shit out of your car first, that is.

desert cardinal 2/10 these guys are great. they're not even supposed to be here. i always mistake them for female cardinals at first. about the same temperament as normal cardinals. they're weird but everyone seems to be okay with them.

great horned owl 8/10 so, so stupid and yet so spiteful. not a great combo. so ironic owls are the posterchild of wise when they're perhaps one of the dumbest birds of prey. its a wonder they haven't stupided their way into extinction. only thing this idiot has going for it is being so photogenic and has the most creepy mood-setting song ever.

#birds #birds of oklahoma #we have lots more songbirds but #i don't pay attention to their behaviors as much #and yes these are regularly in my backyard area #as long as you aren't in the heart of the city these are all super common to see lol

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layraket · 12 days ago

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Fae!Hyrule without magic concept

ok so. i have a first draft of this (or at least an idea) and made a design that may or may not stay for the au cuz i like it but there are things that i still have to figure out

some rambling:

Hyrule is part Fae, and the only reason that he didn't get deadly ill for not having any magic left is because of his hylian blood, making his body able to survive without a source of magic. For a normal fae no magic = dead, but for him it only means a weaker body.

His magic kept both of his forms and allowed him to change between them, without this he will take his original appereance, this being the hybrid of a fairy and a hylian. The differences are mostly clear, some of them are that he's really short, even with his mother being a great fairy the nature of fairies is being small creatures, also that his father wasn't that tall either. His wings are smaller too, not being able to keep him up for long and only being useful to slow down a fall.

When he transformed into a fairy his magic was the thing that made his clothes smaller, without this his clothes stay in their original size. His boots were too big so Wind gave him his spare boots, these at least fitting him mostly well.

I have like. a whole thing with fae beings and idk how to explain it well here. but one thing about fae society is that they don't age like hylians do. They age when they do whatever their nature is, for example: a healing fairy has the nature to cure wounds right? They grow when they use their magic and practice with it, if they don't do it, they will stay like young or child around the rest of fairies. Hyrule because his hylian blood he grows like any hylian, but his fae part still stops him from completely pass from the state of a pre-teen, mostly because he didn't completely followed his nature even if he thought he did. For hylians he would be already an older teen, but for fae society he's still very young. With his magic gone, this nature will be even more difficult to fullfil, even if it is one that doesn't have magic too involved.

Sugar will be his best option to eat for now on. Think about it like how hummingbirds need nectar to refill their energy, without magic most of Hyrule's energy will come from sugary things or else his body will be too tired to move for all the extra effort that it isn't used to do without the help of his magic.

He has sharp teeth because i like drawing sharp teeths and because, somehow fairies need to defend themselves right? If they can't directly attack, at least bite in the eye or ear, i dont know.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu hyrule #no magic au #will be tagging it like that for now pls help i can't think abt a better name kdsjfkdj #anyways yeah i'll start writing abt this my brain is full of this now #layraket art

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angel-of-the-moons · 1 year ago

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Smut Request for Marc…

Marc Spector doesn’t want you to leave the flat, and convinces you to stay by “special” means.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Convincing Argument

Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Oral (Fem receiving), hair pulling, fingering Marc being clingy

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

He was being unusually clingy today. He would get like this sometimes, when Steven or Jake would leave him alone in control of the body.

Normally when he got like this, he'd lay across your lap, or if you were laying on your belly scrolling through your phone, he would lay across your back, his hands clasped over his belly as he napped. Sometimes he would simply wrap himself around you like you were a beloved teddy bear.

Other times... He would simply shadow you.

You could tell poor Marc didn't like to be alone, especially not when he was left to his own devices when Steven and Jake would melt away into their headspace.

But right now, you needed to go to the store to restock the groceries, and take a trip to the bank to pull out money to cover your share of the electric. And Marc... well.

He was hanging off of you, arms wrapped around your midsection from behind, locking you in a tight embrace you couldn't escape from.

"I need to go. If you want dinner tonight, Marc Spector, you will let me go." You huff, rolling your eyes at his theatrics.

"Please, baby." He groaned, exasperated as he kissed your neck.

"You're being a drama queen. If you don't want me to go, you can come with..." You offer.

"No."

Of course. Stubborn shit.

"Marc..."

"I don't want to be around other people right now, I want to be with you." He mumbled against your neck again.

"Why don't you spend time with Steven or Jake? Shoot some trivia or something?" You sigh.

"They won't answer. They said it was an "alone" day."

You pouted, brows furrowing. "So your solution is to be a human koala bear?"

"If it gets you to stay with me, yes." He says, 100% unashamed.

"Marc..."

"C'mon, babe. Hey, how about I try to convince you?"

Your turn around and crossed your arms as he lets you free, your eyebrow quirked high in skepticism.

"Plead your case..." You say, your tone dripping with irritation.

Marc grinned and crashed his lips into yours, pinning you to the front door of your flat as he delved his tongue past your lips, running along your teeth and your tongue before parting, almost too soon for your liking.

You frown at him, a cute little scrunch in your nose as you do. "Okay that might have worked, but I'm still mad."

Marc smirked and dropped to his knees in front of you, almost making you wince at how fast he went down, cringing at how his knees must be hurting thanks to the hardwood floors.

You gasped when his hands flicked your button open and unzipped the fly to your jeans, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops and curling his fingers through the waistband of your panties, yanking both articles of clothing down your thighs, placing a wet kiss to your mound, his nose tickling the short-trimmed hairs there.

You squeaked when he moved again, a man on a mission; slipping his head between your thighs, your knees now over his shoulders, still linked together by your pants and panties that couldn't have been pulled down past your boots.

You bit back a low whine when his tongue wasted no further time in curling around your clit, rolling it around as you sucked in a shaky breath, looking down at him as he used his thumb to pull back the hood of your clit just to greedily suck the little nub into his mouth.

Carefully balancing you on his shoulders, his fingers tease your hole as his tongue and thumb pushed and pulled, coaxing out some sweet nectar from the flower that is you.

Like a greedy little hummingbird so desperately trying to drink from a flower in a garden, Marc was on his knees, tongue lashing at your cunt with determined fervor as he used the pads of his fingers to spread your slick over your labia, making sure you were nice and wet.

"Oh fuck..." You whimpered, your thighs squeezing around his head as he continued to use his thumb to roll the hood of your clit back as he rutted his nose against it, his tongue joining his fingers in an attempt to spread some wetness over your core.

Marc, once he deemed your poor, puffy cunt slick enough, slipped his thick fingers inside, quickly rolling, scissoring and curling them in a way that was bringing your orgasm on fast, pressing up into your walls in tune with every stroke of his tongue on your sensitive little nub.

"Oh my gh--Marc!" You mewl loudly, your fingers shooting down to grip at his hair and tug, earning a deep and heavy groan from him, sending vibrations straight through to your clit.

He curled and thrust his fingers deeper, more feverishly as he felt your walls flutter and tighten around his fingers.

When he pushed up from inside, it added extra stimulation to your clit from within, and you simply couldn't take the sinfully fast coaxing Marc was doing to you. It was as if he knew your body better than even you did.

When you cum, you tug his hair again as you soak his mouth and chin, head thumping back against the door as you cry out his name in ecstasy.

He gave you a few teasing licks, each flick of his tongue sending bolts of lightning spreading through your body as he disentangled from you, carefully putting you back on your feet as he wiped his face clean, a nice, smug grin on his face as he looked up at you.

"Convincing enough?" He purred.

You tugged him to his feet by his hair, and hissed.

"You. Me. Bed. Now."

Ah, well, you could always order out for dinner and go to the bank tomorrow...

#🌙 answered #moon knight #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector smut #marc spector

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catholictrauma · 2 years ago

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this is the place to post about your knowledge and i’m thinking about my little royal sunangel (from the coquette hummingbird family) google deep-dive and i wanted to show you guys these rare little bastards!

this is a male (left) and female (right) sunangel, they’re sexually dichromatic (different colors indicate different sexes) and so, so teensy! they’re roughly 4.3-4.7 inches/10-12 cm long from their beak to their tail!

they’re as little in number as they are little in size, too. they are exclusively found in the bordering andes area ecuador and peru share, where there are subtropical elven forests (because everything about them deserves a pretty name). there are only 8 known sunangel habitats within this area. when documentation started, around the start of the 2010s, there were 12. the estimated population of this endangered bird is anywhere from 3-7 thousand. the royal sunangel population has been steadily — and scarily — declining since their discovery in 2009, and this is largely attributed to the deforestation due to frequent forest fires and the conversion of their habitats into agricultural fields.

it feels like the royal sunangel JUST got discovered, and the scientific community has only JUST started noting down how unique they are among their hummingbird family and birds at large, and now their delicate little frames and stubborn commitment to their habitat range might lead them to death’s door before i reach middle age and have the credentials or cause to observe them myself. ornithologists love these little guys because they feed in these little circuits so no two (super territorial) males may meet, and when they feed, they either stalk and eventually eat insects or take nectar from shrubs and flowers using the punctured feeding holes of some other animals’ labor. also, you know how hummingbirds famously hover while they feed? these hummingbirds are the only ones who don’t. they perch and relax (as is only sensible)!

If you find them as charming as I do, or if you have a heart, you’re probably asking yourself how we go about conserving these birds in the first place.

well, on the agricultural front (which is more heavily an ecuadorian obstacle for these habitats), the situation feels more complicated. ecuador’s market relies on agricultural exports and i don’t see how tumblr users could make the government prioritize sustainability over profits. There are already conservation groups trying to fight that good fight and buy properties on these fragile biodiverse lands before agricultural companies can (you can punch in neoprimate.org for a good one, my link function isn’t working on here) and if you can donate a little to these initiatives you’d be contributing to the protection of tons of endangered species in the local areas.

another way to prevent habitat loss is by funding efforts to prevent the forest fires that frequently wipe out habitats around this area, especially those in peru (the area with the majority of sunangel habitats). there are legal and activist groups putting energy towards that that’s linked above, but another subtle improvement is to provide local farmers and residents with fire weather forecast devices. this way, everyone will be on the same page, and know that if it’s an arid/risky day to light a fire, they should act conscientiously. these devices are being circulated and groups are educating about and encouraging them to the local communities and could use some help in these links. below, i have a screenshot from an organization that doesn’t have a clear donation link for me, but i heavily encourage supporting, because ultimately i think local, sustainable, community-based and indigenous-prioritizing efforts are the way to go.

thanks so much for listening to my little spiel about these cuties, and i hope this information brightens your day and motivates you to care about the beautiful things we can protect. 💙💜

#conservación #conservation #ornithology #birdblr #birdlovers #birds #birdphotography #hummingbird #royal sunangel #peru #ecuador #conservatism #amazon #rainforest

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rainesol · 1 month ago

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Twst Fae Headcanons [Dwarves and Pixies]

(The pixie headcanons also tie into an oc lore, so the girl named as an example is not a character you have missed. Don’t worry)

Dwarves:

Dense bones to protect from falling debris. Thicker skulls to protect the brain.

Their eyes are also BIG compared to a human. It gives them a bit of an uncanny look. Their size assists with seeing in the dark, and similarly to some species, can dilate their pupils on command.

They’re very stocky on average. Lots of muscle mass and more body fat compared to the average human. This paired with the dense skeleton makes them surprisingly heavy.

Adding on to the above, they’re very strong. They can easily carry heavy objects around.

Rather than being specifically nocturnal or diurnal, I think they’d be crepuscular. They’re classified as diurnal fae, but not biologically.

There’s a lot of negative stereotypes about them being like children physically and mentally (basically canon but I think it should be expanded on)

They typically range from ~2’9 to just over four feet tall.

Not similar to the canon fae we’ve seen, they have pretty slow metabolisms.

Their lifespans are shorter than most fae, but longer than humans. I hc 150-200.

They can go quite a while on little oxygen.

Pixies:

A lot more insect like in my hc.

Their irises are incredibly big with no visible pupil. Black is the most common to give that big wet bug eyes look.

Their eyes are also large compared to humans.

Most pixies will have white scleras behind their eyelids though. Shimmer can give the anxious dog side eye.

Unlike the dwarves stocky build, pixies are long and slender. Very little body fat or muscle mass. Not many curves either. Especially since they have no breast tissue in my hc.

Long limbs, necks and fingers/toes.

They’re ovoviviparous or oviparous depending on the size. Smaller pixies will lay eggs, similar to many types of merfolk, with only one or two making it to term.

Some craft pixies will have insect like protrusions on their limbs.

They’re also very flexible for in air movement.

They have a huge height range. They can be a few centimetres to over 3 feet depending on the type.

They live a wide range of lifespans, too. Smaller pixies live similar lifespans to humans, and larger pixies can live for several centuries.

Pixies can’t swim, similarly to their untwisted counterpart.

Pixie dust/fairy dust is partially fae made, partially produced by their bodies. It has similar uses and properties to magestones.

Similar to other fae we’ve seen, they have a VERY fast metabolism. They’re like hummingbirds. They constantly eat high calorie foods because of how fast they burn energy. Adding onto the hummingbird metaphor, their tongues are very long to reach flower nectar.

Pixie diets are high sugar and fat, including honey, nectar, meats, fruits, and milk if they can trade for it. Surprisingly they can digest milk, despite not being able to produce it.

I go with the hc they don’t produce milk because of the fact that Lilia brings up most fae are raised on nectar.

They use the bells because their vocal cords physically can’t produce the sounds used in the common language.

When preserving energy, they’ll switch from hovering with their wings to hovering with magic and vice versa.

Pixies do not have the same amount of rights as humans do in most countries outside of the faelands. In canon, their dust that allows them to function and live properly is trafficked and played off as a joke, and they are attacked and kicked out of their homes for a school camping trip. They’re also referred to as ‘familiars’ and made to do menial labour. Ok JKR.

There’s also canon disabilities in the pixie hollow series that I draw inspiration from!

I have more hcs for the separate types of pixies but that’s for another day o7

#will probably add more when I remember shit #shimmer Bellesmith #raintalks🌦️#twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons

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would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend · 9 months ago

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Beautifly, Mudkip, Grovyle and Lucario please 👌

Beautiflies may be adorable, but they would not make the best pets. This may catch you off guard (I know it did for me), but I suppose it just goes to show that you shouldn’t judge a pokémon by their looks alone.

As far as size goes, beautiflies are on the larger size when we’re talking about airborne pets. A pet that needs space to fly about, especially one that’s over three feet tall, is going to have needs that not every owner will be able to handle. Look at those tiny legs: beautiflies aren’t exactly the most nimble on their feet, so providing them with some open air to stretch their wings would be a must.

That being said, like with many pollinators we’ve covered thus far, you must be careful not to let your pet wander too far and get lost. Beautiflies don’t tend to stay in one place, traveling from place to place on the spring breeze in search of fresh flowers (Ruby, Sapphire). While, as I mentioned earlier, you would need to provide your beautifly space to fly around, you would need to keep an eye on them in the spring months, lest they fly off in search of sweet nectar. This would make keeping a beautifly rather difficult for a lot of owners. If you have a garden (or something like a hummingbird feeder) yourself, you may be able to incentivize your beautifly to stay nearby, but I’m not sure how long that would last. I mean, this is a pretty large pokémon: how many flowers-worth of nectar would you need to satisfy them?

Interestingly, the pokédex indicates that beautiflies are actually omnivorous, which may explain what they eat in the fall and winter months, where less blooming flowers are available. The needle-like appendage on their mouth is used to such nectar out of plants (HeartGold/SoulSilver), but that’s not all: beautiflies have been observed attacking prey by stabbing them with this appendage, before using it to drain their body fluid (Diamond). It’s hard to say if a beautifly would try to attack humans for this purpose, but it’s certainly possible. Perhaps this sort of attack would be non-lethal on humans, sort of like a real-world vampire bat. It would be… unfortunate… no matter what.

Even if a beautifly doesn’t choose to try and drink your fluids, they may attack you out of pure aggression. Unfortunately, beautiflies do not have a good temperament to be a pet. The pokédex describes this species as “ferocious”, “aggressive”, and “savage” (Emerald, FireRed/LeafGreen, Pearl). They are known to attack if disturbed in any way while seeking food (Black/White) or unexpectedly, whenever they are angered (Emerald). As far as the threat this species poses goes, you certainly wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of a beautifly attack. They can use their needle-like mouth to attack with moves like Giga Drain, Leech Life, Bug Bite, and even Poison Sting. Considering the size of their jabbing mouth, an attack would be painful at the very least.

All things considered, a beautifly would not be the best pet for many owners. They’re large, high-maintenance, and aggressive. Luckily, if you’re a big fan of this species, coaxing wild beautiflies to visit you from time to time isn’t that hard, so long as you live in a region where wild ones live. In the spring, leave a flower near an open window: you’re sure to have a beautifly visit you in no time (Ruby). Just…uh…don’t bother them.

#pokémon #pokemon #beautifly #pkmn irl #pr-c

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docholligay · 8 months ago

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Choose Your Own Adventure-- March 2024

Hello and thank you all for choosing to read this yet again! I am pleased to keep doing something. I am working on reminding mysaelf that the point of this exercise is to have something, and it is done in the sorta-kinda structure of a CYOA novel because I need permission for it to be bad, and we're all just having fun. I keep going!

Challenges abound, in this life. They are capricious and quick as lighting, they are as slow and earned as dark patches of mold. But the challenge itself is not so much the measure of this life, as how it is met. Some houses can be built grasping to a cliff, or piled firmly into a bog, if the builder is daring and willing.

Lena Oxton was a daring and willing builder of her own life, and relished the challenge of an impossible feat. The corner of her mouth went up in appreciation of life’s little gifts of difficulty as she stood back for a moment and surveyed the house.

“Nothing to be done but get inside, right? Not burglary, as I’m not planning on taking nothing,’ She reassured the house, ‘it’s only so cold and wet, right? Just going to get warm, and put Fareeha and that Tenoh girl into separate corners. Act of charity, that is.”

She barely felt the rain, however heavy. The excitement of the game was too much, as her eyes flitted, hummingbird-like, over the little pots of nectar that were each possible entrance to the building.

There would be no getting into the large glass doors at the ground floor, not without breaking something, and Fareeha would take a more or less dim view of that, as might whatever posh person owned this house, or worse, the national trust. That would be what Fareeha called, an incident, and she did try to avoid incidents. Lena liked to avoid paperwork, so on that score they could agree.

But there was a trellis, running alongside those bright white columns, up to the flat roof topping that colonnade. Whether the roses were supporting the trellis or the other way around, it was hard to tell, however, and Lena suddenly found herself wondering if she should have had the whole pie set in front of her at the pub. And the mash. And the three ales.

Well, no, the three ales were necessary, because the Tenoh girl had sat in a bloody Wetherspoons and ordered chicken katsu, had picked the place because there was chicken katsu, despite Lena telling her chicken bloody katsu was a bit less than local to the area and there might be better ways of exorcising the homesickness she did not have, and then been bold enough to act surprised when it hadn’t been straight out of Tokyo. So another ale it was, for Lena Oxton, and Fareeha could look at her as crossways as she liked.

But the ales were had, and she needed to get into the window, so regrets and second thoughts would only be extra weight, and she dropped them to the damp grass. She took off her jacket and carefully set it under the small bit of roof over the doors. As if a bit more water damage could possibly make the jacket, with its crinkled edges, and stray threads, and a patch job with a dark stain around the edges of it, look any worse.

Lena gave a broad smile to no one and nothing in particular as she bent back into a deep stretch, her hands over her head. It would be easy, if the trellis held. That window up above was almost certainly not locked, so it was only a matter of careful wriggling. Nothing this old was built quite tight. It was one of the more charming bits of England, Lena thought, that the outside was always a bit in, if something had been there long enough. Like it had become part of the country itself, and couldn’t be properly separated.

She lifted onto the trellis, and began her climb, her fingerless gloves only protecting her slightly from the thorns of the rose that climbed alongside her. She gave a small, rare thanks for being built the way she was--her feet slipped easily into the holes of the trellis, and she began to pick speed.

Until the trellis seemed to realize that she was there, and its voice croaked, an old and blueblooded madam affronted by the gall of a dockworker’s granddaughter to presume she was welcome. Lena barely had a moment before the trellis slipped away from the rest of the house like an evening fur, but a moment was all she needed to jump to the edge of the roof and pull herself, inelegant and flat on her stomach, to the safety of the flat space.

She was soaking wet, but she still took a moment to roll on her back and laugh. There were warm clothes in the van, she’d change as soon as she got back. The window was all that she could have hoped for and more, rotting at the very edges of the painted wood. Lena took a tiny penknife out of her pocket and slipped it into the edge of the sill at the bottom, hoping it was stalwart enough for the job. The rain had swelled the old wood, and it stuck firmly. She leaned on it a little more heavily, but to no avail.

Lena rocked back on her heels and tried to think. She pushed up on the sill, strong as she could. She pressed and pressed, and then--a chuck of old wood came flying off the sill, onto the ground, but the window remained shut.

“Oh, come on!” Lena implored the house, and leaned against the window glass. “Please just let me in. It’s bloody freezing, and no one else is making use of you, and--I promise I’m very respectful. Trellis aside. Also the window frame. In general, I suppose.”

There was a strange ripple, that ran through Lena, a sort of deep thrumming that she felt rather than heard, and she stepped back from the window. Just to the left, a french window simply popped open. Just an inch. Barely enough to be seen. But Lena watched the house let her in.

As she walked toward the window, in the back of her mind, she could hear her father’s voice, from far away. She couldn’t hear what he was saying as she climbed inside.

Challenges abound, in this life.

Fareeha closed her eyes and took a breath. People often remarked that it must be so hard, being a military commander. Giving directives on the field. It was nothing to her. It is easy to give orders, when the only consideration is the wisdom of the order itself. When people follow instructions, it is easy to give them. The matter is closed.

Command is easy, and management is hard. Sitting in a van in the rain, attempting to mollify the feelings of an overly-sensitive potential donor while putting up with needling of little her friend, was taking Fareeha to the end of her tether. She should have offered to go on ahead, and left Lena with the problem. She was better with people. She understood how to be charming, more easily.

When she felt inclined to, which was sometimes the trouble with Lena. She did not feel thus inclined, on the subject of the Kaioh family representatives.

So it was on her, to make connections for Overwatch, and so Fareeha turned to Doc, who was still sitting quietly in the corner, foot thumping on the bottom of the van.

“Help me with something.”

Doc nodded. “Can’t hurt.”

Fareeha rolled her eyes, but flung open the van door and zipped her collar back up to its full height. Mina and Haruka were huddled under the umbrella, looking out at the dark fields, the possibility of a small town at the edge of them. The United Kingdom was so small, and yet they had managed to get so far from anything. It seemed to defy sense, but it had happened, and therefore it must be perfectly explicable. There were plenty of places such things could happen, even here.

She cleared her throat, and Haruka and Mina both turned to look at her.

“I--apologize. I am from Egypt, and, so, the cold and wet irritates me. I become difficult. So I have been told.”

The corner of Mina’s mouth raised, but she said nothing. Fareeha walked toward them, letting her eyes rest on the dark road, and the bright white of the cigarette butt lying atop it. She bent down and picked it up, looking first to it, and then to Haruka.

“You have forgotten your litter.” She swallowed. “ An easy mistake, of course. I will handle it.”

She pocketed the cigarette butt and let her eyes drift along the edge of the darkness. Standing in front of the two of them, their eyes on her, expectantly, she realized that while she had resolved to allow Haruka to help her with something, she had utterly failed to figure out what the thing she could help with might be.

Foolish. She was constantly chiding Lena over her impulsivity. She did whatever came to her mind first, and never thought a day, a month, a year past it. But at least her impulse came with it a certain quality of genius, while Fareeha had no gift for improvisation. She was a careful strategist.But here she was, barelling forward without the benefit of planning, and now the very people she needed to impress were staring at her with expectation as she stammered.

“I was--I wonder.” Fareeha turned toward them, “If, the van being broken, we should wait for Lena, or follow to the house with her. I was hoping, Haruka, that you could help me decide. Which is wiser. I have not done many country drives, in places like this. I was told you like to drive in the country, back home.”

It was smarter to stay, of course, even allowing for the fact that Lena was just as likely drinking a few pints and watching some football highlight reel right now. But Haruka would know the same, and could imagine herself an important part of the larger workings Overwatch.

Fareeha wrested the words from her own mouth like a bone from a starving dog.

“I need your help.”

Challenges abound, in this life.

What should Haruka say?

results! The spooky details will be posted down here as they are used in future chapters, so don't worry about not seeing them right now. I've got them!

#doc's choose your own adventure

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sailtomarina · 1 year ago

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You’ll be mine

Draco x Hermione | Kinktober Day 29: Knotting cw: omegaverse, explicit sex

It started with a hint.

The barest wisp of a honeyed fragrance called to him like a hummingbird to nectar.

He wanted to bury his face in the cloying sweetness. Draco had never smelled anything so mouthwatering since his Alpha designation. He’d never dreamt he’d one day stumble across a pull so strong he’d lose all sense of self, stumbling along like a virgin to sacrifice.

Imagine his surprise when he found himself face to face with Hermione Granger.

It took him a beat longer to realize he was in her office.

In his haze, Draco had managed to ascend four levels and through several doorways to make his way here, now, and at a complete loss of what to do next.

“Earth to Malfoy.”

He blinked, sound rushing back and everything coming into sharp focus. Her grounding gaze, dark with tiny flecks of gold, bore into him, her brow wrinkled in possible concern. He couldn’t help but trace her figure with his eyes, the clenched jaw, the way her white blouse gaped open and left her delicate neck exposed, her pert breasts tantalizing him in the plunging neckline.

She cleared her throat and he brought his eyes back up, unabashed at his perusal—he didn’t think there was anything wrong with appreciating her blatant display of femininity.

“What do you want?” she continued to ask. Rather than folding her arms underneath her breasts like he expected, she instead shifted back to lean against her desk, keeping her posture loose.

“I can smell you.”

She didn’t look offended in the least at his proclamation. She just tilted her head, still considering him. He couldn’t stop staring at the expanse of skin at the curve where her neck met her shoulder. It was where her mating gland should be, if not disguised by glamours. A trickle of sweat worked its way down into the collar of her shirt, and he was hit with another powerful wave of pure, unadulterated Granger.

Honey.

Spice.

A sip of his favorite fire whiskey, aged to smooth perfection.

“Good.”

Her reply was not what Draco expected.

“You do realize if I can smell you, then so can every other Alpha in this building?”

“You’re the only one I want.” With that shocking revelation, she proceeded to carefully roll up her sleeves, exposing the swollen glands of her wrists and enveloping him wholly in the essence of her Omega.

He stumbled forward in desperation, helpless to her allure and the idea that she wanted him. She didn’t even move when he caged her in, hands crashing down on the surface of the desk and pushing between her knees.

“Tell me to stop, Granger, please tell me to stop.” He buried his face in her curls, still holding back from outright touching her.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to grab on and take her atop her desk, their past history be damned. Truth be told, doing so would fulfill a long held fantasy he’d carried for years—before their designations, before her marriage and almost immediate divorce, before his failed engagement, before he walked in every morning to see her at the lifts looking just as vibrant, just as passionate as she ever had. More so.

“I don’t want you to stop. I want this.” There was no hesitation or doubt in her voice.

“But, why?”

Idiot, idiot! Why are you questioning this?

“Because I’m sick and tired of waiting for you to get off your proper arse and approach me.”

“You’ve been…waiting?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Nothing she was saying made any sense.

“Why do you think we always see each other at the lifts every morning?”

“We just happen to start at the same time—”

“Don’t be daft.”

His mouth clicked shut at her reprimand.

“Didn’t you think it was odd how often our friends have been throwing us all together?”

He did think it was odd. First Pansy and Neville. Then Harry and Theo. Even Luna and Blaise. Their two circles were overlapping more and more, and he’d found himself awkwardly single alongside her at more pubs than he could remember. They always ended up sitting next to one another as the others paired off.

“I didn’t notice…”

She snorted as he trailed off trying to remember every instance they’d seen each other over the years.

“I came to the realization that if I just waited for you, we were never going to happen. We’d dance circles around each other until the end of time, until I found some boring politician or you gave in to an approved marriage.” She listed out the possibilities in as matter-of-fact of a voice as Mother discussed her daily schedule at breakfast. “So no, I won’t tell you to stop. I will tell you to get over yourself and shag and knot me right here so I’m forced to cancel all my meetings for the day, then fill me so full that I’ll need a plug to keep every drop of you inside of me until you shag me again. Tonight. In my flat.”

His mouth dropped open at her demands, his cock drawing painfully tight against the front of his trousers.

“Well?” she said tartly, raising a brow.

He remained silent, still warring with himself over the very idea of his fantasies becoming reality. She wanted him to take her here, now, even going so far as to plan for a repeat session later tonight. She wanted him to knot her, which meant he’d be stuck in her for hours unable to move.

She wanted him to knot her.

“Granger?” His voice came out lower than he’d intended, rough with the possibilities of what she had implied.

“Yes, Malfoy?” She remained falsely sweet, her smile curling at the tips like some kind of succubus. Her skin had flushed a flattering pink shade, perspiration covering her with a delightful shimmer.

“If I knot you, I’m going to want to bite you. You know that, right?”

“Ob-viously.” She sounded like his bloody godfather.

“You’ll be mine.” His voice shook in excitement. Granger in his bed, her curls strewn across the bed, her heavenly scent clinging to his sheets and his skin.

Get a grip. Don’t muck this up.

Draco slid one hand in the crook of her knee to pull her wide enough to ground himself into her, letting her feel how hard she’d made him, how the idea of taking her and keeping her, was everything he wanted.

“You do realize,” she grabbed onto his neck down to her, lips brushing against his own mating gland, “that you’ll also be mine.”

She shifted and bit down onto his lower lip hard enough to break the skin and taint their kiss with a faint copper taste, her legs winding up and around his hips.

All reservations faded into a rush of senses as they fell into one another, playing out every one of her demands. They knocked over every item on her desk and sent neat piles of paper flying into disarray. She held him tight to her as he swelled and locked them together, murmuring praise and petting his hair.

Fuck if he didn’t love every bit of it.

Her scent surrounded him. Every thought pushing to the forefront of his mind was of her beneath him, on top of him, surrounding him. Her embrace was comforting in a way he had rarely experienced, romantic or otherwise. It felt right, like coming home after wandering for far too long.

He laid on her for a little over twenty minutes before she thumped him on the back and jolted him out of his stupor.

“Huh?”

“Your weight is lovely and all, but since we’re going to be stuck together for quite a while yet, I think it best we move somewhere a bit less air restrictive.”

“Oh, shite, sorry!” He was crushing her like it was his first time.

Nevermind the fact that this was his first time knotting, well, anyone.

He propped himself up on his elbows to look around the room, looking for an appropriate spot. Hermione helped push him back to standing, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and nodding her head towards her chair.

Lifting and carrying her to the other side while he was still inside of her was every bit as awkward as it seemed, despite the knot actually helping keep her in place.

“We’ll want to enlarge it for us to both fit,” she suggested, before reaching her hand out to summon her wand and doing just that.

“Wow, your chair is really comfortable,” he said with surprise. He hadn’t expected much from the mesh and plastic contraption when he’d first looked at it. It certainly wasn’t anything like the sturdy armchairs he had grown up using.

He shifted around to test the cushioning, pressing into the springy back support. The bottom was soft and didn’t stick to his naked skin like leather would have.

Granger leaned forward, her naked breasts pushing flat against his chest and her lips tickling his ear. “It has wheels, too.”

Tensing his legs, he pressed his feet against the ground and pushed.

The chair went flying backwards into her bookshelf, knocking photo frames and other knick knacks down onto their heads. One particularly well-aimed frame smacked him on the face as he looked up before landing between their bodies face up to reveal Potter and Weasley’s faces grinning up at him.

“Oh, gross.”

Hermione’s charming laughter bounced around the room, her warmth around him vibrating the knot. It was an odd sensation he thought he could get easily addicted to.

She picked up the picture frame to reset it back on the shelf. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now, Malfoy.”

“That would be rather gauche of me, don’t you think? Especially given that I’m still inside of you and plan to be so repeatedly.” He pumped his hips up in emphasis, and grinned at her gasp.

In retaliation, she leaned over and dragged her teeth over his neck gland. The resulting throb straight to his cock was instantaneous. He couldn’t help but yelp from the sensation, his hands squeezing her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

She giggled with a smile straight out of a villainess' playbook. “If you think I’m going to just warm your cock like some passive participant, you don’t know me at all.”

He huffed in acknowledgement, even as he fought his own chuckle.

“To be honest, nothing you’ve done today has been anywhere near the realm of my expectation.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

She was hugging him again, their torsos flush against one another and her fingers combing through his hair. He couldn’t help but run his hands down her sides and over her plush curves, kneading the muscles of her cheeks and causing her to sigh in pleasure.

She was ridiculously warm, but not so hot as to indicate a full-on heat. She must be close, though, given the strength of her pheromones and the tackiness of her skin.

“When do you go into full heat?” he asked, keeping up his massage and letting his eyes roam her office.

“Any day now, but I expect as soon as tonight now that you’re here.” Her hands had begun a massage of their own, kneading his scalp and neck. It was heavenly. “I want you to bite me near the end.”

Draco pulled back to look at her, ignoring the delightful way she shifted around him as he did so.

“It doesn’t have to be this soon, you know. I can see you through this heat and give us both more time to think about it.”

She looked affronted at the mere suggestion. “I meant what I said, Malfoy. I want us to claim each other.” She nipped once more at his gland and he twitched hard inside of her, making them both groan.

“You keep doing that and we won’t be leaving your office anytime soon,” he threatened.

She pouted even as his eyes twinkled at the prospects of taking her on every available surface of her work space. He wanted their scents on everything, and to laugh at her stuffy coworkers sitting unaware on top of where they’d shagged each other silly. But that could wait for another day, when she wasn’t on the cusp of her heat.

She squeezed her inner muscles and grinned at the glare he sent her. Minx.

And, soon enough, his minx.

2097 WC

10/29 “knotting” prompt from @hpkinktober

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3

I’ve never actually written an omegaverse piece, despite enjoying reading fics of it very much. I underestimated how much I’d struggle trying to make a more empowered Omega and an Alpha both possessive but also willing to hand over the reins to a woman he’s long admired. I hope I did okay. I had to stop before I was truly satisfied because otherwise I’d never get this posted on time.

#harry potter fanfiction #dramione #dhr fanfiction #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy #hp kinktober 2023 #omegaverse

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