#i could drop a couple little hints and see if he takes the bait and if not i’ll forget about it in like 3 days

[backtodecembertv]

i know why we had to say goodbye like the back of my hand but i just miss you and i just wish you were a better man!! ok i’m done being sad about him now. need to do something messy. maybe i will sleep with that other guy

[gaysindistress]

Limits of a Fae Heart - five

Pairings: Azriel x Reader Summary: With war looming over their heads, the Inner Circle is desperate for a solution. The one they found comes in the form of a resurrected female who’s fated to not only their Shadowsinger but once to their enemy as well. Word count: 3.4k Warnings: reader is AFAB, mentions of the female body/parts, cursing, sexual content (p in v), spitting but it's hot, choking, slight dom/sub vibes, I'm actually awful at tagging things but there's smut. for the love of all things holy, do not read if you are a minor. One | two | three | four | six

taglist: @dr4g0ngirl @isa1b2h3 @sidthedollface2

Cassian has made it known several times that the tension between Azriel and I is getting on his nerves. He’s not so casually told us to get a room many times since the morning he interrupted us. It’s truly only been a couple of days but with just the three of us to keep each other company, we’re all starting to go a little mad. 

Then again watching an abandoned camp for days on end because your high lord said so would do that to anyone.

By the fourth day of watching and edging closer to the camp with absolutely nothing to show for it, Cassian approaches me as I’m sitting by the fire, trying to warm my stiff body. He plops himself down next to me and lets out a dramatic sigh as he leans back on his hands. I don’t spare him a glance and he lets out another sigh. I look over at him to see him already giving me a playful but annoyed look. 

“Yesss?” I ask as I stick my hands closer to the flames.

“When are we going to be done with this boring stake out? The camp has been abandoned for close to a week now and unless I’m blind, there’s no reason for us to be here anymore.”

“If you’re asking to go home, just ask.”

“Fine, can I go home? You and Azzie boy can stay here and stare lustfully at each other all you want but I would like to go home and have a proper bath.”

Right on cue, Azzie Boy materializes out of a pocket of shadows and glances between the two of us. A hint of jealous shots down the bond as he takes in how close Cassian and I are. It quickly disappears as Cassian scoots over with a loud huff. 

“Well what’s your answer?” he demands lightheartedly and an arched brow.

Azriel narrows his eyes at his brother and sits across from us, the flames illuminating every inch of his sun kissed face. 

“I planned on going into the camp tomorrow and if I found nothing, then we could leave but I think Azriel and I can handle it ourselves,” I say looking from Cassian to Azriel, who’s already staring at me. He was probably wondering what Cassian was referring to but realization relaxes his face and he nods in agreement. 

Cassian claps his hands together, “Alright it’s settled then. Don’t kill each other and I’ll see you two tomorrow!”

It’s almost pitiful how excited he is to return to Velaris but it’s even more pathetic how quickly he’s on his feet and flying away. 

Azriel leans back against the fallen tree that lays behind him and props one leg up as his shadows drop an apple into his awaiting palm. He’s purposely staying silent; baiting me to initiate conversation and toying with me by pulling out his beloved Truth Teller and using it to carve the red fruit with impressive precision.

His shadows dance around me meanwhile a few brave and handsy ones find their way under my sweater and undershirt and nuzzle against my bare skin. I gasp at their snuggly behavior and go to shake them out when his voice stops me. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

“What does that mean?”

He chuckles as he eats a piece of apple off of the truth teller. “They don’t like when you push them away. Puts them on edge and then they don’t listen to anyone.”

I don’t heed his warning and shake them out anyways, causing them to let out a sound akin to a growl. They immediately find their way back under my clothes and practically mold themselves to my body so I can’t get rid of them so easily again. 

“Told you.”

“By the cauldron,” I groan as I attempt to swat them away, “tell them to leave me alone. They’re freezing.”

He stops his carving and looks at me curiously, tilting his head to the side slightly as his hazel eyes rake over me. “And why would I do that? They’re perfectly fine where they’re at.”

I send him an annoyed glare before I climb to my feet and walk towards the tent for another night of restlessness.

“Where are you going, sweet girl?”

“What have I said about calling me that?”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with an intense gaze and an almost feral smirk.

“And where does it look like I’m going? To bed obviously,” I say in a clipped tone and gesture to the tent. 

“No you’re going to lay there and flop around until the crack of dawn. Come here.” The shadows imprinted onto me do their singer’s bidding and push me back towards him. 

“Excuse me!”

He cuts off what was inevitably going to be a tepid attempt at a lecture from me. “Enough of that. Come sit next to me.”

With the shadows wrapped tightly around me and pulling at me, I don’t exactly have a choice but follow their lead. They finally ease up when I’m sitting beside him, almost shoulder to shoulder and he offers me a slice of apple. 

“What’s that look for?” he asks when I look between him and the slice with a scrunched up expression.

“When did you become so commanding?”

“You have a problem with it?”

I roll my eyes at the way his plump lips are turned up in a smile and are parted to show off his perfect teeth. “I have a problem with males who think they can tell me what to do. You of all people should know that doesn’t go over well with me.”

“Maybe but I’m not just any other male now am I?”

“Yes you are.”

I go to take the slice but he pulls it away, clicking his tongue at me. “Open your mouth, pretty girl,” he murmurs to me and I know it’s a challenge designed to test my resolve.

The nickname and his low timbre sets something ablaze in me and I know I stand no chance in beating my him. His win comes in the form of my lips parting to allow the sticky sweet slice to greet my awaiting tongue. He tracks my every movement, intently watching as its juice wets my lips and my tongue cleans it up.

“It’s my job to anticipate people’s next move but you?” Azriel says with a shake of his head and goes back to carving pieces out of his half eaten apple. “Just when I think I have you figured out, you do the exact opposite of what I expected. It should frustrate me but it doesn’t. Why do you think that is, sweet girl?”

“Maybe you’re bad at your job,” jumps out with my breathy voice and he blinks at me with an arched brow. “Perhaps it’s for the better if you find a new profession or stop treating me like one of your targets. You’ll stop disappointing yourself that way.”

“Now I never said that it was disappointing.” he chides and grabs my chin when I try to look away from his soul blazing gaze, “It keeps me on my toes, never really knowing what you’re going to do.” 

“You really are like every other male; needing to be challenged but not enough to make you feel lesser. You all have this need to control.” I whisper and let my gaze fall to his lips briefly, “I’ve already told you and quite frankly shown you that I’m not one to fall in line because a pretty face told me to.”

He searches my face for a hint of humor as he holds me in place. Testing me, he leans into me and when I think he’s going to kiss me, I let my eyes flutter closed only for him to draw back. From beneath my lashes, I see a feral smirk break across his face. 

“You think I have a pretty face?”

“That’s what you took from that?”

“Answer the question.”

“You’re infuriating beautiful and I hate looking at…”

Azriel silences me with a hungry kiss, our hands desperately searching for something to hold onto as our tongues collide against each other and drink in the other’s sweet taste. His lips are soft as they slide against my own while his hands feel jagged tangling into my hair. Cold metal presses into my scalp and I can’t say that I’m surprised he didn’t drop his beloved truth teller when he launched himself at me.

My hands find their place on his chest and the nape of his neck, slowly making their way into his mess of dark waves. The soft noises that rumble through his chest when I tug at his hair emboldened me and I sharply pull, forcing him to let me lead.

He does for a moment. That is until he is shadows that are still wound around me, something I forgot about, trace over the raised lines of my hidden wings. A whimper falls from me and Azriel hungrily laps it up using his shadows to drag me into his lap. My arms wind around his neck while letting out a surprised noise when I feel his confined cock against me. We break away and that’s when I realize my breathing is so heavy that I’m almost panting but Azriel is no better. He tilts his head up again to playful nip at my bottom lip, trapping it between his teeth before letting it go and kissing the red mark on it.

I hear myself whine at the loss of his lips and heated touch but I can’t find it in myself to care. I’m slipping into the abyss of lust that is between us and pulling tight at our bond and it feels absolutely amazing. 

He’s growing cockier by the minute much to my dismay. “If you’re this flushed after a few kisses, I can’t imagine how you’d look after I’m done with you.”

With a flash of silver in the fire light, the truth teller is safely tucked away again and both of his hands come to grip my hips. He dips his head to plant wet kisses across my jaw and whispers against the supple skin of my neck, “but tell me, pretty girl, do you want that?”

Words feel pointless, coiled in my throat and morph into something else while they come out in the form of broken whines. 

“Come on, beautiful, use your words.”

I quietly mumble “yes” and let out a high pitched whine when he sucks a bruise over my pulse. He mumbles something like “good girl” as his shadows engulf us and my back hits the cold mat of my bed roll with him slotted between my legs. 

Azriel continues his attack on my neck and I lean my head to the side to grant him more access but not without teasing him. “Couldn’t walk ten feet?”

He runs his tongue up the column of my neck. “Are you complaining?” he shots back with a bold flick of his tongue of my ear lobe before taking it between his lips, sucking and nibbling on it. 

“N..no,” I try to say as my body shudders when he starts to roll his hips into mine. 

I vaguely hear his voice but I’m too caught up in the feeling of his clothed cock pressing into my core. A forceful grip on my jaw drags my attention to the male above me; his wings are flared behind him while his shadows dance around the room and curl against the both of us. Those gorgeous dark waves fall around his sculptured face and he gazes down at me with those hooded hazel eyes. 

“Keep talking to me, sweet girl. I want to hear you no matter what, understand?

I barely nod and it’s not good enough for him. He squeezes my cheeks and doubles down on his original question, “I said ‘keep talking’. I need you to tell me that you understand. That you’ll stop me if it gets to be too much.”

“Yes! Gods, yes Azriel I understand!” I moan out, already running out of patience as I arch my back and roll my hips into his, matching his pace as best as I can. 

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers before continuing his trail of blazing kisses down my neck.

I go to drag my hands down his neck but his shadows are quick to grab them and pin them above my head. He chuckles at my frustration and feeble attempts to pull my hands free as he sits back on his hunches.

With only the fire light from outside to illuminate the tent, Azriel looks like a god above me. The power that radiates off of him commands the flames to perfectly bathe every inch of his taunt and towering body. His blue siphons shimmer in the dim light, reflecting my own pathetic state back at me. If I could I would’ve turned over so I wouldn’t have to see the satisfaction on his face as he gazes down at me completely at his mercy. He makes a disapproving sound as he gently takes a leg in his hand, caressing my thigh and calf before stopping at my boots.

“You’re not going shy on me now are you, beautiful?” He murmurs against my ankle, kissing each inch he reveals as he tugs off my boot.

“Fuck you,” I choke out when more shadows join in. They replace his warm touch when he’s moved on, kneading where his hands once were and licking at the places his kisses have grown cold. Being so thoroughly surrounded by him is intoxicating and I find myself going dumb before he’s even touched me.

“Already doing that, sweetheart.”

Gods this fucking male.

Azriel repeats his actions with my other leg and moves to my pants next. We watch each other with half lidded eyes as he takes his time unlacing them and deliberately brushes his long fingers against the bare skin at my waist. When he starts the painstakingly slow motion of pulling them down my thighs, the damned shadows crawl up my torso. They drag his sweater and my thin long sleeve up my body, helping me to pull it off before tugging my bra down to shamelessly play with my breasts, groping and kneading at the tender skin.

The Shadowsinger’s eyes are blown wide, leaving only black in the place of the golden hazel as he watches them play with me. A long sinful moan is pulled from me when the shadows tug at my nipples and it seems to snap him back to reality. He pulls my pants off completely and inhales sharply when he sees the rapidly growing wet spot on my underwear. His eyes flutter closed as the scent of my arousal invades his nostrils and when they open, a fire is blazing in them. He looks devastatingly handsome staring at that spot like it’s the first glimpse of water he’s seen after weeks in the desert. 

“Beautiful, absolutely beautiful,” he mumbles more to himself while he slides his hands up to my knees and lowers himself to lay on his stomach before me. Another pair of shadows wrap around my thighs, preventing them from closing when he lightly runs his fingers over my clothed core. I writhe and struggle against my restraints with a loud huff, halting the male between my legs. 

 “Talk to me, sweet girl,” he asks in an affectionate tone, searching my face as he rests his head against the inside of my thigh. The same soothing sensation strokes at our bond and my face flushes even more as I search for the words. “What do you want?”

Light kisses are littered on my thigh as I stutter, “more… I need more.”

“More what?” he asks, forcing me to say exactly what I want. As he speaks he les his warm and wet tongue drag across the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “More what?” he asks again with a mischievous smirk taunt on his bitten lips as he licks directly over my covered slit.

“Touch me more, Az please.” It feels terribly pathetic to beg him and I’d cover my face if the shadows weren’t tightening their hold on my wrists. 

My mate immediately drags his thick tongue over the thin fabric covering my core and mouthes at me through it. He circles my hole before flicking the tip of his tongue over my clit. Desperate please build in my chest while my brain turns to mush having him so close to where I need him but just out of reach. It’s beyond frustrating and he knows it, smirking and chuckling at me in my disheveled and starving state.

Whimpers and whines grow into loud pleas and sinfully wanton moans as he works his tongue over the soaked fabric. After about the fourth time he nearly touches my clit, I start to realize that my wordless begging isn’t going to spur him into removing the offending piece of clothing. He wants words but I won’t let myself beg again just yet.

So I try the bond, sending every ounce of lust and desire that I have down to him. His only reaction is a slight quiver of his wings and an airy chuckle against my core. 

“Nice try, sweetheart but that wasn’t what i told you to do. Remind me, what did I tell you?”

He’s completely stopped using his tongue and has moved to dragging his fingers up and down my slit.

I throw my head back with a growl at the loss of stimulation. My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it to calm down so I can think straight. The shadows are quicker than me and stop any thinking I may have done with another harsh pinch to each nipple.

“Until you can tell me exactly what you need, I’m perfectly happy to keep bringing you to the edge over and over again.”

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. “Fuck me with your tongue, fingers, I don’t care. Just fucking get on with it already, Az.” 

“Now was that so hard?”

I go to snap at him however I’m cut short by him kissing the juncture of my thigh before he pulls my underwear to the side and lightly laps at my soaked folds. He starts slow, kitten licking and teasing me to gauge my reactions. With the shadows around my thighs, I don’t have a lot of range but I’m able to move my hips against his face enough to get some relief.

Azriel takes pity on me and his tongue, wide and rough, finds my clit the moment he licks a decisive strip up my core. His mouth becomes glued to me as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. That feeling in my lower stomach grows tighter when he sucks on my clit and pulls back to blow on it. Throwing my head back, moans fall unhindered and my hips start to move wildly against his mouth.

More shadows find their way around me, caressing and kneading everywhere they can touch. Some tangle into my hair, pulling at the strands while others grope my ass only adding to the bliss that is Azriel’s expert tongue working me into oblivion. 

He brings a hand up to let his fingers circle my hole, collecting my wetness before plunging two fingers in. He smirks against me after my hips falter and he slips his free arm under me, holding my hips up so he can bury his face into me even further. I whine and mewl as Azriel circles my clit and flicks it in time to the come hither motion he’s making with his fingers inside me.

“Az…Az, oh gods, I’m gonna..gonna cum,” I cry out. His shadows double down on their groping and massaging while he doesn’t let up eating me out like a man starved. He watches my orgasm crash over me through half lidded eyes and I try as best as I can to keep eye contact however my own eyes feel heavier than ever before. 

Azriel whispers words of reassurances and praises against my heated skin as he kisses his way back up to me. The shadows around my thighs loosen and draw light circles where their bruising grip once was. The ones on my wrists relax and caress the sore muscles from being held above my head.

“You did so well, sweet girl. So good for me,” he mumbles between labored breaths that mirror mine. I nod in agreement, cupping his face and pulling him down for a much slower kiss than before.

“So perfect, made for me…taking everything I give you,” he mutters against my lips. His wings shake out above us and mine feel like they’re about to do the same when one of the shadows dances over where they’re melding into my body.

He lets his body settle against me, once again letting his hips press into mine but now it’s unbearable. Im still sensitive and the feeling of his leather covered cock against me drags broken sobs from my chest. Like the teasing male he is, Azriel shushes me against my lips as one of his hands finds my thigh and urges my leg over his hip. With my leg around his waist, he moves us at a pace that makes us both moan into our kiss. He drops his hand next to my head while the other comes to rest on my throat, tilting my head back when he pulls away and drags his thumb over my puffy bottom lip.

“Such a pretty mouth,” he growls, staring lustfully at the way that my tongue swirls around the tip of his thumb. I suck at it and he pushes between my lips, allowing me to work it with my tongue like I would his cock. His eyes darken when I release it with a pop and a string of saliva connects us.

A heavy weight constricts my chest and pushes all of the air out of breath thanks to the tsunami of burning desire that Azriel sends to me. “Open up, sweet girl.” 

With our hips grinding slowing down and moving into a lazy, occasional jolt of pleasure, I obey. Without being told, I rest my tongue on my bottom lip, a silent agreement to what he’s about to do.

Azriel’s cock twitches against me as he spits into my mouth and I swallow it with a satisfied smirk. He curses under his breath and his cock twitches again.

And this is when we find ourselves in a rather unfortunate situation; he’s fully clothed while I’m bare save for my bra that’s been pulled under my breasts.

My pawing at his chest gives him the hint and he leans back to quickly rid himself of his leathers while his shadows keep me entertained. They flick and pinch at my pebbled nipples while sneaking down to rub me through my underwear.

The moment his clothes are off, I push myself up and climb into his lap to wrap myself around him. I kiss him like he’s the air that I need and he matches me in pace and passion.

Droplets of sweat race down his broad tattooed chest and his hair is messy and tangled. His arms, perfect matches to his chest, broad, muscular and tattooed are wrapped around me, keeping me in place as he ruts into me. He rocks his aching cock against my barely covered puffy and oversensitive clit while we devour one and other. His breath hitches in his throat when I grind down on him and my nails scrap against the base of his wings. 

“Do…do that again,” he whimpers into our kiss and I happily oblige.

I start with lightly dragging my nails against the base again before moving up the ridge of his wings. The barely there touch is enough to make him groan out and break our kiss to throw his head back in pleasure. I take my chance to assault his neck with my own kisses and bites when I repeat the motions to his wings. His hips stutter under me as my delicate touch combined with the hardness of his aching cock become too overwhelming.

Azriel groans out, frustrated that there’s still a layer of thin fabric separating us and seconds later, I feel the cold tip of the truth teller slice through my underwear. His shadows remove them from between us while he holds my hips in a bruising grip to rub my wetness against him. Back and forth, he drags the head of his cock through my folds, stealing desperate moans from my swollen lips. 

“Az,” I whine as I feel his thick tip catch against my clit, “please Az.”

He coos to me as if he’s being sweet as he continues to torture me. “Please what, sweet girl?”

“Fuck me Azriel,” comes out in broken sobs when he lines himself up and snaps his hips up, fully sheathing his thick cock in my warm heat. He waits for me to adjust to his size, only moving when I wiggle against him. He sets a brutal pace, fucking up into me in calculated and determined thrusts. The near painful hold he had on me is grounding as he pumps his dick into me and I cry out as pleasure starts to build into a second orgasm.

He pulls out only to guide me lay on my side to the bed roll and drags me against his chest, slipping in from behind. Wrapping one heavily tattooed muscular arm around my neck, he lets the other come to wrap around my middle and play with my puffy clit. The corded muscles are flexing as he holds me in place against him, ensuring that I have no choice but to take his thick cock. 

“I want everyone in Velaris to hear you,” he grunts against my ear as he sets a cruel pace from behind me. Downright sinful sounds fall from my permanently open mouth and his own beautiful sounds fill my ears when my core throbs and clenches around him.

“You can be louder, pretty girl,” he urges me while tightening his already unyielding grip around my neck. My hands sink into his arm, leaving red marks in their wake as I cry out, body trembling and writhing against him.

I tilt my head back to rest against his shoulder as we continue to move against each other. His cock drags against my walls in a painful way and my eyes flutter shut from the white hot pleasure it brings me. I’m pulsing around him and pleading with him to come with me. 

“Shush, pretty girl. Let me take care of you. Come for me, beautiful. I know you need to,” his breath feels like an inferno in my ear and I involuntarily moan at his praise. I know I can’t possibly be seen as anything other than a mess; tears streak my face and sweat collects in my hairline but none of that stops Azriel, my mate, from praising every inch of me. 

The last sharp thrust and caress of his tongue against my neck are what push me over the edge as my hands dig into his arm. His own release is almost upon him as his thrusts falter and he goes to pull out but my hand darts behind me and grips his hip.

“Come…with me.”

A dark chuckle rumbles through his chest, “you want me to come in you, pretty girl? You want me to mark you with my cum? Make it so every male who ever comes near you smells me? Is that what you want?”

“Yes, gods yes yes…please…come with me…please come in me.”

My begging sparks him to snap his hips even harder than before as he works us through our orgasms together. Both sweet and humiliating words continue to pour from his mouth between his kisses as he alternates between licking and biting at my lips. His arm loosens around my neck and shifts to cup my shoulder instead while the other grasps my hip.

“You did so well, sweet girl. So proud of you, took me so well,” he murmurs, nuzzling his face into my neck while our highs start to come down and our breathing slows. Finally our bond feels content; overjoyed that we are together and basking in the raw affection we have for each other.

I know that there is a part of it that won’t be satisfied until we accept it, until I accept him and offer him a meal that I made just for him. 

My heart skips a beat when that thought crosses my mind however this time it’s out of panic. What if’s and past traumas flash in my mind, no doubt flooding the bond with seemingly unwarranted anxiety. 

I try to pull away from Azriel but he holds me as he whispers softly from behind me, “Stay with me, my sweet girl. You’re crashing and you need affection right now. Let me help you through it.”

Panic sinks its talons into me even further, causing my heart to race, my breathing to grow too fast, the feeling of slipping into thick water without a way out to overcome. Tears spring from my eyes again and his voice sounds muffled even though it’s right next to me. 

“Breath with me.” His chest rises and falls against my back and my body falls into sync with it. The bond fills me with nothing but adoration and pure contentment, pushing away the crashing low I had begun to slip into.

“Good, just follow my breathing, just like that. You did so well, I’m so proud of you. Keep breathing with me and let me take care of you, beautiful. Let me give you the affection you need.”

For the first time ever in my life possibly, I feel safe. I feel safe in the arms of this mysterious Shadowsinger. I feel protected, cared for, and loved by Azriel, my mate.

[vickyvicarious]

I went on to make a thorough examination of the various stairs and passages, and to try the doors that opened from them. One or two small rooms near the hall were open, but there was nothing to see in them except old furniture, dusty with age and moth-eaten. At last, however, I found one door at the top of the stairway which, though it seemed to be locked, gave a little under pressure. I tried it harder, and found that it was not really locked, but that the resistance came from the fact that the hinges had fallen somewhat, and the heavy door rested on the floor. Here was an opportunity which I might not have again, so I exerted myself, and with many efforts forced it back so that I could enter. I was now in a wing of the castle further to the right than the rooms I knew and a storey lower down.

Speculation time: why is this door not locked?

I think there are two main options. In the past I just assumed it was the first one, but now I'm a bit more open to considering the second, which changes the tone of what comes next a bit.

Dracula didn't think he needed to lock it.

First consideration: this is a ways away from Jonathan's rooms and the ones he usually has access to. It's possible that Dracula was less careful about locking away different doors in further reaches of the castle. After all, there are a few other rooms in the hall that are open but don't really have anything to hide. Going along with that consideration, the fact that the door itself was heavy and had fallen on the floor so seemed locked at first, may have been all the justification he needed. It's possible that he didn't think Jonathan would have been able to open the door anyway, so there was no need to bother installing a new lock on a broken door.

If this is the case, then his warning to Jonathan about not sleeping outside of his own bedroom may well have been entirely genuine. Dracula has decided that he wants to keep his solicitor around a while longer, and so he gave him a warning which should ensure he actually stays alive to toy with. He's genuinely surprised and angry to find Jonathan about to be fed upon when he returns.

Dracula knew it could be opened.

While the door is heavy and is stuck, it's not impossible to move. Perhaps Dracula knew that. This year, I have noticed that a couple of the moments where Dracula tells Jonathan not to do something can almost be taken as a challenge. It could match the way he is constantly pushing boundaries in other ways as well - verbally, physically, what-have-you - he is trying to press and find Jonathan's breaking point. So far, Jonathan has just kept bending, and in doing so has avoided snapping (and getting immediately killed). The fact that he obviously knows what is going on but goes along with it anyway is super fun for Dracula, and possibly a big part of the reason he is still alive/his stay has been extended.

But something else Jonathan has done - and will continue to do - is to resist where he can. He doesn't confront Dracula directly but he does sneak around and spy on him. He doesn't mention the many doors being locked including the front door, but he did run around and check a bunch of them. I talked about both the locked doors and the warning about sleep as bait the other day, so I won't rehash all of it... but if it was meant as bait that points to a couple key differences.

Firstly, that Dracula could still be testing Jonathan's limits where he isn't involved. Perhaps it isn't just the way Jonathan reacts to him in person that is so fun for him, but also the way he's always pushing limits in his own way. He takes cues and tries stuff! He keeps Dracula on his toes! It might be just interesting/engaging enough to be fun without being annoying (like any sign that he could actually succeed in escaping/any direct confrontation would be). In that view, Dracula might enjoy dropping hints that give Jonathan what looks like chances to learn things or escape, but which in his opinion won't get him anywhere. The fact that he is able to manipulate Jonathan's behavior with these type of comments could also be a part of the fun, extending his feeling of control over him even through Jonathan trying to resist it.

Of course, this means that Dracula was willing to take a chance that Jonathan would get drunk from first by his roommates, which is the second big difference. There's a couple options there as well: he may have been okay with it since they don't tend to kill immediately (at least until he saw it about to happen and then got more possessive than he'd expected to, and became genuinely angry). He may have wanted to test if Jonathan would ignore his advice but didn't expect him to make progress so quickly (perhaps expecting him to sleep in a different room like the library or hall if he slept anywhere outside his bedroom). This second option could overlap with the first bullet point too actually, where the warning was still meant as bait but Jonathan took way more of the bait than Dracula expected, and he wasn't actually supposed to get access to this room yet/ever. The only downside there is that every other time Jonathan disobeys Dracula he is faced with near-immediate negative consequences to 'punish' him. The ladies serve that purpose very well here, and if Jonathan was supposed to disobey but not meant to meet them, it makes me wonder what the consequence would have been supposed to be.

Still, I do kind of like that last option, because it fits with a recurring theme where Dracula enjoys toying with Jonathan... not realizing that the act of doing so is directly giving Jonathan the tools and information he uses to later defeat him (also contributing to big reversals/exchanged traits between them as Jonathan learns way more than expected). This repeats with Mina as well in a big way, when him establishing a mental connection allows her to spy right back on him. Perhaps Dracula is having fun right now watching Jonathan follow various bread crumbs of hints and try to figure things out and try new ways of escaping, all of which are doomed to failure. But, and this is later exemplified by his diary full of information which he manages to keep despite Dracula stealing all his other things, Jonathan is both accomplishing and learning more than Dracula expects or realizes at every turn. And all of it will eventually be turned against him.

[fanfic-me-up]

Capture This! || Kaminari Denki

Synopsis: You walk in on Denki, your best friend of five years, getting off. Two questions: Why is there a picture of you? And why do you want him to take more? 

Pairing: Kaminari Denki x fem!reader

Warnings: M/E+, 18+, explicit sexual content

Word Count: 6k+

A/N: This is for the @bnhabookclub​ bingo event! Thank you @shoutogepi​ and @im-here-for-the-heroes​ for beta reading. Shout out to @whats-her-quirk​ this fic was born from me poppin in during your thirst hours lol

“Lotion? Check. Tissues? Check. Pictures?” 

Denki swallows. 

“Check.”

It’s routine for Denki, really the only ritual he sticks to in his otherwise scatterbrained schedule of kickin’ ass, chilling with friends, and playing Fortnite till ungodly hours of the morning.

But he can’t help it. You’re fucking gorgeous, and Denki has needs - his brain programmed to get off at least three times a day else he can’t function. The first time it happened, he felt a deep sense of shame, twisting his gut, disgusted with himself that he defiled your image. He couldn’t look you in the eye for a week until you had enough and demanded to know what was up. It was the first time he lied to you. 

But one time became two, and three, and suddenly Denki needed an image of you all the time. The one of you looking all pretty in that stupid summer dress was his favorite. You bought it that one time you dragged him to the mall because you needed a “guy’s opinion.” He rushed to the bathroom because if he didn’t get out fast, he was gonna drag you back into the changing room and rip that dress off himself.

You’re adorable, hot, sexy, and absolutely terrifying, wrapped up in one perfect package.

Oh, and did he forget to mention?

Totally off-limits.

This is why Denki has to resort to hanging out with you, listening to you vent about your boy problems, and how you just want to meet “the one” already. Denki’s heart breaks a little more every time you shove him deeper into the friend zone, all the while pretending like he didn’t just jerk it to you a couple hours before.

He works his hand up and down his shaft, growing harder by the second with each stroke. It doesn’t take much to get him going, not when it’s you. You’re wearing his hoodie, toes buried in the sand, roasting a marshmallow in front of a bonfire. You’re smiling at something Kirishima said, Denki doesn’t remember what, because all he could see was the light in your eyes. A genuine spark lit only when the cameras were off, and you were unaware of anyone watching. Denki loved witnessing these rare moments; wanted to commit it to memory, so he did. When you posted the picture on Instagram, Denki was more than surprised; you had scrunched your nose when he showed you the picture, displeased with how you looked.

This should not be happening. Any normal person would feel ashamed when staring at a picture of their best friend and touching themselves. No one knew about it, and Denki was surprised he was able to keep it a secret for this long considering he’s friends with fucking Mina of all people.

Enough pre-cum bubbles at the tip that he doesn’t even need the lotion. Staring at you on the screen, wearing his hoodie that’s way too big it covers your thighs completely, makes his mind wander to all sorts of ways he wishes he could get you out of that hoodie. He leans back into the chair, spreading his legs with his eyes half-lidded, imagining what your lips might look like wrapped around his cock. 

“Fuck yeah...”

Groaning at the image of you on your knees, lips bruised and slicked with spit from fucking your pretty little mouth has Denki tightening his fist, hips fucking into his hand in a continuous rhythm. 

He’s on the verge of coming when the door swings open - the first and last person Denki wants to walk in is standing there in front of him.

“Hey, I called, but you didn’t - ah!” You squeak, throwing the box you’re holding. A sea of random knick-knacks and hero merch rains over you. You hear a thump when the yellow polaroid camera you bought for Denki at a thrift shop hits the floor. 

“Fuck!” Denki jumps from his chair, an array of pens fall in a heap to the floor. 

You whip your head away, heat spikes your body, embarrassed that you saw your best friend in such a compromising position. 

Denki mutters a repeated “shit shit shit” to himself for a good minute before he finally addresses you; his voice rising with each word.

“How did you get in here!?”

“Spare key, dumbass!” 

“That’s for emergencies only!”

“Are you talking to me with your dick out!?”

Silence.

“No?”

You huff at the uncertainty in his tone. It’s only two o’clock, and you can already feel a migraine coming on.

“Denki, if I turn around and you’re not covered, so help me god I will-”

“Okay, okay, I got it. Pants are zipped.” 

You don’t move until you hear the confirming “zip” before slowly opening your eyes (you have no idea why your eyes were closed in the first place), and you turn around to find Denki leaning against the desk. He’s trying his best to appear casual, but the flush on his face and frazzled hair give away what he was doing moments before you walked in. You don’t know where it comes from, but the thought alone stirs something inside you.

The confusing emotion is replaced by hot-blooded anger when you lock eyes on the screen behind him.

“Is that my face!?” 

Denki’s smile drops as he turns around. Dammit. Of course, he forgot to close the tab.

“Uhhh…”

He has no words, none, not when you’re standing there with that intense look in your eyes you get when you’re about to rip someone a new one. Your anger could rival Bakugou’s, and Denki has unfortunately been in the middle of one too many screaming matches. He’s surprised his eardrums aren’t blown out by now.

He clicks to exit out, or at least he thinks he does until he comes to the dumb realization that he’s clicking the zoom button instead. 

“Ho-hold on, let me just…” 

With each click, it zooms a little more into your face until only your nose is in the frame. Denki sheepishly looks up at you.

“Oops?”

Denki’s had a good life. He’s already come farther than most ever dream in their career when becoming a pro-hero, and he’s made some amazing friends most spend years trying to find. The only regret of his is not confessing his true feelings to you, but really what’s one regret? He’s totally a-okay with saying goodbye to this cruel, cruel world if it meant not being subjected to this torture any longer. 

“Denki Kaminari.”

Denki gulps. Oh no. You only say his full name when you mean business. 

“Explain right this instant or I will walk out this door and tell the whole world how you and grape boy took body shots off cardboard cutouts of each other!”

“Hey! We were really fuckin’ drunk and thought it might score us some pity sex with the ladies!” 

“In what world would you licking fuckin’ Mineta equal oh yeah, fuck me, Denki?”

Denki cowers with each step you take, gulping down the lump in his throat when your face is close enough to hold in his hands. He’s never been more simultaneously turned on and terrified in his life. Especially when he just heard the words “fuck me, Denki” escape your lips.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Whatever you do. Don’t. Look. Down.

The last thing he wants is you flinging him out the window because he couldn’t keep his eyes on your face. Don’t get him wrong; he could look at your face forever, even when you look like your one move away from killing him. But… he’s a dude, and there’s boobs in front of him, not to mention your boobs.

“Hello? Earth to Denki?” You wave your hand in his face.

“You may wanna sit down for this.” 

“I’m fine where I am, thank you very much.” 

He huffs out a breath, annoyed you didn’t take the bait. The suggestion was more for his sanity than yours. With you standing so close, his brain is going haywire; the tantalizing scent of strawberries and cream short-circuiting his brain quicker than when he overuses his quirk. It never fails to make his mouth water, if only he could bend down and bury his nose in the crook of your neck, god, he’d never let you go.

How does he even begin to work through the feelings he has for you when they’ve been bottled up since the moment he knew he was in deep? Where does he start?

The fact he’s been in love with you for the past five years? 

Or that he’s been getting off to you for half that time? 

Denki’s mind is running a mile a minute, like a computer in overdrive. He can’t make enough sense of his emotions to convert into words. But, instead of waiting to open his mouth, like a normal person, Denki spews out embarrassing word vomit that connects his two thoughts.

“I love getting off to you.”

A pin could drop, and it’d be as loud as a freaking hurricane. 

Denki groans in frustration, facepalming his forehead. What the hell did he just say, and can he take it back? How long would it take for him to hack into a database and find someone with a time manipulation quirk? He doesn’t even know how to hack, but he’d wrangle his one brain cell and fucking learn if that’s what it takes.

He’s usually good at reading you. You’re one of the few people he cares enough to pick up on how you’re feeling. The myriad of emotions that pass on your face from shock to confusion to a hint of amusement lets Denki know he can breathe easy. At least you’re not trying to kill him anymore.

“Oh-kay that’s not what I - what I meant to say was - hold on, lemme just, rewind.”

He makes some weird, loopy gesture with his arms. His brain was firing a million synapses at once, each connected to a different thought, some deep like the fear of losing you and some not so deep - like he’s really excited to eat the cheeseburgers Bakugou promised he’d grill tonight. 

But he tries his best to reign in the million and one thoughts to focus on you, who’s waiting for an explanation. He takes a deep breath to steady his heart that’s about to beat out of his chest. He only hopes you don’t stomp on it after what he’s about to say.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I have been since our first year at U.A. I wanted to tell you for the longest time, but then you got with Bakugou. Then you broke up, and you needed a friend more than ever, and how could I say no to being ‘your best bro’ when you were crying on my shoulder? It was just never the right time.”

The more he rambled, the more uncomfortable he felt. Out of all the scenarios he imagined of how he’d confess to you, this one was at the bottom of his list to be prepared for. He never expected to be forced into confessing because you caught him masturbating to pictures of you. He rubs the back of his neck and gives an awkward laugh when you stay silent.

“I get it if you wanna, like, shun me forever or something. I deserve it for being such a creep.” 

Denki lowers his head to the floor, the clutter of fallen pens and knick-knacks looks way less intimidating than staring into your eyes. A soft hand touches his chin, lifting his face to meet yours.

“Hey, look at me, it’s okay.” 

Your voice does wonders for soothing the nerves shaking him up.

“I guess it’s not that creepy when you put it like that, and for some weird reason, you’re like the one person I can catch jacking off to my pictures, and I don’t feel the need to report you as a registered sex offender.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but Denki’s heart drops at the idea of you labeling him as the neighborhood perv.

“Please, don’t do that,” he squeaks before clearing his throat, “But for real, Y/N, I’m so sorry. It’s wrong to disrespect you like that, and I promise I won’t do it again.”

Denki has no idea how he’s gonna get off now, but that’s his future self’s problem.

“I can’t help it, you’re gorgeous, and I love ya, and I don’t remember the last time I got laid.”

Fuck. He didn’t mean to say that last part, but it’s the truth. You’re the reason he couldn’t even look at another girl, because they weren’t you, and that’s why he had to resort to pulling up pictures of you. Pictures that aren’t normally deemed “sexy” and of you dressed modestly, without much skin showing.

That doesn’t stop Denki from coming in record time with your name rolling off his lips every time.

“How bad do you want me?”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t the least bit curious about what sex with your best friend would be like. You heard he wasn’t a bad lay from a couple girls back at U.A. 

You’d also be lying if you didn’t say you were just as horny as said best friend.

It’s difficult finding time to date as a pro-hero. When you do, it doesn’t last very long anyway - the other person growing tired of always coming second to your career. Don’t even get you started on one night stands. They’re practically impossible to uphold as once the media gets wind of it, you’re slapped on the cover of “Hero Times Magazine,” and everyone and their mother is calling for you to “spill the tea.” This is why pro-heroes either end up with other pro-heroes or end up alone. 

Denki’s eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline. If someone were to tell him you were attracted to him in any sense of the word, his heart would double-time it, but he’d ultimately brush it off. He knew your type, and he could not be farther from it. The aggressive, beefy, gym rat who could match you move for move in a heated spar of harsh words and hot-blooded passion. You dated Bakugou for fuck’s sake! There was no hope for Denki after that.

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take what he can get. The words pour out of him like the dam’s been broken and the unforgiving flood rushes.

“I want you so bad, Y/N, fuck, I’ve waited so long, so fucking long, you don’t know how crazy you make me.” 

Your breath catches. His words have an unexpected effect on you, but your heart drums in anticipation. If you listen close enough, you can hear Denki’s beating at the same rate, waiting for what you’re going to say next. Power surges through you. In your past relationships, sex was always seen as this competition. Your exes never wanted to relinquish their pride or control, but Denki is nothing like your exes. He’s laid-back, always cracking jokes, and never dwelling too much on the past, always moving forward to the next moment. He’s perfectly fine with letting you take the reins most of the time. You determine what will happen next.

“You love getting off to me?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but he answers in earnest.

“You’re the only one I get off to.”

You slide your dress off, and it falls to the floor.

“Show me.”

Denki’s eyes travel over your body, his mouth slightly open in disbelief at your undressed state. He wants to capture this moment in case this is as much as he gets, even if he can never use this mental picture because he promised you he wouldn’t. His fingers itch to brush along the lace trim of your bra, to graze along your nipple, and watch your reaction. Are you sensitive enough where you’d full on moan, or would he have to strain to catch the small hitch of breath? Denki was never top of his class. He preferred to wing it and hope for the best, but for you, he’d take his time to study every inch and crevice of your body until he could read you cover to cover with his eyes closed. His gaze travels down to the matching lace panties you wear, a cute little bow in the front waiting to be untied with his teeth. 

Did you plan to get fucked today? Or do you usually wear matching sets on the regular? 

Your skin looks so soft and supple, he’s aching to dig his fingers, but before he can, you step away. Denki cocks his head. Have you changed your mind? But any doubt leaves Denki when you make your way across the room to sit down on the edge of the bed. 

You start with feather-light touches dancing along your collarbone. Your eyes are locked on Denki, getting high on the way he drinks in your every move. Your touches are teasing, especially when your finger dips down to your cleavage. Still, instead of giving Denki what he wants, you change course, making your way back to your shoulders. Denki exhales a breath at your teasing, but says nothing, too afraid he’ll ruin the mood if he says something stupid. 

When you make your way down again, you don’t disappoint; you pinch your nipple through your bra, and the way Denki swipes his tongue over his lip has heat rushing to your core. You slide your hand down your stomach, stopping when you reach your clothed slit. Denki stares, hungry and buzzing in anticipation for what you’ll do next. Smirking in victory, you spread your legs open and pull your panties to the side, giving him the view to capture the perfect picture of your dripping pussy.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” 

You taunt breathlessly, tracing your folds with your fingers.

Oh shit. Were you for real? Please, tell him you were for real because he legit might cry if this was some elaborate prank. Where are the fucking cameras? 

“You don’t want to?” You bite your lip, insecurity seeping through the confident smile you wore just a moment ago.

“No! I mean - yes! Yes, I do, holy shit, let me find - where the fuck is…” Denki whips around, trying to find his phone. Fuck! Out of all the times to misplace it, it has to be now. But then he spots the yellow polaroid camera sitting on the floor, and before he can think, he’s picking it up and praying it has film. He kneels, so he’s eye level with your pussy, but also making sure the angle gets your whole body in the frame. The light streaming in gives you an ethereal look, your skin glowing, and adding to the cute flush on your cheeks. The camera clicks, and a second later, the picture slides out. You giggle at Denki’s impatience. He’s waving the picture frantically in the air, so the color comes through faster. He completely stills when he can finally take a good look at the beauty he’s captured.

“Fuck, Y/N, you look…” 

Denki can’t control the groan that escapes. He looks back up at you, eyes darkened with lust before he’s ripping his shorts off so fast, his foot gets caught, and he almost trips in the process. Once he’s out of them, he plops back down in the chair across the room. You’re surprised when all you feel is pure, unadulterated lust. You expected to be at least a little bit weirded out staring at your best friend’s cock, but all you want is to put it in your mouth and explore all the different ways you can make him come. The tip is oozing pre-cum already, and the way he works his hand with a sense of urgency suggests he’s been hard for a while. It doesn’t take long before you hear Denki grunt.

“Fuck, I’m close.”

You look so pretty spread out for him. For the last five years, he wanted nothing more than to see you like this. His hips jerk up, and he throws his head back, but he makes sure to keep his eyes open like his life depended on it; he didn’t want to miss a second of this. You, with your legs wide open giving him a view of your perfect little pussy. Your panties soaked by you rubbing your clit mercilessly, and your pupils blown wide as you watch your best friend get off to the show you’re giving him. It’s erotic as hell, completely different from the pictures Denki has of you. This one easily tops all the others. He tightens his fist - he doesn’t want it to end without feeling your skin on his at least once.

“Let me touch you, Y/N, please, I just wanna touch you, need to feel you.” 

Denki doesn’t give a fuck that he’s begging at this point. He’s waited too damn long to care about pride or dignity, not when the chance to fuck you is placed in his shaking hands. You bite your lip to suppress a moan, but it comes out anyway.

“Touch me.” 

That’s all Denki needs. Before you know it, you’re pushed down on the bed, and lips smash against yours. He’s eager, a little too eager, shoving his tongue in your mouth and touching everywhere that he can. You don’t have much room to breathe, so you gently push at his chest.

“Chill, Denki.”

He huffs out a breath, muscles shaking like he’s restraining himself from overwhelming you.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” 

He mumbles, peppering kisses into your neck before making his way back to your lips. It’s much smoother this time, his tongue sliding out to tease your bottom lip, asking for permission this time. He groans when you open up for him, your tongue meeting his. Hands trail up until they reach around, resting on the clasp of your bra. Honey eyes meet yours, but you cut off his question.

“I’ll stop you if I need to, but you asking me if it’s okay every time you try something is gonna seriously kill the mood.” 

You reach around to place your hands on top of his, unclasping your bra along with him. His eyes darken at the sight of your bare chest. You try not to squirm at the intensity of his gaze. It becomes near impossible when he dips down to flick his tongue over your nipple before biting with his teeth. He pays the same attention to the other one before kissing his way down your stomach. You arch your back when he spreads your legs and positions himself between them. He makes his way around, avoiding your dripping pussy, teasing your thighs with soft kisses. You huff in annoyance, and he smirks up at you, biting into the flesh of your thigh. This time he places a kiss to your heated center, enjoying the way you squirm under his touch. 

“Is it everything you imagined?” You ask.

He looks up at you, with such a serious expression, one you’ve only seen a couple times since knowing him.

“Everything and more.”

Your heart flutters, and you know you’re going to say something you’ll regret if you don’t stop counting the different shades of gold in his eyes. You clear your throat before throwing your hair back.

“You gonna fuck me, or am I gonna have to do it myself?”

You pull his head in for a demanding kiss, biting on his lip to distract yourself from the rush of bubbling emotions threatening to surface.

“One sec,” Denki whispers, placing one last kiss to your lips, before getting up.

You gape at the giant box of condoms he casually pulls out. It hasn’t been opened, and oh my god, you didn’t even know they made huge boxes like this. There were at least a hundred in there. What person thinks to buy a big box of condoms if their plans don’t include… fucking a whole ass army? 

“What the fuck, Denki?” 

People usually have one, maybe two condoms in their wallet at most. Some guys don’t have any at all, which kills the mood when you’re in the heat of the moment, so I guess you can be thankful that Denki is... extra prepared?

“What?” 

He pulls a condom out and drops the box. It thumps when it hits the floor. You’re taken aback by how nonchalant he’s being about this.

“I- you- wha- How many times do you think we’re gonna do it!?” 

Denki slides the condom on, smirking at your shocked expression.  

��Till we finish this box,” he says as he slides into you. 

You gasp at the stretch. He pushes to the hilt, and stays there when he notices the slight furrow of your brow. It has been a while since you’ve fucked, but soon enough, you crave more so you roll your hips, but he doesn’t move.

“Denki?” 

His head is pressed into your neck, warm breath tickling your skin, and the stuttering heartbeat matches to the beat of your own. 

“Just… gimme a minute, don’t wanna ruin it by coming in two seconds.” 

His words are muffled, voice raspy with desire, and you can only imagine what his face looks like. It makes you want him all the more. Finally, someone who doesn’t see sex as an opportunity to one-up you or to put you in your place. It’s scary how the last twenty minutes have changed five years of friendship.

“Hey,” you hold his face in between your palms. He already looks completely fucked out with his face flushed and eyes glazed. You place a tender kiss to his lips, unlike the previous kisses you shared. 

“You couldn’t ruin it even if you did come right now.”

You caress his hair in an attempt to reassure him.

“You’d just have to make it up to me,” you wink.

His smile is so pure, lighting up his eyes that’s unique to Denki; it makes your heart do somersaults in your chest. But the moment passes as the previous heat between you two spikes when Denki circles his hips, taking his time to feel you inside and out. He’s touching and kissing you wherever he can, your cheek, neck, chest, thighs, like it’s the first and last time he’ll experience you like this. It might very well be. 

This thought doesn’t sit well with you.

Once he’s mapped out your sweet spots, he digs his fingers into your thighs and pulls your hips flush towards his. He pulls out of you until only the tip is brushing your opening and pounds back into you, taking your breath away. He pumps in and out of you faster, and you cry out when he hits that special spot deep inside of you.

“Denki,” you moan. He grunts and spreads your legs even wider, grabbing one and hauling it over his shoulder to pound into you deeper.

He’s getting close, hell, he’s been close even before you walked in. 

“F-fuck…” Denki groans, thrusting at an uneven pace and feeling the familiar tightening in his groin.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you flip him over and begin bouncing on his cock in a much more steady rhythm. Denki’s staring up at you, eyes wide in admiration.

You’re a goddess. An absolute fucking masterpiece that needs to be put in a museum for his eyes only. God, when did he get so fucking mushy? You always brought out different sides that Denki, himself, didn’t even know he had. He can’t keep his hands off you, grabbing your boobs, sliding down the curves of your thighs, gripping your ass. He wants to commit it all to memory in case he never gets to know this pleasure again. 

“Y/N, ah, shit, I’m gonna...” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence.

He’s holding on to that sweet release for as long as he can. He’s been craving it since he met you on the first day of class at U.A. His balls tighten, unable to hold it in any longer, before he gives in to the long overdue orgasm. It hits him hard - his entire body tingling from head to toe like 1000 volts of electricity bolt through him. Denki had no idea he could come for this long, but he doesn’t want it to end - it feels so fucking good inside you. He rides it out for a couple more thrusts before he relaxes, completely sated. You try to pull off him, but he grabs your hips and forces you back down. You squeak, clearly not expecting him to care enough to help you out after he finished.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The tone of his voice sounds foreign in his ears, too gruff and too deep, but you seem to have no problems with it as you moan in response, working yourself on top of him. Your thighs crush his hips, shaking with need as you seek a release of your own. You’re tired from bouncing, so you resort to grinding, swirling your hips deliciously around his cock. Denki squeezes your ass in appreciation.

“You close?” 

“Close, so close, Denki, please…”

Your eyes well up with tears, desperate to finish; the coil in your stomach wound too tight that you might burst any second. Denki helps you by thrusting his hips to meet yours, his hand rubbing your clit. You jolt at the sudden zap to your clit, you look down to see a small spark leave Denki’s fingertip. He does it again, and you cry out, your pussy fluttering from the electrifying touch.

“C’mon, baby, you can do it, come for me.” 

Fuck. Denki didn’t mean for the pet name to slip out, but then you’re moaning louder than before that Denki would’ve had to quiet you if you weren’t alone. Words are tumbling out before you can stop them.

“Oh, fuck, Denki, I love this so much, I love you, I-” 

You slap your hand over your mouth. Denki’s eyes widen for a second before a dangerous glint takes over, and he wretches your hand away from your mouth.

“Lemme hear you. C’mon, Y/N, show me how much you love this.”

You hardly recognize the scream as your own; you flush at how loud you are, but Denki doesn’t seem to mind. It seems to spur him on. He sits up so your chest to chest before he bends down to tug at your nipple with his teeth. You throw your head back in pleasure, your hands coming around to grab at his hair. Golden eyes look up at you from your chest, a slight smirk curving his lips.

“I’m no photographer, baby girl, but I can sure as hell picture us together.”

Leave it to Denki Kaminari to make you come with a cheesy pickup line. 

He gives one final thrust, balls slapping against your ass and hitting the spot deep inside you just right. Your thighs quiver from the pleasure wracking your body, a scream lodging out of your throat so loud that the people next door bang on the wall. You’re overwhelmed to the point that all you can do is rest your head on his shoulder, whispering his name in a broken whimper as you finish. 

You fall next to him on the bed, sweaty and completely wiped, both of you trying to catch your breath. Denki tosses the condom in the trash while you stare at the ceiling, watching the fan swirl round and round. Your mind is no different at the moment, going round in circles, and you’re trying to catch up. Your body feels weightless, tingling all over and loving the high you didn’t think was possible. The bed shifts, and suddenly you’re faced with your best friend of five years. Before he can get a word out, the front door slams shut, and two very familiar, very masculine voices are down the hall, getting closer by the second. 

“Kaminari, you lazy shit, get the fuck down here!”

“Shit!” Denki jumps from the bed, ruffling through the mess to find his pants.

“Denki, just lock the door! Hurry!”

It’s too late as the door swings open, and yeah… if today taught Denki anything, it’s that he really needs to lock his door more often. He doesn’t have time to think as he hops back into bed with you to avoid flashing any of his other friends today. Bakugou would probably threaten to chop his dick off and… yeah, Denki doesn’t wanna think about the rest.

You squeak and cover yourself with the blanket when you’re met with two sets of equally shocked crimson eyes.

Kirishima drops the bag of chips he’s holding. It seems like dropping things when walking into Denki’s room was a common theme today, and he’s sure as hell not looking forward to the cleanup. Denki regrets chancing a glance at Bakugou; nostrils flaring like a rabid predator on the loose and Denki’s his target.

The four of you stare at each other for who knows how long before Kirishima breaks out into a full-on grin.

“About time, bro, congrats!” 

“Congrats?” You turn to Denki, confused.

“The fuck!? You bangin’ my ex, dunceface!?” Bakugou shouts.

“Please don’t hurt me!” Denki squeaks, hiding underneath the covers.

“Oi! You fuck like a man, you better fight like one, too!”

You roll your eyes, hardly affected by Bakugou’s exploding presence, unlike Denki, who is literally shaking beside you.

“Oh fuck off, Katsuki, listen to yourself. Keyword ex-girlfriend.”

Bakugou sputters, and Kirishima drags him by the shoulder.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s been in a mood since he found out he’s gonna be the next star of the Bachelor.” 

“You wanna die too, shitty hair!?” 

You and Denki burst out laughing at the absurdity of Katsuki forced to act like a gentleman on live TV. The image of Katsuki in a suit and tie, holding a rose and actually smiling, is comedic gold to you.

“C’mon, bro, let’s give ’em some space.” 

“Oi! You’re on my shit list now! All of you! Aye! Get the fuck off me!”

Kirishima drags Bakugou the rest of the way, giving you a quick thumbs up on the way out.

You and Denki are still cracking up, but your laughter dies when they leave, and you’re faced with the tension from before. Denki sinks lower into the sheets, hating that he keeps getting walked in on. Who decided it was ‘make a fool out of Denki day’ anyway?

“So…” you start.

“So…” Denki finishes. 

You both stare straight ahead at nothing. 

“Did you mean it?” 

You raise an eyebrow, clearly asking him to elaborate.

“What you said, when you... you know...” he makes a clicking noise with his mouth like that’s universal code for fucking, “Or was it just a heat of the moment thing?” 

You take a moment to think before you give your response. You want to be as honest as possible, and not lead Denki on in any way. Of course, you loved him, he’s your best friend, but did you love him? 

You think back on your friendship, and suddenly a supercut of all the times he was there for you flashes before your eyes. He was there when you needed someone to drive you when you had your wisdom teeth pulled out. You didn’t expect Denki to stay with you the whole weekend, buying you ice cream and watching your favorite movies, but he did. 

He was there when you and Bakugou became an item, always listening to you swoon over how amazing a boyfriend he was. Denki would always respond with “But can he do this?” and would proceed to overuse his quirk like an overpowered Pikachu just to make you laugh. It sends a knife through your heart, knowing Denki was in love with you while you were talking about how great of a boyfriend his friend was. Not to mention how he was there when you and Bakugou broke up, heart-broken and vowing to swear off boys for good. Denki held you in his arms while you cried, staying silent the entire time, which you knew was against his nature. Denki was always there for you as a friend. There’s no doubt he’d be there for you as a lover.

“I meant it,” you say.

Tears threaten to spill, and your heart might burst out of your chest and land right into his hands. You hope he holds on to it forever. He squishes your cheeks and leans down to plant the softest kiss on your lips. This is what you’ve been missing - more like who you’ve been missing. You open your mouth to deepen the kiss, and he meets you move for move. He pulls away, hands still on your cheeks, grazing your cheekbones with his fingertips as he stares into your eyes. 

“Denki, I…” You bite your lip, overcome with emotion. You desperately want to say the words to capture this picture-perfect moment forever. 

Until you feel something poking your thigh.

“Denki!” 

You yell, affronted he popped a boner in the middle of what was supposed to be a romantic moment.

“Sorry!”

“Ugh! Worst timing ever!” You slap his shoulder.

“Ow! I said I’m sorry!”

You wiggle out of his embrace. Silence eats at the room, and you can feel Denki’s energy radiating in uncomfortable frequencies. The last moment had been thoroughly ruined.

But you have all the time in the world to make more.

“... round two?” 

Just seeing Denki’s face light up like Christmas is enough to promise the birth of a new moment. He bends over to grab his box of condoms, some spilling on the floor and adding more to the mess, before saying, “hell yeah!”

You roll your eyes with affection. What a weirdo, you think. But he’s your weirdo.

That night, or rather the next day since it was currently three in the morning, Denki plops down on his bed exhausted from the day. He’s fluffing his pillow, trying to get comfortable, when he feels something underneath. His eyes widen when he takes in the picture he’s holding. You must’ve taken it when he was downstairs and snuck it under his pillow. You’re bent over with that same damn lacy bra that sends him for a loop. Your cleavage deliciously on display as you bite your lip and stare at the camera with those innocent eyes. Denki can’t help it, his hand sliding down on instinct and cupping himself through his boxers. He turns the picture around and smiles at the cute little message written on the back.

“To add to your collection 😉”

[kurokoros]

silver tongue | kuroo (kinktober day 5)

Rated: M

Words: 4.9K

Pairing: villain!kuroo x fem!reader

Summary: A late night at the agency takes a turns when you run into Panther, an S rated villain.

AN: I started working on a bnha x hq crossover a while ago, and decided to base character quirks on the kanji in their names, and, well... Kuroo means “black tail” sooooo I wrote tentacle porn. You’re welcome. 

Note: Jishin is, if google translated it correctly, Japanese for “earthquake”, which has to do with Daichi’s quirk in this au.

Kinktober 2020 Day Four: Public Sex + Day Nine: Tentacles

Warnings: smut, oral (male receiving, implied at the end), public sex, manhandling, restraints, quirk play, tentacles, double penetration, teasing, overstimulation, choking, biting, dirty talk (degradation and praise)

X

Leaving Daichi’s new sidekicks squabbling in the corner of the office, you slip out the side door of the Agency, stepping into the quiet alley with a sigh. Your heels click against the ground, and you shiver as the cold night air curls around you. The light breeze tickles your bare legs and arms, your work clothes providing little coverage from the chill, unlike the warmth of the building behind you.

Closing your eyes, you lean back against the brick wall behind you, two fingers rubbing at your temple to chase away an impending headache.

As much as you’ve grown to like the pair of energetic rookies in the short time they’ve been working at the agency, you could do without their constant bickering. Especially this late at night. It was just your luck, really, drawing the short straw tonight. As Daichi’s personal assistants, it was up to either you or Kiyoko to supervise Kageyama and Hinata—fresh out of school and eager to work in the field—as they did their required paperwork. Without someone breathing down their necks, neither boy would get any of it done, and Kiyoko finally cashed in on a favor you owed her to get out of babysitting late into the night.

Not that you can blame her for that. With the amount of petty fights you’ve already had to break up tonight, you would have jumped at the opportunity to leave, too.

A muffled shout comes from the building behind you, but you ignore it. Opting to leave the arguing pair to their own devices for a few minutes. It may not be the best idea, but given the alternative, you’d rather deal with the repercussions later.

Besides, what Daichi doesn’t know won’t kill him.

You drop your hand back to your side, making yourself comfortable against the side of the building despite the rough texture of the bricks and the chilly temperature. Opening your eyes, you turn your gaze to the mouth of the alley, tucked between the agency and a café that closed hours ago. Despite the late hour, the streets are still bathed in light from the moon and the street lights.

A shadow moves in the corner of your eye. Soundless as it slinks across the ground. Graceful. It’s gone as soon as you glance to the right, and you frown, but decide not to dwell on it as you return your gaze to one of the old buildings across the street. A trick of the light, that’s all it was. Or one of the skittish stray cats you’ve caught Asahi feeding on more than one occasion. It’s late, but not late enough for anyone to be causing trouble, especially this close to such a reputable agency.

But the shadow moves again, just barely visible in the hazy space where the light from the streetlamp melds back into the darkness. It squirms again, a dark shape against the ground. This time, you’re faster, following the movement with your eyes just in time to catch something black disappearing back into an unlit part of the alley. It flickers at the edge of your vision almost tauntingly, coaxing you to follow, and your brows furrow in confusion.

Peering into the darkness where it vanished, your breath hitches when you make out the silhouette of a tall, suit-clad figure leaning against the alley wall across from you. You tense, eyes widening just the slightest as raw, icy fear grips your chest.

A pair of vibrant eyes meet yours through the shadows, and a lazy grin spreads across a handsome face. “Don’t you know it’s not smart to be at the office alone this late at night, kitten?” There’s a playful lilt to his voice, almost deceptively sweet. He shifts against the wall he’s leaning on, eyes narrowing playfully. “There might be villains around.”

The irony isn’t lost on you.

Across from you, Kuroo’s lips twitch as you stay silent. Irritated, perhaps. Or maybe this is all part of some game to him. He stares at you through the lock of messy hair falling in his face, relaxed despite how close he is to such a well-known Hero Agency. Especially one that’s been tracking him for so long.

His hands casually slip into the pockets of his slacks. “What’s wrong?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. Amusement dances in the depths of his gaze. “Cat got your tongue?”

An indignant scoff leaves the back of your throat. Cat? More like a— “Panther,” you say, purposely using his alias. It’s not a greeting—not quite, anyway. And it sounds strange on your tongue.

Kuroo’s eyes narrow into a glare. He’s always hated how his villain name sounds coming out of your mouth. Almost mockingly. Taunting him. Pressing his buttons in just the right way. You’ve never been truly afraid of him. Despite his reputation. Despite the fact that you’re quirkless. And that’s what makes this so much fun.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, before he can respond with one of the sly remarks nettled on his silver tongue. The question is breathier than you mean for it to be, a result of the intoxicating concoction of emotions swirling inside you. Shock. Confusion. Lingering fear from the split second you didn’t recognize him. And beneath that, something else.

You wet your lips, glancing at the door to your right. You can still hear Kageyama and Hinata inside. Their arguing is louder than before, but still muffled through the wall. They probably haven’t even noticed you slipped outside yet. And you doubt they will. At least, not for a while.

Kuroo follows your gaze, but otherwise doesn’t move. For a moment, he listens as well, finally hearing the tell-tale sounds of arguing from inside. Something in his expression shifts, his grin devilish. You squeeze your thighs together. “I was in the neighborhood,” he tells you nonchalantly, as if he isn’t a wanted criminal lurking outside of a building owned by one of the men intent on arresting him. Those clever eyes shift back to you. “Thought I might check on my favorite assistant.”

His tone is teasing, but you recognize the hint of genuine concern that flickers in the depths of his hazel eyes, and it makes you soften for a split second. You hate when he does that. He’s not supposed to care about you, and you’re sure as hell not supposed to care about him. But then, you aren’t supposed to be fooling around with him either.

This time, you snort, eyes rolling. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” Pausing, you glance at the building behind you again, wondering if you should say anything else. Kuroo must know by now that you aren’t alone. It would be impossible not to hear the amount of shouting going on inside the agency. “Kageyama and Hinata are here. We have them doing paperwork tonight. I’m babysitting.”

Kuroo’s brow furrows as he tries to connect the names to the faces he’s seen. Once he does, he narrows his eyes. “Jishin left his pretty little assistant alone with just some rookies?” he asks, using your boss’s alias mockingly. “What are a couple of kids going to do if some big, bad villain shows up and attacks the place?” Because that’s what he is, right? A big, bad villain.

What does that make you?

You choose not to take the bait. “What are you really doing here, Kuroo?” you ask him, lowering your voice even though there’s no one around to hear you. “Shouldn’t you be lying low? It’s only been a few days since you and Daichi—”

One long, black tendril shoots from his lower back. It lashes out. You cut off with a yelp as it races towards you, wrapping around both of your wrists and pinning them above your head before you can react. Gasping, you tug at the squirming limb, but it only coils around you tighter, squeezing. Like a warning. It’s cool to the touch, smooth against you, and the strange sensation makes you shudder. The tip wriggles against the inside of your arm, almost ticklish.

“I don’t want to hear his fucking name out of your mouth,” he snaps, Daichi’s name setting him off. Just like you knew it would. His eyes narrow again, his jaw clenching. The slim tentacle around your wrists tightens, and you bite your tongue to hold back an embarrassing whimper. Pulse pounding, your heart stutters in your chest when he sends you a look that makes you tremble.

Kuroo slips his hands out of his pockets as he takes a step towards you. Gravel crackles beneath his feet, loud in the otherwise quiet alleyway. Gold eyes glint beneath the dim light of the streetlamps. Predatory. Hungry. His lips curl into a smirk as he stops just in front of you, his chest nearly brushing against yours.

Your breath catches at his proximity, and his grin widens. You swallow down another soft, pitiful sound that bubbles up in your throat, but he’s close enough to notice the way your pupils dilate.

“I think you know exactly why I’m here,” he says, voice a low hiss in your ear. “So, don’t play dumb. You know better than that.”

The shadows around him squirm, something moving behind him, so dark it blends in perfectly with the murky walls of the alley. Another tendril curls out from behind his back, flickering back and forth like the tail of an irritated cat. You shiver again as it reaches for you, lashing out just like the last one. The tip of the tentacle ghosts across your cheek, caressing you. It’s a startling contrast from the rough way your hands are stretched above your head, an ache already forming in your shoulders.

The loving stroke against your cheek isn’t matched by the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Didn’t you miss me, kitten?” Though still teasing, there’s a note of blatant affection to the endearment this time. Even his eyes soften just a little, betraying his fondness for you, though it’s hidden away again just as quickly.

“No,” you huff, struggling against the binding around your wrists. It doesn’t budge, only wriggles against you tauntingly. It’s a blatant lie, and Kuroo sees right through it.

His grin twists into an exaggerated pout, but the mocking look in his eyes never dims. “Ouch.” Kuroo presses a hand to his chest, like you’ve wounded him. “You’re going to break my heart.”

You lean into the cool touch of his quirk against the side of your face. “Like you have one.”

While you mean for it to be biting, scathing, the quip comes out breathy, and it only makes him laugh. It’s dry, humorless. “Maybe I don’t,” he agrees. You can’t make out the look in his eyes. “But that’s never stopped you from letting me fuck you before.”

“Fuck you,” you say, embarrassed by the way you arch into his touch instinctively.

He clicks his tongue. “You’re being such a brat tonight. I thought you might’ve learned to behave after last time.”

The tentacle touching your cheek shifts, brushing the corner of your lips before sliding lower. You inhale sharply as it glides down the front of your throat, wriggling. The phantom sensation of those tentacles wrapping around your throat and squeezing has your thighs rubbing together. Heat pools in your lower belly, and your legs start to tremble.

You’re not subtle enough to escape his watchful eye, but Kuroo doesn’t lean in. He doesn’t reach for you—doesn’t pry your legs apart the way you want him to—he just watches you with those catlike eyes, drinking in the way you squirm under the familiar touch of his quirk. The tip of the tentacle flicks against your collarbone almost playfully.

It’s his name that falls from your pretty mouth this time—his real name, and pride swells in his chest at the needy tone of your voice. “Tetsurou,” you gasp, and his given name sounds so, so sweet coming from your mouth. Much better than his other name. “We can’t. They’re still inside. If we get caught, you’ll—” You cut off with a yelp as the tentacle slithers beneath the neckline of your shirt and yanks.

The blouse you’re wearing rips down the middle. Buttons snap from your now ruined shirt, scattering across the ground near your feet. Kuroo reaches for your waist as his tentacle traces the soft cup of your bra, starting from the outer edge and following the curve of your breast to the thin band beneath.

Kuroo quiets your half-hearted concerns. His stare follows the path of the extra limb, and you think he’s about to rip your bra as well. Anticipation makes you tremble, your heart beating faster.

The tentacle disappears from your chest, slinking back to Kuroo’s side like a loyal pet. It squirms, wriggling provocatively as it twists and curls through the air, level with his hips. The hands that slide against your waist are a welcome distraction, and the tentacle coiled around your wrists squeezes, as if reminding you that you’re still stuck, pinned against the wall and helpless against his quirk.

“If you really want to stop, just say the word.” He nuzzles against your cheek, lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he speaks. You arch into him, hips rocking against the thigh that slips between both of yours. He pulls his leg away. “Out loud, kitten. I want to hear you say it.”

You gasp a needy, “Don’t.” Kuroo grins as you whimper and lean into his warm hands when they rub against your sides. “Don’t stop. Please, Tetsu, I—” Two of his fingers slip beneath your bra to pinch your nipple, and you cut off with a squeal.

“Behave and maybe I’ll let you cum.” The words are murmured against your lips. Your back arches off the wall as his lips press against yours. The kiss is harsh, all tongue and teeth, and you moan against his mouth. You struggle against the tentacle around your wrists, but it doesn’t budge. Kuroo’s teeth dig into your bottom lip until it hurts, his tongue soothing the bite when you whimper and rock your hips against his.

It’s been so long since he was able to touch you like this—weeks since he had to go into hiding—and he’s not leaving until he’s had his fun with you. Your fingers twitch, desperate to reach for him, to pull him closer, and your struggling only makes his amusement grow.

A cold touch to your leg makes you flinch, and Kuroo swallows your surprised moan as the tentacle that was idle at his side curls around your thigh. It coils around you like a snake, wrapping around you before tugging, forcing your legs apart. You rock your hips towards his, but Kuroo leans just out of your reach, and the tentacle forcibly pulls your hips back against the wall.

“Tetsu,” you say again, mewling his name this time, the sound muffled against his mouth.

His lips move to your cheek, wandering across your soft skin until he finds that special, sensitive spot just beneath the curve of your jaw. Teeth graze the delicate skin of your throat, right over your racing pulse. Eyes fluttering shut, you tilt your head back against the alley wall, letting him angle your head how he wants it.

An approving hum vibrates against you before Kuroo bites down, teeth digging in hard enough to make you wince. He soothes away the pain with a soft kiss, only to bite you again as soon as you relax, a little lower than the last. Sharp canines prick at your skin; your pulse jumps.

Your squirming and whimpering only makes him chuckle. The rough sound vibrates against the side of your throat, and he presses one last kiss to your delicate skin before pulling away.

The dark tendril wrapped around your leg sweeps back and forth lazily, the tip teasing your inner thigh with slow circles and nonsensical shapes, mimicking the movement of his fingers. It strokes you from your knee to where your skirt is bunched halfway up your thigh, flirting with the hem before dancing away.

He’s playing with you. Taunting you. Trying to get you to beg. Each fleeting touch causes the dull ache between your legs to intensify, and the way you’re pinned down and put on display for him only makes you wetter. And he knows it, too. The bastard.

Kuroo leans back suddenly, whistling as he takes in the sight of you. Chest heaving. Shirt ripped open. Bound by shadowy black tendrils that writhe against you. “Look at you,” he coos, lazy fingers wandering over your soft skin, drinking you in. Kuroo follows the line of your collarbone with the pad of his thumb.

His head cocks to the side. There’s an absolutely wicked look in his eyes when they meet yours. “What do you think that boss of yours would say if he could see you like this?” He hums, and his fingers move higher, ghosting against the front of your throat. It would be so easy for his hand to wrap around your neck and choke you, but he just strokes his thumb over the faint indents left by his teeth. He presses his thumb into your neck a little harder. Just enough to make you gasp. “Spreading your legs for a villain in some dirty, back alley. Moaning like a whore.” He chuckles when you whimper, leaning in so that his lips brush against yours when he says, “Such a naughty girl.”

The tentacle around your leg wriggles suddenly. The tip disappears under your skirt, trailing up the inside of your thigh. “But you’re going to be good for me, yeah?” he asks you, grinning at the way your head falls back against the wall, your eyes squeezing shut in bliss as the tentacle strokes you through your panties, tracing your dripping slit. It’s cold. Slick. Wrong. And you shudder as it flicks over your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

You try to swallow down the moan building in your throat, but it comes out as a high-pitched whine instead. “Tetsu,” you gasp, arching into him as the tentacle continues to play with you. His smirk widens as you try to roll your hips against the slick movement between your legs, only for his tentacles to hold you down harder.

Your fingers dig into your palms, nails biting at your skin as the stroking between your legs becomes more teasing, the tentacle lazily flicking against you. It isn’t enough to do more than tease you. Frustrated tears well in your eyes, but there’s nothing you can do but let him play his game.

He’s waiting, watching you. And you know exactly what he wants.

“Fuck, I bet you just love this, hmm?” His hand moves from your throat to your jaw. The tips of his fingers dig into your skin. “You’re so wet already, and I’ve barely even touched you.” His thumb brushes against your bottom lip. Mock sympathy drips from his tongue. “Oh, but I bet I know why.”

Heat pools in your lower belly as Kuroo’s head tilts to the side. A dark, twisting mass rises from behind him, and the large tentacle splits in two before your eyes, branching off as it reaches for you. One moves low, wrapping around your neglected leg. It doesn’t move to stroke you like the other, but the tip draws circles against your inner thigh. So, so gentle. The motion would be soothing, if you didn’t know exactly how dangerous they can be. Tearing through skin and bone when he wants them to.

“Could it be this?” he asks, watching as the other tendril snakes across your torso, barely brushing against you. It follows the curve of one of your breasts all the way to your neck, and the sound that falls out of your mouth when it wraps around your delicate throat is absolutely lewd. He chuckles. You recognize the look in his eyes, and it only makes you shudder harder.

The pathetic little mewling sound that falls from your mouth is all the answer he needs.

The tentacle around your neck teases one of the spots where he bit you, and the one between your legs strokes just a little bit harder. “Are you really that fucking depraved?” Kuroo asks you, sneering. “Fuck, kitten, you’re practically dripping,” the tentacle between your legs slips beneath your damp panties, “and all because you just can’t wait for me to fuck that cute cunt of yours with my quirk. Right here where anyone could walk by and see you.” You moan, because of his words or the tentacle that rubs against your clit, you aren’t sure. “I bet you’d just love that. Little slut.”

Like your shirt, your underwear is ripped down. The soaked, lacy fabric gets caught on the tentacles wrapped around your legs. Kuroo clicks his tongue, rucking up your skirt to get a better look at your slick thighs as the tentacle flicks over your clit once more. As his fingers graze your soft, inner thighs, the tendril drawing circles against you hooks around your panties and pulls. It tears, and you wince as the fabric snaps against your skin. Rough fingers slip between your legs, taking the ruined fabric from the tentacle and pocketing it. He makes sure to brush the lace against your clit as he pulls away.

Shakily, you take a deep breath, head tilting back just enough for you to meet his gaze. “You’re the one that wants to fuck me with them,” you remind him, fighting the urge to shiver as one of his tentacles strokes you directly, covering itself in your slick. “Who’s really the depraved one?”

The jab makes him grin. “So mouthy,” he murmurs again. The tentacle around your neck tightens, but doesn’t choke you. The pointed tip slides across your jaw and cheek, prodding at the corner of your mouth. It slides over your lips, but you refuse to part them. Kuroo sighs, disappointed. “I’ll have to fix that.”

Without warning, the tentacle stroking your slit shoves inside your pussy, spreading you open wide. Your lips part in a surprise squeal, but the other tentacle slips into your mouth, muffling the sound before it can tear from your throat. You moan around it, and Kuroo curses under his breath, feeling the vibrations through his quirk.

Another choked whine sounds through the empty alley, and he hushes you, stroking your cheek with his knuckles. Your hips lurch against the squirming sensation inside you, but the tentacles wrapped around your limbs hold you against the wall, forcing you to stay still as it wiggles.

“Careful, kitten,” Kuroo warns you, a smug look on his face. “You wouldn’t want Jishin’s little sidekicks to hear you moaning like a whore.” Those catlike eyes drift down your torso, locking on the thick tentacle stretching your dripping cunt. The tentacle in your mouth wiggles, pressing against your tongue and teeth. It pushes against the back of your throat, and you try not to gag. When you whimper again, Kuroo chuckles. “Or maybe you would.”

The palms of his hands land on your bare thighs, coaxing them further apart for a better view of the sloppy mess you’re making all over the tentacle between your legs. It’s a strange feeling. Smoother than his cock. Colder. It moves erratically, squirming inside you rather than thrusting. The tapered tip finds your sweet spot, rubbing and prodding until your hips jerk and you start to squirm again.

Around your left leg, the other tentacle holding you open starts to move, creeping across your inner thigh to join the other between your legs. Kuroo watches it slide over your skin, his pupils blown wide with arousal as he watches his black tails writhe around you, simultaneously pinning you in place and stroking you purposely. They know just where to touch to turn you into a whimpering mess, and you cry out around the tendril in your mouth when the tentacle stuffed inside your dripping pussy slides part way out before slamming back inside of you.

The other, thinner one flicks over your clit. Your moan is muffled by the tentacle shoved down your throat. All four wiggle in delight as you arch your back, trying to match the pace of the tentacle that begins to pound into you. It’s thick inside you, stretching you obscenely, and Kuroo chuckles under his breath as he watches your pretty cunt swallow the shadowy tendril.

He takes a step back and slips his hands back into his pockets, watching the tentacle fuck you with a wild look in his eyes, like a cat toying with a mouse that’s already been caught. As he cocks his head to the side, his stares intently as your cute pussy as it drips all over the wriggling appendage. Slick glistens against the black tendril with every harsh thrust, and Kuroo shivers at the phantom sensation of your cunt clenching around one of his black tails.

The one playing with your clit strokes over you slowly, swirling against your swollen nerves in the same slow, teasing way as Kuroo’s tongue.

“I guess you really are a depraved little slut,” he muses, leaning his weight onto one leg. “Letting a bunch of filthy tentacles ravish you in a dirty alleyway.” Gold eyes glint possessively as they lock with yours. “And look how well you take them.”

A muffled moan falls from your mouth, and the tentacle pressed against your tongue thrusts against the back of your throat languidly, wiggling in a way that borders on uncomfortable. The tentacle in your mouth slides out of you wetly, leaving a trail of saliva across your cheek as it retreats to your neck, coiling tighter around your throat as you gasp for breath.

The tentacle thrusts against you harder, and this time there’s nothing in your mouth to muffle you as you cry out. “Ah, Tetsu, please.” You practically sob his name, writhing almost as much as the tendrils fucking you. “Please, I can’t—” You cut off with a whine, your head tossed back against the wall as you squeeze your eyes shut. By now you’ve started trembling, pleasure feeding into the tight little ball of tension in your lower belly with every rough thrust and stroke from his quirk.

“That’s right, kitten,” Kuroo murmurs. The jingle of his belt coming undone makes you whimper, and you force your eyes open, watching as his hand slips beneath his slacks, palming his hard cock. “Beg me to let you cum. You sound so fucking pretty when you beg for me.”

Your mouth is moving immediately, whimpering garbled pleas and breathy versions of his name between the gasps and moans rolling off your tongue. You’re only half aware of what you’re saying, but delight flickers in his eyes with every word. He strokes himself slowly, watching as you start to come undone.

The appendage around your throat constricts, stealing your breath.

The tentacle inside you writhes as the one on your clit rubs against you at just the right angle, and your mouth drops open in a silent scream as the knot of tension inside you snaps. You choke out a rough, strangled version of his name, whimpering as you tremble, writhing against the limbs holding you in place. The tentacles fuck you through it, pace never slowing as they draw out the pleasure until there are tears welling in your eyes from the intensity.

Shaking as you start to come down from the high, you wince when the pounding doesn’t stop. “Tetsu. I can’t—” The tendril that flicks over your clit again makes you flinch, and the one still stuffed inside your pussy thrusts against you roughly, making your walls clench. A hissed exhale escapes from between your teeth, your eyes squeezing shut at the raw feeling of overstimulation. “Too much,” you gasp, starting to struggle against the near painful pleasure.

You shiver as he caresses your cheek, his hand warm against your clammy skin. “Oh, sweetheart,” he coos as you lean into his touch, thumb brushing against your bottom lip lovingly. “You didn’t think we’d be done that fast, did you? No, we’re just getting started.”

The tentacles curled around your limbs suddenly yank you towards Kuroo, pulling you away from the side of the building. They drag you down to your knees, and you wince as gravel digs into your skin. The tentacle around your wrists release you, but before you can grab Kuroo’s thighs to steady yourself, they’re wrenched behind you back, binding you again.

Kuroo nudges your thighs further apart with his foot. An approving sound rumbles in his chest as he watches the tentacle continue to fuck you despite your whimpering. He grabs your chin between his thumb and fingers, grip bruising as he tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him. A devilish look flashes in his eyes, sharp and predatory as he looks at you, on your knees for him. He shoves the front of his pants down with his free hand, clever fingers sneaking inside to stroke himself.

There’s a reason they call him a panther. “Now be a good girl and suck my cock.”

[asweetprologue]

window to the soul

Octoberfest 3: ghost (from geraskier hollow) + stare

“It’s drawn to strong emotions,” Geralt said, and Jaskier knew that he was about to become bait.

The monster of the week was a wraith, but of an unusual type. Over the years of traveling together, Jaskier had seen plenty of wraiths - noonwraiths, nightwraiths, even a plague maiden once. He probably could take one on himself, knowing what he did about the process of destroying them, though it would be difficult without the use of yrden holding them in the physical realm. Luckily it was Geralt’s job to dispatch them. Jaskier usually didn’t even go along to watch anymore, unless the story behind the haunting was particularly ballad worthy. 

This time, the wraith was different. Geralt had quickly identified the lost soul, a young woman who had recently died. She’d been deeply in love with a merchant that had regularly come and gone from the town, and had tried to cast a spell to trap his heart. Jaskier knew, after everything with Geralt and the djinn, that there was no curse or potion that could truly emulate love. Her spell had made the merchant obsessed with her, the man driven slowly mad by a fixation that he did not want and could not escape. In the end he had killed the girl and then himself, to escape from the madness that she had struck into his mind. The strength of her grief and the magic of the binding spell had changed the spirit of the woman into something else entirely, something extremely dangerous. 

“It’s a sort of hybrid between a vampire and a wraith,” he explained. They were in the field beyond the village, and Geralt was meticulously checking over his potions. His blades were laid off to the side, the slick oil that he used to slay spectres shining across his silver blade. It was nearing sunset, the twilight hour that made it easier for apparitions to make themselves seen in the material world. Jaskier was sitting across from him, nervously stripping leaves from a small twig. Geralt continued. “The emotion she felt and her unrequited love turned her into a heartwraith. Sometimes people call them ‘hungry ghosts.’ They’re never satisfied, and they feed off of people’s emotions to try and fill the void in them.”

“Sounds like a truly awful existence,” Jaskier mused, watching Geralt. The evening light played across his broad shoulders, turning his hair from silver to gold. Jaskier thought he might be able to understand where she was coming from, even if he’d never have tried to bind Geralt to him unwillingly. It was a terrible thing, to be so deeply and unfortunately in love with someone who didn’t want you. 

“I need to draw her out,” Geralt said gruffly. “She’s seeking out powerful emotions, like the couple that were attacked and the man who was beating his wife. I’ll need your help.” Jaskier sighed. Of course, it didn’t make much sense for Geralt to try to draw her out. Though Jaskier didn’t subscribe to the notion that witchers felt less than regular humans, Geralt was what Jaskier would dub repressed. The man couldn’t look an honest emotional conversation in the face without getting flustered and running away. 

“Whatever you need,” Jaskier said, like he always did. He didn’t love playing bait, but he knew Geralt would never let anything bad happen to him. 

Geralt nodded and picked up his silver sword, his steel one still securely in its sheath on his back. “Come on. We need to build a fire to destroy her locket.” The girl had kept a locket with a small lock of the merchant’s hair inside, which Geralt had guessed helped tie her to this plane. Over the next few minutes, the two men built a small pyre. Geralt pressed the locket into Jaskier’s palm, his fingers brushing over Jaskier’s skin. He tried not to blush at the contact. 

“When she’s distracted, throw this into the fire. It’ll weaken her,” Geralt said. Jaskier nodded mutely, clutching the warm metal close. The fire crackled merrily beside them, painting the landscape around them in swatches of ocher and dark blue. It was truly approaching night now, only the barest hint of sunlight still left on the far horizon. 

“What do you need me to do?” Jaskier asked. “To get her attention, I mean.”

Geralt gave him an odd look. “Nothing. I’m going to draw her in.” Geralt’s face was pinched in a way that Jaskier had come to realize meant he was experiencing some kind of emotion, though it was always hard to tell which one. Anger, frustration, sadness and pain all translated into relatively the same expression - tight jaw, drawn eyebrows, thinned lips. Jaskier wanted to reach out and sooth the tension from his friend’s features, but luckily the locket demanded his hands’ wandering attention. Geralt gestured to the soft earth beside the fire, clearly bidding Jaskier to sit. He did so, flopping gracelessly into a crossed legged position, back straight from tension. It was hard to forget that a wraith could appear any moment to wreck the quiet evening. 

Geralt settled next to him, dropping into the kneeling position that he favored for meditation. His eyes were grave as he looked over Jaskier’s face. “Just… sit still,” he said softly. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with that tone, so he just tried to do as Geralt asked. He settled in, waiting for something to happen, but Geralt just stared at him. 

For a moment it was awkward. Jaskier felt a blush spread across his cheeks as those golden eyes regarded him, sweeping over his face and following the line of his neck. Geralt was a man who always split his attention half a dozen ways at once, one eye always on the door and an ear out for trouble. Jaskier had accepted long ago that Geralt never fully listened to him, and that was alright. It wasn’t in his nature, and Jaskier didn’t need participation to hold a conversation. Now, though, he felt the full force of Geralt’s focus on him, looking back at him as if trying to see beyond a mask. Geralt’s own face was impassive, that slight frown still marring his features. 

What could he hope to accomplish through this? If he wanted to elicit strong emotions, there were certainly easier ways to do it than a staring contest. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever elicited strong emotions in anyone that he wasn’t actively singing to. It was he who was often overtaken by the whims of his own heart, prone to fits of temper and weeks of lovesickness by turn. Geralt never seemed to feel anything other than mild annoyance. Gods, what if Jaskier annoyed him so much that just looking at him made the witcher angry enough to summon a spectre? Jaskier knew he could be infuriating, but surely if Geralt detested him that much he would just leave Jaskier behind. Right?

Anxiety filled his chest, but he’d been instructed specifically not to move. Forcing himself to relax, Jaskier found himself taking the opportunity to just look back for once, something he so rarely had a chance to do. He absorbed all the details of Geralt’s face that he never allowed himself to - the way Geralt’s left eyebrow was ever so slightly interrupted by a tiny scar, the slight wrinkles on his forehead from years of frowning and the even fainter ones around his eyes, the ever so slight part of his lips. The dramatic light of the fire and the moon overhead made his face into a patchwork landscape of color, the valley of purple shadow in the hollow of his cheek highlighted by soft gold. Jaskier committed every feature to memory, thinking of the notebooks he could fill with songs dedicated to Geralt’s eyes and lips and brilliant white hair. He loved him so much it felt like it was going to drown him, leaving no room in his chest for his lungs. 

After he’d finally taken in all the abstract elements of Geralt’s face that he could in the low light, Jaskier’s eyes dragged back to meet Geralt’s. The gold of his irises were nearly consumed by dark pupil, his eyes expanding to take in as much light as possible in the darkness. In this lighting he looked both more and less human, and it made Jaskier feel helplessly fond. Their eyes met, and suddenly the situation struck Jaskier as a bit funny. Two men sitting in a field, silently staring at each other, one pining away like nothing else while the other tried to summon a ghost. It was ridiculous. He quirked a playful eyebrow at Geralt, as if to say, Aren’t we just a couple of fools?

Jaskier watched Geralt’s face shift, a second of surprise flitting across his face. And then, without warning, there was something new there, something Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen before. A softening in Geralt’s eyes, in his brow, as he looked at Jaskier, open and affectionate. The expression hit Jaskier like a punch, or a kiss, demanding and devastating. Geralt’s mouth opened on a low exhale, and Jaskier leaned forward, wondering if he dared, if Geralt might - 

There was a screech, and the wraith was upon them. 

Geralt was up in an instant, silver sword flashing as he blocked a clawed hand from coming down on Jaskier’s head. Jaskier yelped as he scurried out of the way, clutching the locket he’d almost forgotten. There was a sudden burst of purple light in the field, making the shadows around them dance and twist eerily. The wraith made a horrible noise, like flint scraping across metal, endless and clearly annoyed. Geralt pushed her against the wall of the magical trap, cutting off bits of wispy energy with his sword. 

Jaskier wasn’t sure when the exact right time was, but the wraith was certainly distracted. Jumping forward, he tossed the locket down into the fire, watching as the clasp popped open and the little lock of hair fell into the embers. It caught quickly, and Jaskier heard the wraith shriek again, this time a haunting and mournful sound. When he turned back it was just in time to see Geralt shove his sword in her chest. The strange, cottony fabric of her ragged dress seemed to dissipate in the wind, her dry flesh cracking and falling away like old paint. After a moment there was nothing left but a pile of ash. 

“Go in peace,” Geralt said, and turned to Jaskier. Dropping to one knee, he said, “Are you hurt?”

Jaskier pushed himself into a better sitting position. They were close, too close. He hoped the warmth of the fire would mask his blush. “I’m fine, thanks to you. Is she really gone?”

Geralt nodded. “Should be. She has no tether to this world anymore without the locket.”

“Right,” Jaskier said. He paused. “So. Um. What you did there seemed to work, at least.”

Geralt leaned back away, out of Jaskier’s space. He missed the proximity immediately. “I wouldn’t have exposed you if I could think of another way.”

“Well, it’s not easy to find someone as irritating as me on such short notice,” Jaskier said nervously. “Hardly efficient.”

Geralt gave an almost comical shake of his head, surprise slapped across his features. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

Jaskier shifted, uncomfortable. Giving a forced laugh, he said, “Well, I can only imagine that you were conjuring up strong emotions of the, ah, annoyance you so often display when I do something like, I don’t know, sing or eat or breathe. I know you’re not so easily swayed by my charms.” He tried to pass it off like a joke, but he knew it fell flat even as he was saying it. There was too much hurt in his throat to make it come out anything less than bitter. He stared into the fire, watching the locket turn a liquid red from the heat. 

A warm hand suddenly came up to cradle his jaw, and Jaskier blinked in surprise as Geralt’s fingers urged him to look up. “It’s not that,” Geralt said forcefully. “You must know, Jaskier, you have to - When I look at you, it’s so...” He cut himself off with a frustrated sound. Words had never been his strength. “I feel many things for you, bard.”

Jaskier swallowed. “You do?”

Geralt’s eyes were hot on him, and Jaskier wondered if one could be branded by a glance. It certainly felt like it. “Yes,” Geralt said. “Intensely.” 

“Oh,” Jaskier stammered. “Um. I’m not sure if I’m reading all this right, but assuming that you’re saying you don’t hate me, then, ah -”

Geralt gave an annoyed huff, and Jaskier was just about to comment, say something like, see, I am irritating, but then Geralt was kissing him, and he decided to let it go. He leaned into the press of lips, gasping softly. It was brief, nearly over before it began, but Jaskier could feel the warmth of it after Geralt pulled away, breath ghosting over his skin. Jaskier shivered.

“Quite the opposite,” Geralt said softly. His eyes were molten gold, hotter than the locket still melting in the fire at Jaskier’s side, and Jaskier never wanted to look away. 

“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” he said, and leaned up to kiss him again.

~~

this fic was heavily inspired by Somedrunkpirate’s piece A Lover’s Lament, which is one of my favorite stories of all time. If you read it you’ll be able to see exactly what scene I borrowed from, and I need you to know that it lives in my head rent free. 

edit: for some reason tumblr ate everything but the heading for this fic and I didn’t realize until this morning, so thanks to the ten people who liked it with no content LMAO. yall the real

[obeymeluv]

Signs they Love You (Pt. 2)

This semester is almost over and while the teacher is a bit disorganized, I have a semblance of breathing room. I thought I’d pop this out real quick and maybe something smaller. Baby-related thing still pending. I want to do it, just not quite enough time yet.

Part 2 has Asmo, Beel, and Belphie.

Belphie’s is not long AT ALL because...well, it’s Belphie. And it’s me. I’m so-so with Belphie.

Asmodeus

For once, his charm and sin is a double-edged sword

Yes, he’s very experienced and has had many lovers--many splendid little things over hundreds of years--but how to make it unique? How to tell you?

Asmo is very calculated in how he flirts, from what he wears and what he plans to say. He personally believes every relationship should be special. No repeated dates unless both people have a preference for it

So when he decides he likes you, the first thing he does is pull out this BIG ASS BOOK he’s kept for centuries and leafs through it to see what he’s done before

 No, it doesn’t matter that 99% of these dates were AGES before you were born. He’s checking the list because YOU DESERVE A SPECIAL DATE!

He’s secretly hoping you’ll get some of the many hints he’ll be dropping, but consulting the book is also a good idea for an official first date

After two weeks of shopping with you, taking spa days, trying to weasel his way into more cuddles, Asmo decides it’s time to pull out The Book idea because you’re not getting it

You’re just distracted by his beauty to see the fact that he’s trying to flirt. It’s fine.

This date idea requires the big guns (really only Diavolo, but he needs Lucifer to get to Diavolo). He’s setting his plan into motion, trying to sweet-talk Lucifer into taking him by Diavolo’s castle but Mammon overhears

The second-eldest is very unimpressed, DARES to mock him while sipping noisily on a soda, and just asks him why he doesn’t tell you straight up.

“Because it’s a stupid, tasteless idea.” Asmodeus scoffs and shoos him away like an annoying little thing as he amps up the charm and resumes his conversation with Lucifer.

“Bet it’ll work.” is all he hears Mammon murmur.

“Look,” Mammon shrugs. flicks his eyes to Asmo and then just nods his head towards you as you come around the corner into the dining room. “You just man up and say, ‘Do you--SMFF!”)

Asmo has never strangled anyone to death but today it might happen

Or he’s going to break this new six inch heel off in Mammon’s mouth (or his ass)

With Mammon sufficiently strangled (or choking on his soda, he’s not sure which) Asmo, plays it cool (barely) as you pass through to do something else (thank god!)

Highly amused, Lucifer agrees to help him

By the end of the week Asmodeus has a cute greenhouse picnic planned. Only Satan and Lucifer know

He’s pretty scarce around the House of Lamentation, even turning Solomon down once or twice, but it’s all worth it for the set up. He even bought special flowers

Barbatos escorts you through the winding greenhouse that almost seems lush and trim enough to be part of the Royal Gardens. He stops just before a manicured arch of flowers, the walkway studded with garden lights, stepping stones, and beautiful roses

He goads you forward, sending you on your way. The little roses perk up and explode into gorgeous blooms

And they’re talking?! One of the notecards say they’re a Devildom brand of rose--a mimicrose. The flower acts like a recorded, hiding a secret message, and blooms when it’s delivered to the right person

Your face lights up a gorgeous flattered color as you make your way down the trail compliments popping up every step

Asmo’s waiting at the end of the arches, looking like the cat that ate the canary with his catered spread. Sitting pretty on the classic checkered blanket.  

You only kind of hear the last rose confess--Asmo’s voice going quiet and shy as he swears he really, really loves you

The demon in front of you seems very far from that shy voice but you catch the tinge of pink on his cheeks. He saunters up to you and says something witty about how only he could be perfect for you, and that only perfect him could set all this up!

You two have a cute, quiet date with little cakes and finger foods

Diavolo sends Lucifer a text with a blurry photo saying he ‘photobombed’ you two, but doesn’t realize he has to be in the photo for it to count. Lucifer still thinks it’s a cute picture

Beelzebub:

It takes Beel a while to come around to the fact that he might like you

Not because he doesn’t like you, but because he’s equally comfy being friends. Friends are fine, too.

Even as a friend he still gets that giddy rush when he holds you, that flood of warmth when he impresses you, so for a while he thinks he has the best of both worlds

When that balance starts to feel threatened, the realization creeps in

Then he realizes there’s no going back and if he doesn’t say anything, you get caught up with other people and he’ll miss you. You just won’t be around as much anymore!

 When someone on the Fangol team starts getting a little too curious and close, the red flags go flying in Beel’s mind. He needs to tell you and tell you now!

Probably doesn’t have an extensive dating history and is, in general, the best sweet boi, so he’ll ask around for ideas. The second someone suggests a cupcake message or cake message, he’s done. No more ideas! That’s the best one!

To put his feelings in it, Beel decides to make the cupcakes himself. He buys enough to make 3 or 4 dozen cupcakes because he anticipates stress eating at least two batches

And the ugly ones. Can’t give you ugly ones!

He takes full advantage of Asmo or whoever getting you out of the house, throwing on a little apron and getting to work. Belphie supervises, occasionally scolding him

Beel eats a few cupcakes more than he’s supposed to and decides to draw frosting people so the space doesn’t feel empty

His frosting spelling isn’t that great. One of the words look weird. More than one, actually

Trying to write over it just makes extra frosting, unreadable globs

Beel eats that one, then realizes he messed up some of the topping, so he smooths it out and tries again

Belphie plays wingman, fully aware of his brother panicking over presentation and trying to spell (and not squeeze the life out of the frosting bag), and writes little love messages on the wrappers

It’s stuff he’s heard Beel say in his sleep for at least a week.

Beel resigns himself to a mash of cupcakes that are kind of readable and way less than what he planned to have. He doesn’t know Belphie’s done a gradual bait and switch of the cupcake liners since he’s eaten just as many as he’s made

You see a smiley face and the frosting people and it’s enough to melt your heart

Beel is speckled in flour and frosting (he’s got crumbs on the corner of his mouth), and he looks adorably awkward in the apron. He’s so nervous he’s in his demon form, wings buzzing frantically behind him.

It’s like he wants to take off and make nervous circles around you.

He stutters out an awkward ‘I like you’ and mumbles other things. Belphie, who’s curled up under the prep table, grumbles out ‘READ THE LINERS!’ before snuggling down again

You and Beel go on a cute little hunt to pick and read the wrappers, splitting cupcakes with each other.

At the end of it you’re very full and very happy. And Beel’s extra delighted because you smell (and taste) like cupcakes.

Belphegor

Does he like you like you, or just like the fact that you don’t bother him?

In his book, you’re not terrible. Not annoying. You don’t wake him up on purpose, and you seem to get along with Beel.

Not bad, right?

Maybe this means he just doesn’t have high standards?

He knows he wouldn’t mind napping with you. Maybe that means he likes you?

One night, when he’s hit that ‘slept all day’ high and he’s awake and thinking it over. He asks Beel about it because who else would know him better than his twin?

Then he learns. OH BOY DOES HE LEARN!

Apparently he talks about you in his sleep? And he blushes? CUDDLES THE PILLOW?

Beel is hardly worried about the threats, the finger pointing in his face, and the way he’s bobbing his head like a bull about to charge. It’s just standard little brother things! Very cute!

Belphegor feels bad and a little unworthy to date you. His sin is very taxing and he spends a lot of the time napping. Is it really a good idea?

It’s a heavy issue to think about, and he dreams.

Belphegor has always believed that dreams are a way for you to work out the issues you have when you’re awake, so he’s not surprised to dream about you

The dreams are so vivid, so heart-warming, and he’s so happy. It’s all about you and him--snippets of dates that he can’t completely see. He’s not sure where you’re at or what led up to the moments, but they’re all a happy, quiet cuddle that gives him more energy than he’s felt in a while

He knows, then, that he should at least ask you. When he gets his next burst of rested energy, he’s going to confess

Belphegor’s nearly scared straight out of bed when he sees you tentatively approaching it. He musters up enough concentration to hold a conversation and is VERY embarrassed to find he basically called you here

Almost like a subliminal message, or sharing a dream, you just simply had to come and tell him about the adorably awkward dream. It was very cuddly and kind of put you in a cuddling mood

Belphegor’s got a major case of sleep brain but it sounds like YOU actually just confessed

Plays the big card--go big or go home!--”If you like me, get in the bed.”

Realizes about 3 seconds later how that sounds. Is very embarrassed and wants to hide under his blankets and die. 

He’s already wormed under them and is firmly cocooned (so he doesn’t have to look you in the face or see if you stay) “You know...if you like me. Want to cuddle and stuff...like a couple...”

He feels your weight spread out along his bed and scoops you up like a blanket monster. It’s like being swallowed by a fitted sheet, blanket coming at you from all sides, and you both laugh about it.

Belphegor is a big fan of the private cuddle pile

[hxneyandespressx]

since we’re alone, you can show me your heart

summary: what happens when derek gets a nightmare? the only one who can calm him down is his pretty boy

pairing: spencer reid x derek morgan (moreid)

word count:  1.9k

content warnings: mentions of gun and shooting

a/n: set after criminal minds season 11 episode 11 entropy

☆。*。☆。

Spencer ran frantically around his dark and messy apartment, picking up the case files and Chinese takeout boxes that had piled up on his antique coffee table. Few peanut oil stains stuck onto the wooden top. The anxious man took the nearest napkin, hoping that it was clean, and tried his best to wipe off the oil stains. Seeing that they wouldn’t come off, Spencer exasperatedly dropped the napkin onto the table and rushed over to his kitchen, grabbing the necessary cleaning supplies. He got his bottle of white vinegar and water, a pair of yellow rubber gloves, and an old rag underneath the kitchen sink.

By the time Spencer was done, every room in his apartment was clean to his standard. Not a book out of place, no dust lingering in the air. Spencer felt both scared and excited about having his co-workers come over to his place. He never had them over until today. He felt scared if a game, like truth or dare, made him confess his true feelings about his boyfriend.

Derek and Spencer had worked with each other for a long time. As the years went by, experiencing the highs and lows of being FBI agents together, the two of them felt their hearts yearn for each other, but neither of them acted upon it. They were scared of the possibility of rejection, tarnishing their friendship. It was not until Derek decided to break the ice and asked out Spencer. The young man was delighted to have his crush ask him out. It was the one thing that went right in his life.

Three months in and either of them hasn’t said “I love you” yet. Either of them was scared to frighten off the other. Saying “I love you” was a big commitment. They were trying to take things slow, not to rush each other, even though they had known each other for a long time.

The gang was heading over to Spencer’s for a little sleepover to relax as they hadn’t received any new cases within the past 2 weeks. It was nice to have a break from all the traveling and dealing with unsubs; however, it does get boring doing paperwork and in-office consultations for hours.

Spencer’s phone pinged multiple times and a bunch of text notifications came.

Hotch: Sorry, can’t make it. I couldn’t find a babysitter for Jack and Jessica is busy at work tonight. Maybe next time.

Tara: going out on the town with the ladies!

Penelope: sorry spencer but jj tara and i are having a ladies night :(

JJ: sorry spence! perhaps next time!

Rossi: Sorry kid. Forgot to tell you that I’m driving up to Montauk to visit a buddy of mine.

Spencer sighed and felt defeated. Everyone bailed on him at the last minute. Everyone except for Derek. That was fine with Spencer, as this could be a date night for them. Just then, the doorbell rang, indicating someone had arrived. Having a small smile on his face, Spencer scurried to the front door and opened it. It revealed one handsome Derek Morgan, who was holding a large pizza in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other.

“I saw in the group chat that everyone else bailed on this.” Derek said.

“Yeah but this could be a date night for us.” Spencer smiled at his little proposition. Derek smiled, showing off his brilliant pearly whites, as he entered the apartment.

The couple spent their night-in watching movies, eating pizza, and Spencer going off tangents on his passions. Whenever Spencer starts to rant about one of his passions, Derek just stared at his little genius and smiled at how happy his boyfriend was. And that continued all night long, Derek listening to Spencer talk about 19th-century British literature, coupled with watching random movies of various genres.

Nearing 1 am, the couple laid on the couch, with Spencer in Derek’s arms. The tv was playing Julie & Julia in the background. Spencer was half asleep and noticed that Derek was sleeping already. He gently wiggled out of Derek’s arms and stood up from the couch, scratching his scalp and messing up his already messy curly hair.

“Hey. Let’s go to bed.” Spencer softly said, patting his boyfriend’s shoulder. Derek woke up, feeling groggy. Spencer led the way to his room, holding Derek’s hand. They both flopped onto the bed and Derek wrapped an arm around Spencer’s waist. They were used to sharing a room together, even a bed due to mistakes occurring at the hotels they stayed at when they were on cases. Sleep washed over them as the golden dust of the Sandman worked its magic.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Standing across from Derek were Spencer and Cat Adams. The hitwoman had a gun pointed at one scared Spencer Reid. Internally, Derek was screaming. On the outside, he kept his cool and calm composure.

“Morgan, get out.” Spencer demanded.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Derek said, his voice shaking a little.

“Hm… I guess we’re back where we started. You and me with a gun.” Cat said without a care in the world, keeping the gun aimed at Spencer.

“Reid, it’s time.”

“No.”

“We don’t have a choice. We have to do it,” Derek said. Spencer kept shaking his head no. “We found your father.” the unsub stood there in shock for a few seconds, before rage set inside of her.

“You’re lying. I don’t like men who lie. You men are all the same.” Cat said as she gauged the trigger on her gun. She shot Spencer in the head and without hesitation, Derek started to shoot at the unsub. Derek ran over to Spencer and held his dying love in his arms. He tried to keep him alive until the paramedics came. The last words Derek said was “I love you” before his boy wonder went limp.

Derek woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. He heard himself breathing heavily and felt anxious from the nightmare he just had. The frightened man groggily rubbed his eyes to get rid of the Sandman’s dust. Leaning his back against the headboard, Derek stared at the wall across from him, concentrating his eyes on one spot. He hoped that this technique would help him fall back asleep. Alas, he was shaken up from the nightmare.

The dazed man anxiously searched for his phone, wondering how much time has passed. Fumbling through the grey sheets and trying not to wake up Spencer, Derek found his phone, turning on the touchscreen, the blue screen lit up brightly. 3:20 am. Derek took a deep breath and sighed, leaning his head back onto the headboard and looked over to see his baby-faced boyfriend fast asleep. A soft smile appeared on Derek’s face, reminding him of his reality: Spencer being his angel.

Feeling restless, Derek pushed the comforter off of himself and quietly got off of the bed. He opened the bedroom door and went to the bathroom that was down the hall. His hands turned on the faucet and cupped together to gather the running water. Derek splashed cold water onto his face, making him more alert and awake. His eyes caught the sight of his face in the mirror. Smile lines decorated his face, which contrasted the dark circles forming underneath his eyes. Derek sighed and made his way towards the kitchen.

Derek has come over to Spencer’s place many times before, so much so he knows the way around like the back of his hand. With ease, his muscular hand grabbed a tall glass, with an accompanying coaster, in one of the cabinets above. He filled the glass with water from the faucet below. Loud gulps could be heard as Derek drank the water, cool and fresh like he had found an oasis. Just as Derek gently placed the glass on the coaster, his ears caught the shuffling feet of a tired Spencer.

“Derek?” Spencer tiredly said. “What are you doing up?”

“Just needed some water, that is all.” Derek said his half truth-half lie. The young man shrugged and went towards the refrigerator.

Unknowingly, Derek started to tap his fingers against the dark grey laminate countertop. Spencer caught the sound with his ears and turned to face his boyfriend.

“Derek? Are you okay?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Because you’re tapping your fingers across the countertop.” Spencer pointed out. When the tired genius mentioned the action, Derek immediately stopped, his eyes glancing at Spencer.

“We’re profilers, Derek. You can’t hide anything from me.” Spencer said, feeling concerned for his best friend. The mousy-haired man felt like a hypocrite after saying that to Derek. During the many years he worked with the handsome man in front of him, Spencer developed a crush on him. At first, it was just a silly little infatuation, but as time passed, it changed to being a crush. The young man was able to hide it well. That was until Derek reciprocated his feelings. That same crush turned into Spencer dating Derek. In these past few months, Spencer wanted to tell his angel of a boyfriend that he loved him, but he was scared that Derek would run away from him, just like everyone else in his life.

“Ha– you’re right, pretty Ricky,” Derek said in defeat, hanging his head low. Spencer came up behind Derek slowly, hesitant to show some affection to his probably scared boyfriend. He mustered up his own fears and gave Derek a hug from behind, and felt his boyfriend relaxing in his arms. The couple stood in silence for some time, savoring the unspoken quietness between them.

“Remember when you had to go in as bait for Cat Adams?” Derek asked, breaking the silence.

“Oh– yeah. Why are you asking?” Spencer responded, not getting the hint where the conversation was going.

“Two weeks since that case, I had these nightmares. I thought I could get through with it, but I can’t. My nightmare was about that. I dreamt that you were shot by Cat.” Derek explained.

“Derek…” Spencer felt shocked while his heart was breaking. He felt like he had to do something. But all he could do was sit and listen to his boyfriend get everything off his chest.

"I wish this is a nightmare that I could just wake up from... but it feels all real... and I hate every second of it. I felt like I was going to lose you when it actually happened,” Derek’s voice cracked a bit as tears pricked his deep brown eyes. “And I don’t want this to repeat. I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

“I won’t let it happen again,” Spencer quietly said, caresses Derek’s cheek. “We will make sure she stays in prison, alright?” Derek brought Spencer in for a long embrace. The mousy-haired man wrapped his arms around his athletic boyfriend’s waist as he placed his head in the crook of Derek’s neck. The soft warmth coming off of Derek comforted Spencer, clashing with her cold pale skin.

“I just uh…” Derek said tiredly.

“Yeah.” Spencer replied, smiling softly. He knew in his heart that Derek said “I love you” to him.

“You know?”

“I know.”

taglist: @homosexualyearning / @ssajelle / @iconicc / @sunlightgalaxy / @pumpkin-stars / @hotchgans / @pen3mily / @hotchsbabygirl / @gravelyhumerus / @morcias / @notsosmexy / @cherrychris​ / @hqtchner / @girlbossjareau / @pagetsimp / @a-writers-ramblings / @morceid

[softboywriting]

Valentine | Nathan Bateman | Ex Machina

Summary: Valentine’s Day is approaching and you’d like Nathan to do something for you. Too bad he’s not good at taking hints. Or is he? [Fluff] [Established Relationship] [No Use of Y/N] 

Word Count: 1k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Nathan Bateman and Valentine's Day go together like cotton candy and water. Trying to make it work out will leave you with nothing but a sad mess of nothing. You never expected much from him on the holiday, he never was much for any holiday really, but it would be nice. You'd like to receive a small token of affection. Giving is your love language and you give a lot to him, your time, your heart, your life essentially. It is time to receive something in return. But bringing it up to him without a lecture on how it's a fake holiday manufactured by corporations, well, that's a feat on its own. 

"What's today?" You ask from across the lab where you're testing an arm for mobility. 

"Thursday."

"Yes but the date?" 

Nathan looks up from his work and peers at you over his glasses. It's as if he's caught on to your game. "The eleventh."

"Ah. Right."

"Why?" 

"No reason. I just have some things to do soon."

"Uh huh." He returns to his work and says nothing more. He won't bait you like you hoped. Fucker. He is too smart for his own good. 

_____________________

You try again to get him to say something about Valentine's day. This time you decide to mention the roses you saw at the store during your shopping trip. 

"There were orange roses at the store. They were beautiful, unlike anything I've seen. I didn't even know that orange was an option."

"Uh huh."

"I should have gotten them." You sigh, placing the last box of lo-carb pasta into the cabinet over the counter. "I don't know why I didn't."

Nathan leans on the counter and folds his arms. "What's your point?" 

"Huh?"

"What's your point of all this? You want something for Valentine's Day?" 

"It'd be nice." You shrug and turn to face him. "I know it's stupid and cliché. That you should love your spouse or partner every day of the year but-" 

Nathan's hard stare stops you dead in your tracks. "Go on?" 

"Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Yeah." He pushes away from the counter. "I thought so. I'll be boxing if you need me."

You lean on the counter, head in your hands. That didn't go as well as you hoped. Why does he have to be so fucking stubborn and difficult and hard headed. He's such a dick sometimes. God if you didn't see past all that shit you would never have fallen for him. But you did, and you got to the soft gooey center and fell in love with the man in the middle. Well. It'll be another year of treating yourself to the day after candy sales. Yipee. 

_____________________

Sunday. Valentine's day. You wake up in your bed, the soft lights coming up along the walls to signify it's morning in the subterranean room. You didn't sleep with Nathan last night. The feeling of being unwanted was strong after the conversation about the roses, you knew how to catch a hint. The bed is warm, and you don't want to get up. Somehow you had convinced yourself you could get Nathan to do something for you. That you could get into his head and plant the idea that maybe you'd like a gift for the first time in two years. Well, one year of being together as a couple and two of living with him. What a ridiculous thing to lie to yourself about. 

Against your better judgement you get up. Your bladder is screaming, threatening to pop and you aren't about to ignore it. After reliving yourself you're fully awake and you decide to go make some food.

The second you open the door to the bedroom you're caught off guard. The lights in the hall are red, like the emergency back up lights. You glance back into your room and it's normal. Had something happened in the night? Was the house supposed to be on lockdown?

"Nathan!" You call out, peering up and down the hall. "Is something broken?!" 

You look around once more. Should you go back into the bedroom? Maybe something has gone wrong. You slip back in and grab the bat that Nathan left for you ages ago. All the note attached to it back then said was that in case of emergencies, swing first ask questions later.

There is no sign of anything wrong as you walk down the hall toward the living areas. Everything is quiet and the doors are not on lock down like the security lights may seem to portray. At the entryway to the kitchen there are rose petals on the ground. Orange rose petals. Your heart stops. 

"Nathan? Where are you?" You peek into the kitchen and on the table is a bowl of fruit, pancakes, and a clear cup with iced coffee in it. Your favorite treat is this exact coffee when you go into the city. "Nathan?" 

With no reply you grab the cup and carry it with you as you follow the trail of petals to the living room. You drop the bat at the sight of what you can only guess to be about two hundred roses in the living room. All of them orange and white. Every surface is covered in bouquets. There are little heart boxes all over the coffee table and a blanket on the couch with a heart on it, a heart shaped pillow and even some sultry music playing. It's suffocating-ly Valentine's Day. You must be dreaming.

Hands come up and cover your eyes and you know it's Nathan. There is no one else it could be. But his body is familiar, his warmth, those hands. "Hey, Kitten."

"Guess who?" You chuckle and he presses a kiss to your head. 

"No, I know you know the touch of a God."

You smack his leg and he chuckles. He lowers his hands and wraps his arms around your chest instead, tucking his face into your neck. "What is all this?" 

"It's roses, and chocolate and heart shaped shit. All the cliché things you have been dying to receive." He kisses your neck and gives you a little bite. "I knew you wanted something. So I got you everything."

"Maybe I tried to hint at it." 

"Mmhmm. I caught on right away." He reaches down and takes your iced coffee. "I went through so much to get all these. And this," he holds the straw to your lips. "This was the hardest part." 

You take a sip and it's perfect. "How? The flight is 2 hours in. How did you do this?" 

"Cargo helicopter." 

"The drink?" 

"I had them make it, take the ice out and I kept the ice in a cooler next to the drink so it wouldn't get watered down. It was a whole process."

You turn in his hold and kiss him softly. "I know you hate Valentine's Day. Thank you."

"I do.” He holds your face, kissing your nose. “But I love you more." 

end

---------

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[mybg3notebook]

The Party Scene

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

In these “scene posts” I will explore the scene of the title looking for the information in the dialogues. What I will be looking for is how much Gale “lies”, how much lore is provided, and any extra detail that may be of our interest to highlight. At the end of these posts there are summary points for those who don't want to read the whole post.

Additional disclaimers about meta-knowledge and interpretations in this (post) while disclaimers about Context in this (one).

The party scene, I personally think, needs plenty of polishing. The fact that many characters can have a "jealous" behaviour towards Tav no matter their approval looks suspicious to me. Gale's case is even weirder because if Tav did not romanced him at all, Gale will still share those judgemental comments that seem to come from jealousy, as well as strange dialogue options about “being a bad loser” when the context is not romantic at all. This would make some sense—to a certain extent—if Tav romanced him, but if Tav locked him as a friend, it has no purpose. Especially if Tav explores the option of suggesting him to spend the night together, which ends with Gale rejecting the situation because "they are just good companions" after such display of incoherent jealousy coming from a char who values privacy (and therefore would not meddle into Tav's personal affairs). It seems to contradict his character and therefore, it makes me suspect that the whole party scene is just very raw and unpolished in general. 

As I said, the party interaction is very confusing since it doesn't follow the relationship context created by Tav, and in Gale's case looks inconsistent with his char as well, inviting a strong misinterpretations of his character (this is probably a consequence of the decision of making Gale part of EA in the last moment). So this scene analysis may be a bit messy since the scenes are messy too (hence this post's length. I'm sorry). 

Whether Gale was locked into friendship or romance, Gale drops his famous line: 

As they say in Waterdeep: In wine there is truth. That's usually followed by: In water there is good sense. Good sense will have to wait till the morrow.

A great warning line from a narrative point of view: he is basically saying that what will be shared that day under the effect of wine is true, but it certainly won't be "good sense".

In a friendship path, he would not want to waste Tav's time any longer, and will bid them a good night while promising a bed-story the next day. In that case, the wine line could be interpreted as the final decision of a confession that will happen the next day: Gale has finally reached a degree of trust in Tav that gives him enough courage to finally speak about the details of the "orb" (and I emphasise details because in broader aspect, he already shared what's most important: the "orb" in his chest is a dangerous thing. If Tav assisted with his death protocol, this is undeniable by now, unless Tav allowed him to keep his privacy). 

In a romantic path, this wine line could be interpreted as the decision of inviting Tav to share a night, and explaining the details in the morning, the “good sense”. After the wine phrase, we have other piece of prose in which Gale describes a book that it's a bit more than a sexual book:

Gale: Allow me to make the following proposition: there is a book that circulates in Amn, detailing the first thousand nights of a newly-wed king and queen. They turned everything they did into an art. The art of conversation. The art of taste, time honoured and newly acquired. The art of the body. The exploration and acceptance of the self and the other. The art of the night itself. I say we take a page from their book. 

Considering that Gale is not only a verbose char, but also a poet and a scholar, the enumeration of the concepts in the description of the book speaks a lot in my opinion. Gale is not inviting Tav to a night of sex (let's remember he never uses that word in EA) but to a deeper degree of "intimacy", as he calls it. There is a lot more involved in what he asks for: confessions in the art of conversation, pleasures in the art of the body, and, hopefully, acceptance. For Gale, acceptance is a big deal: it’s not by chance that he left it last in the enumeration, summarising the whole concepts with the "art of the night". Gale is truly eager to access these concepts, and in doing so, I personally believe he shows a fair level of naivety on this matter. It seems (especially later with his unpolished arguments in the morning) he felt he needed this level of intimacy—of acceptance first—so he could speak the details openly. He wants to have this night before any confession because he thinks that it would allow him to acquire something that would prevent the abandonment that he viscerally fears: acceptance.

Any of the options taken by Tav keeps showing his eagerness. He wants this to happen in whatever terms Tav desires: as a brand new experience (“blank slates on blank sheets”) or with the promise of commitment (writing the prequel of a newly-wed couple). Or if Tav romanced Gale and then chose to spend the night with another companion, Gale will still insist in sleeping together, showing he was open for Tav to have casual sex as long as the "commitment" part would be established with him. This is reinforced by the fact that, if Tav never shared the Weave with Gale, there is no way to sleep with him: Gale is not a character for one-stand nights. He craves for deep connection, for commitment, in whatever fashion he can get it. Mystra taught him not to ask about exclusivity after all.

Gale is so desperate to have this deep connection that if Tav doubts about spending the night with him, he will drop a line which can trigger an alarm in the player:

Tav: I'm not sure you're the one I want. Gale: That's because you've yet to find out what you're missing. Doubt is a spoilsport. Cast it aside.

Gale, the scholar, the one who kept encouraging Tav to doubt and to think critically about everything, suggests to dismiss doubts. Once more we see he needs this to happen. Some players interpret this as manipulation as well. I personally think this also says something else in Gale: since the dev's notes show no second intentions in the only two scenes where dev's notes existed, and instead, they display how much fear Gale has for a second abandonment, Gale is showing here his inexperience with relationships as well as a constant fear for abandonment.

Gale is looking for commitment, for something that can last longer than Mystra's affair did: he wants something solid, but his inexperience in this field made him "acquire" knowledge of how things should work via romanticized means such as books and poetry. In his mind, the acceptance he needs can only be acquired due to the "art of the night", very well detailed in this book he describes. 

It's true that, all this part, if we completely ignore the narrative weight that the book has for a book-based character such as Gale, can be interpreted as Gale manipulating Tav to have sex alone; desperate to obtain it, doing everything in order to get it. We can also see the description of the book as a “bait”, as some people do. It's a valid interpretation, especially for a Tav who respected Gale's privacy during the Loss Scene and the protocol, so that Tav has no information with which to connect the dots. But I personally find it an over-magnification to see him as a "mastermind of manipulation". The few dev's notes we have about Gale seem to confirm that nothing shadier than his “orb” despair and his fear for abandonment are going on. These fears are constantly echoing in his mind, and they are, as I said in other posts, the main reasons why he becomes emotional and prone to make mistakes. 

Is this action manipulative? It can be seen as “withholding information” by any Tav who didn't push him to explain, otherwise, all the information in a general way has been offered already and there is no withholding at all. Is Gale a manipulative character? In EA we don't see a pattern of that behaviour to qualify him as such. He has been quite honest, explaining in all scenes what he can say and what he cannot, drawing his boundaries clean and clear. We saw him struggling with the explanation of what he lost. The few Dev's notes reinforce mainly his fear for abandonment, lacking any manipulative behaviour behind his actions. His pattern, in my opinion, is that he tends to make mistakes in his emotional state, which is mostly triggered by the “orb” and the concept of “abandonment”. Not so much with Mystra per ser. He seems to be nostalgic but more aware of what loving a God causes (his regret is explicit during the conversation of Karsus). He is quite done with "her love as a lover", but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to be forgiven nor he doesn't love her as the essence of Magic itself. More details in the post of "Mystra and her Chosen ones".

After the party, Tav can have a romantic conversation before the sex “intimacy” or can reject the chance. What seems incoherent in this part is when Tav is not in the mood for sex, and Gale simply cuts off the situation. He is a character who craves connection and intimacy, and pretty much like Wyll, he needs a bond before stepping into romance. To waste a night of celebration that could be used to share any other level of intimacy (let's say, talking? The man clearly LOVES to talk) seems strange. If this reaction is truly meant to be in the game, it would seem that he certainly was more desperate for sex than what all the previous scenes hinted, but in that case it would have done little sense to leave the tale of the wizard for the next night. Gale already knew Tav did not want to have sex, so no point in delaying the explanation of the details. I personally suspect these incoherences are a consequence of Gale being added into EA at the last moment, making him more “shadier” than he is meant to be. 

To justify my opinion that this seems to be an unpolished scene: if Gale is not romanced, and conditions are given, Lae'Zel will spend the night with him, talking. Why would Gale prefer to share a night of talks with a companion with whom he had not the Weave connection before, but he won't do it with a Tav who shared it? I see some incongruence here, probably as the result of being added into the EA in a rush. His scenes are less polished and much more messier than the other companions' (certainly not more than Wyll, though) and his bugs and triggering priority show it. 

This part is also seen as "coercive" by some players:

Tav: I’m sorry, but I actually don’t think I can do this. I’m just not in the mood. Gale: Not even a simple kiss would change your mind? Tav: No, it wouldn’t.

Tav: Maybe a kiss was enough Gale: Are you sure? One kiss is like one chord in an entire symphony. It begs for more.

Gale: (disapproval) What a pity. One should never be afraid to live life to the fullest. Before we part.. I know there are many things about me that remain shrouded in mystery. You’ve been very patient with me, and I appreciate that. You’ve brought me back from the grey shores of death. You know of my condition, and you know about my unfortunate efforts to win Mystra’s favour, but those are but the broad strokes. The time has come to paint you the true picture. So come find me another night, yes? No kisses, just words. (Leaves)

Asking seems to be coercive for some people just because there is a disapproval. I personally separate very clearly what Tav sees and receives as information from the NPCs and what I, the player, do. Tav should react to what they see, but the player is having a “meta-knowledge” of the situation with the info of the narrator and the approval system. The player knows Gale is disappointed in not having intimacy now, and he expresses it. Then he behaves completely natural, and continues talking (of course) about what he will explain about in the following morning (I don't understand what impedes him to say it in that moment: is it the wine? He fears his charisma checks are at a disadvantage due to the wine? Is it just a reflection of the rush in which he was added to the game? We will see in the full release. To me it looks inconsistent.)

Anyways. The scene continues in the early morning or simply the next night depending on what option Tav picked. Here, Gale presents the details of the revelation: “It is a story full of answers long overdue. It is a story of a man who fell in love with a goddess.”

Tav: You're really about to tell me about another lover? What's wrong with you? Gale :I couldn’t do it before. I couldn’t ruin the chance for us to happen. You were there. How could I say no to you? Dev's notes: Gale revealed he was in love with Mystra. He tells this the morning after. Understandably, the player can react negatively to his timing. He tries to explain himself. 

This line clearly shows that there was an intention in hiding the relationship he had with Mystra, which it's an “answer long overdue” (is it?). Now, some players consider this the proof of Gale's manipulations; the greatest betrayal, because people are entitled to know all the details of their partner's past before sleeping with them. Other players consider that it's in poor taste to disclose this exactly the morning after sharing the night with Gale. And I agree. However, I see a scene with a lot of over-magnifications and making things more problematic than they truly are. In my opinion, “the chance for us to happen” is deeply linked to the book of Amn for all the reasons explained before. It's not by chance that this book has such a weight in the scene. Gale also shows with this line that he has no experience nor idea how relationships develop. 

I also think that Gale fails so much in delivering decent lines in this scene because, 1) this is a very unpolished text in EA, or 2) this is very on purpose, emphasising that Gale is ready to speak about the two topics that turn him into an emotional disaster and his word choices could be attributed to as someone failing many charisma checks. Maybe that's the intention.

If Tav considers this the greatest of the betrayals they can tell him to leave and Gale will not resist the rejection, leaving the party immediately and facing one of his biggest fears: Abandonment. And once more, the abandonment as a consequence of his own mistake. The irony of this path. 

If Tav allows him to explain, Gale will accept any "judgement after telling his story". This is something very related to Gale's approvals: to have a complete grasp of a situation, you need to have all the evidence, hear all the details of the event, before drawing a conclusion. And curiously, no matter what aggressive option Tav picks, Gale gives no disapproval unless he is forced to leave the party. So, after some dramatic reaction, Gale will try to proceed with the telling.

Tav: It’s clear as day you are talking about yourself, you know Gale: I know, but a bit of narrative distance will make it all so much easier in the telling. Indulge me.

From here, Gale gives Tav another courtesy gesture: to pick the version in which this will be explained. He clarifies that the long version, more pompous and verbose and in third person, is the one he would prefer due to the distance. Since the first meeting on the road, or the stew scene, passing through the Loss Scene, we see this pattern again: Gale, the character who always has a lot of things to speak about, has also topics that are difficult to explain and needs to use narrative tricks to do it. Not by chance he is a reserved person: those topics he can't talk about are always personal. 

Long version

Gale: Once upon a time, not quite that long ago, there lived a wizard in a tower. The wizard was what one might call a prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the Weave, but compose it, like a musician or a poet. Such was his skill that it earned him the attention of the mother of magic herself. The Lady Of Mysteries, Mystra.

Tav: What did Mystra’s attention feel like? Gale: Love.  Dev's Notes: nostalgic, regretful, bitter, sad, lost romance–all with a bit of hesitation on the front of the line. Tav :He sounds like a very talented individual Gale: He was. Even though it was in Mystra’s affections that his true power lay. Tav: Teacher’s pet, was he? Gale: He fancied himself much more than that. He fancied himself favoured above all others. 

These three options give interesting additional information: Gale was convinced that Mystra's attention was love, because he was young and naive. He is now very aware that his talent meant little, because the true power he had was in Mystra's affections, meaning in being a loved Chosen one. He fancied himself unique, as a Chosen would do. 

Gale: Perhaps it was not quite love, Dev's Notes: A little embarrassed Gale: but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. It was most certainly love to him. Mystra showed him the secrets behind the veils. The gossamer veils first, draped across the Weave. The delicate veils next, draped across her body. ‘Chosen One’ she whispered, as she slipped them off completely.

This is another fragment with interesting, yet disturbing lines: Gale now, as a narrator, questions if that past feeling was Love. He has matured his sentiments for Mystra, they are less "teenager-like". He is convinced that in the past it was love to him, implying that now he has doubts (concept reinforced once more by the end of the scene). The disturbing line is the definition of "very young man", which I will talk about in the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 1", section: "Grooming". 

Tav: The veils draped across the Weave? Gale: Indeed. What most wizards perceive is but the ripple of the Weave’s surface. Untold wonders lie beyond. I enjoyed them for a while, as we enjoyed each other.

Once more, in these details, the narrative reinforces how intense is the connection of Mystra with a Chosen one. Again, this is lore information. Chosen ones have a deep connection with Mystra/the Weave/Magic, which is unique. More on this matter can be read in the post about "Mystra and her Chosen ones".

Gale: One day all too soon, the whispers stopped. The goddess spurned the mortal. The veils were drawn once more, and the wizard was left behind heartbroken.

Tav: Poor wizard Gale: Poor wizard. Silly wizard too, for he wouldn’t take no for an answer Tav: What happened next? // I hate to say it, but he really could have seen this coming Gale: He was blinded by love. Good stories are rife with lovers’ follies after all. Tav: Perhaps she, like you, had other lovers she didn’t tell him about. Gale : She might well have had, but that didn’t stop the wizard from trying to reclaim her affections.

Gale: Like so many of the heartbroken, he did something infinitely foolish. One has to think big if one seeks to win back a goddess. So the wizard thought big. [Here he explains all about Karsus who] sought to usurp the goddess of magic so that he could become a god himself. He almost managed but not quite, and his entire empire – Netheril – came crashing down around him as he turned to stone. The magic unleashed that day was phenomenal, rolling like the prime chaos that outdated creation. A fragment of it was caught and sealed away in a book. No ordinary book, mind you; a tome of gateways that contained within it a bubble of Astral Plane. It was a fragment of primal Weave locked out of time – locked away from Mystra herself. ‘What if’, the silly wizard thought. ‘What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the Goddess?”

Another part of the scene that keeps giving us a lot of information: Gale is very aware now how silly he was in his youth (at this point, one can almost remember his words during Arabella's quest: she is not innocent but that doesn't mean she is guilty) and his past young self was unable to take a no as an answer (which apparently Gale learnt very well when before this revelation or after, Tav can reject him and he simply leaves the party without putting much resistance, despite knowing that Tav only has a fragment of the big picture). The other answer reinforces his blindness by this strange concept that Gale thought it was love, and pretty much uses the word Folly for describing or making an analogy with his past, which again, it's not a casual word: Folly is a formal way to say stupidity and it's also a word that Gale uses to compare his mistake with Karsus' folly. As an extra, the last answer seems to explain very much what he does when Tav romanced him and then slept with another companion. Details of this in the post "Gale Hypotheses- Part 2", section: "Proposition to Cheat".

Short version: 

This version is shorter and more into the point without an excess of dramatic details that may end up annoying Tav more than making the process of comprehension better. The short version makes much more clear where Gale is standing: the facts are presented without his typical pattern of embellishing the story.

Gale: […] I am what one might call a wizard prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the Weave, but compose it like a virtuoso. Such was my skill that it earned me the attention of Mystra herself. I soon fell in love with her, and she returned my affections. […] Before long Mystra tired of me. What was I, after all, but a mortal plaything in sacred hands? You have to realise I was heartbroken. I was a young man, she was my first love. I thought it would last forever. 

This part reinforces once more that he is very aware that a relationship with a goddess was very unbalanced, that Mystra was his first love, he was a young man, and he thought it would last forever. 

For completion's sake, the goblin version has a different introduction:

Gale: Let's just get this over with. No doubt you've guessed by now there was something rather special about my relationship with the goddess Mystra. The thing is, we were lovers once. I am what one might call a wizard prodigy [...follows the same speech of the short version]

Three versions converge in the kneeling. The scene in this point has a different narrative value; a proud character as he is, who has a deep regret for his mistake with the “orb” (he says it explicitly in the "Loss Scene" post) kneels before Tav to humbly show the traumatic experience by placing their hand on his heart, where the “orb” resides:

Gale: Here. Place your hand over my heart. Let me show you Narrator: You feel the tadpole quiver as you realise Gale is letting you in. Into the dark. You see through Gale’s eyes, staring down the corridors of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. It’s teeth, it’s claws, it’s unstoppable as it digs through you and becomes part of you. And gods, is it ever hungry…

This scene speaks of opennesses in all senses, honest and without any interest of pretence: Gale is showing his greatest regret, the lowest of the lowest he reached, the despair that it inspires. For once, he is not talking, he is showing it (because the experience is the one that makes him speechless and its memory seems to cause him great pain too due to the facial gesticulation). And what Tav sees shows again that Gale has nothing extra to hide: this has been the same exact information that Tav could extract from him in earlier opportunities with successful tadpole intrusions. So, if Tav never reveals that they saw this in Gale during the stew scene, Tav will realise that Gale kept his promise: he was reserved for a while, trusting slowly in Tav, to finally open up and show that he was going to explain the “why” much more later, because it's truly difficult for Gale to speak about.

1-Yank your hand away Gale: Terrifying isn’t it? And that is only the beginning 3-Tav: Gods – why show me this? Gale: I’m sorry, but I had to. After all, that is only the beginning 4-Tav: I slept with a monster. Gale: I didn’t sleep with a monster despite the tadpole in your head. We are none of us monsters. We are merely hatcheries for monstrous things. So we fight them.

This is one of the most ominous information Gale gives us, in my opinion: The experience of how the “Black Weave” rushed into his body is grotesque and painful, and it's meant to cause despair. But that was only the beginning: Gale is everyday dealing with that feeling, but on a bigger scale as its hunger increases with each passing day. The descriptions of his emotions during the artefact scenes adds more despair and anxiety to it. Gale is living in the worst mental state that a person can, but he manages it thanks to his wizard training and the Weave he consumes (he is still alive thanks to Magic, of all things). This shows the mental power of a wizard in DnD. And if you read the post about "Well-known Characters" section: "Elminster", Gale could have been inspired in him since I can see this level of endured torture similar to the one that Elminster was exposed to when he was kidnapped and dragged to the Hells. 

Gale: This Netherese taint.. this orb, for lack of a better word, is balled up inside my chest. And it needs to be fed. As long as it absorbs Weave it remains stable – to an extent. The moment it becomes unstable, however..[...] It will erupt. I don’t know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but given my studies of Netherese magic, I’d say even a fragment as small as the one I carry…. It’d level a city the size of Waterdeep. Dev's Notes: He admits he’s a walking disaster waiting to happen. This is said very seriously. The truth is finally out and he has no idea how the player will react to such monstrous news.” 

Tav: I should godsdamned kill you Gale: Perhaps that is what I deserve, but you deserve no such thing. To kill me is to unleash the orb. I understand your anger, I do […]

Here is where we know that Gale calls it “orb”, but it's not an orb. For more details, read the post about the "Orb". Tav already knew since the Stew scene that Gale could cause a catastrophe without artefacts. In this scene we just get some extra details about it. 

Gale: It is my truth, finally revealed. It is this folly that led Mystra to abandon me completely. I can only hope you won’t abandon me as well. After all we’ve been through.. (After the night we spent together). Surely we can brave even this side by side. Dev's notes: Solemn. Full of yearning his news will not lead to him being abandoned by the player.

And there, Gale's “truth” is “revealed” (not truly, it is only more detailed in the information): We know that the Weave he consumes from the artefacts keeps this condition stable (something we already knew since the Stew Scene) and it will erupt if it doesn't consume artefacts (which is something we knew since the Stew Scene too). So the revelation scene is not so much of a revelation. The whole scene has a writing with a lot of weight in “shocking” revelations and “dramatic” reactions when the context provided shows that there is little to be shocked about, in my opinion. If anything, this whole scene needs serious polishing.

Then it follows the “coercive” part according to some players, which again... it's only Gale hoping this situation doesn't end in a second abandonment. The concept that the “intimacy” of the shared night gives more reasons to stay by his side seems pretty naïve, but maybe that was the intention (thus my suspicion that Gale has no experience at all in relationships, only what he learnt from romantic books). What it's clear is that after the detailed explanation, Gale is desperate to avoid a second abandonment, yet he knows it's unavoidable. This can be seen when Tav doesn't forgive his betrayal (?) of not saying anything about Mystra or the "orb" (he did in the Stew and following scenes, but this context is not acknowledged here), and Gale simply accepts it, showing that Mystra's experience made him learn to accept a no, leaving the party forever (in EA). 

Tav: No. This is too large a betrayal. Gale: I see. I am sorry. I am sorry that it had to come to this. All that’s left to say is farewell. Dev's Notes: A slight hesitation, hurt but understanding. He makes a polite little bow, then we see him walk away.

Really, I don't understand what happened with this scene because it's either ignoring any annoyance that the situation can cause on a Tav who didn't push Gale to talk, or it offers an over-reaction when all the information has been shared already, at least in a very generalised way during the Stew Scene. A Tav who doesn't push Gale to speak will have no more details than the ones provided during the Stew Scene at this point in the game, but one who pushed Gale will basically have the whole story covered. The Rpg-options we get here are so white-and-black, and not even coherent with the context, no wonder so many players turned Gale into a “mastermind in manipulation”. This scene is very unpolished in my opinion.

Tav: Gale, are you still in love with Mystra? Gale: I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know. She is my muse still, the embodiment of magic, but the embodiment of love? Only if we ever meet again will I know

Here we have once more confirmation that Gale questions what kind of love he has for Mystra. Considering all the context he gave us previously, it seems that his love for his Goddess as a devotee will never cease, but romantic love is a big question for him. He has given Tav all the hints to make them suspect that Gale probably never knew romantic love outside his experience with Mystra or what he could read in books.

Tav: What would permanently rid you of the orb? Gale: The orb was kept safe and inert in a pocket of Astral Plane, suspended in time. If I can somehow manage to expel it from my body while in the Astral Plane, it will be rendered inert again. Alternatively, I could learn to control it’s chaotic magic, that is; to succeed where I failed before. But without Mystra’s favour, I don’t see how that may come to pass. Of course there could be different answers as well. Faerûn brims with more magic than any one wizard could fathom, let alone comprehend. Who knows what outlandish solutions may yet present themselves?

The last bits of information are more interesting: Gale thought of two possible solutions to solve his “orb”problem. One is to expel the object out of his body in the Astral Plane where time doesn't exist so its hunger or ticking mechanism stops, so the magic will remain inert. The other option is to control Netherese magic. He informed Tav that he already tried this option, so it's clear that Gale's intention when obtaining this book was to master this strange piece of Weave and give the secrets of that control to Mystra. But he failed.

Summary of the post:

There is an important emphasis in acceptance: only through acceptance Gale can open up to share the details of his mistake. He wants to have this night before any confession because he wants to acquire this acceptance that, in his mind, would prevent the abandonment he viscerally fears.

In all the scenes there are many hints suggesting Gale is very inexperienced in relationships: the acceptance he needs can only be acquired due to the "art of the night'', which is one of the main points in this book. His notions related to relationships seem to have been acquired via romanticised means: books and poetry. He may believe that intimacy guarantees acceptance.

Gale “reveals” his truth: he was a Chosen of Mystra, he was Mystra's lover, and the “orb” problem was a mistake he made to earn Mystra's attention. All this information is now detailed here when it had been shared already. There is little “revelation” in it.

Gale's actions can be interpreted as manipulative for a Tav who respects his privacy and has little information about the “orb”. But hardly the pattern extends to his behaviour. His need for acceptance makes him make bad decisions.

A Tav who pushed Gale to speak in previous scenes finds little new information in this one: they will have a more detailed picture of the situation and they will know that Gale and Mystra were lovers.

Gale is very aware that Mystra's love was not exactly love, but it felt like that when he was young. He also knows that the true power of a Chosen is related to being loved by her. He is also aware that a relationship with a goddess is a very unbalanced one. He states that Mystra was his first love, the affair happened when he was a (very) young man, and he thought it would last forever. 

Potent narrative image: Gale, a proud character with great confidence, kneels before Tav to humbly show the traumatic experience by placing his hand on his heart, where the “orb”resides.

In general, the whole tone of the scene jumps constantly in my opinion. Tav's options are not toned to the general atmosphere of the scene: or they ignore completely the value of what Gale says, or over-react magnifying information as if it were the first time Gale says it, when a lot of it was shared during the Stew Scene and following scenes. It feels like a very unpolished scene, probably as the result of Gale being a companion added to the EA in a rush.

The Dev's notes explain the whole situation as: 

Dev's notes: synopsis: The principal portion of this dialog consists of two main parts: a romantic night intro that leads to a fade to black and implied intimacy, and a section in which Gale tells you his true story in either of two ways (chosen by the player). These are the ‘story’ variant in third person, and the slimmed down ‘story-light’ version in first person. It is the story of how he fell in love with the goddess Mystra, was spurned by her after a brief affair, and how he got himself into big trouble when trying to win her back. The dialog was originally meant to contain only the above, but for recording and cinematic purposes, the story sections of it are also used in a variety of other ways, that is to say, the dialog also contains an intro section in which the scene begins with no romantic intent. In specific cases though, Gale will still try his luck, which you’ll see in the repeat of some lines of an earlier dialog. 

This shows that, so far, the intention was always to make Gale explain the “true story” in this scene, which was the one we were told. I think that expecting more secrets would water down this intention here. In any case, the future secrets, if there are some left, may be secret even for Gale himself.

This post was written in June 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

[seerofmike]

The Writing In Apex Kinda Sucks And Also They Use Ship Bait As A Plot Device I Hate It Here

a stupid essay/rant encouraged by @zombiegloss that originally started as a youtube video script so if its like. weird at points. this was intended to be a verbal rant SNZISKSIA

basically i'm gonna talk abt the caustic-wattson-crypto relationship drama and how i think it was mishandled and how much the writers kind of Suck because i Can

you are free to disagree with me on any of my points and think that this aspect of the story was handled well, this is just my opinion, and i'd love to hear your thoughts and counterpoints !

first, addressing some things:

i know this is a battle royale and not necessarily a story-based game, so i can’t expect it to have masterful witcher-style writing.

but with the direction the game seems to be going; putting quests, evolving interactions, and comics in the game, plus coming out with a lore book and hinting at something bigger in the future, i think it’s fair to criticize it for lackluster writing, especially since what i’m criticizing has been something present since Apex’s story technically began.

secondly, i am not a professional writer. i’m a high schooler who writes as a hobby. i don’t have the decades of experience that some of the apex writers do, and i can’t claim to be a better writer than they are--but i also don’t have to be a five-star chef to realize that something tastes bad. when i critique something and give suggestions, i am not saying i could’ve done it better. i’m just bringing up what i think could have worked.

third, before i upset anyone , when i say a relationship is badly written, i’m not telling you that you can’t ship it or that your ship sucks. i’ll briefly touch on the shipping aspect of this and how it’s a detriment to the story but Ye

okay, so with that out of the way, let us Begin

relationships are often the emotional core of a story, and how strong your reaction is to conflict in these relationships depends on how the story sets them up. if you want the audience to care about these characters and what they go through, you need to develop them and establish the type of relationship they have well. it’s why so many people cried in the last episode of telltale’s the walking dead. you’ve spent roughly 12 hours bonding with clementine and protecting her, and your relationship with her is part of several story beats as well as character beats for lee. 

when these two characters’ relationship reaches its peak at the end of the game, it’s powerful, and it’s emotional. you care. you feel something, and the fact that you have to choose what to do to lee only makes it more gut-wrenching. 

now, the walking dead is entirely story-based and especially character-driven, so it may be unfair to compare it to apex, but i just wanted to lay the groundwork down for what i think is a strong relationship that makes you feel something when conflict arrives, in this case the conflict being lee getting bit and clementine having to decide his fate.

the broken ghost in general is kind of not-good sometimes, tom casiello previously wrote for soap operas and you can really, REALLY tell sometimes.

this story feels like it should’ve taken place a little later, and that we should’ve had a season to actually set up the characters and their relationships, but that’s a story for another day.

to put it bluntly, the set-up for the crypto, wattson, and caustic conflict is done poorly. for caustic and wattson's relationship it’s a little better, but not by much. 

wattson and caustic having a relationship was hinted at in season 2, when her lore indicated that caustic was among one of the Legends who comforted her after her father died. In season four lore materials posted on Twitter, an email from Jacob Young states that Caustic is acting paternal towards Wattson. In season five, interactions get added to the Game, and this is the first time we actually see their relationship in action, as they have unique revive voice lines for each other. in the quests, when wattson is injured, caustic lashes out at loba and attacks her out of what seems to be anger at wattson’s current state.

Side Note this plot point was really stupid and done for cheap drama because she literally wakes up like two chapters later and they don’t even give her anything to say it’s just suddenly oh yeah crypto and wattson are working together. the same exact injury thing happens to octane later but nobody gIVES A SHIT because again, it’s just cheap soap opera drama.

their relationship might seem a little bit sudden for anyone who wasn’t on top of twitter lore drops, but like, it’s okay, i guess. i’ll give it the slightest credit for at least establishing something between the two in terms of voice lines and stuff, even if for some it might seem like it came out of nowhere.

what did come out of nowhere, though, was crypto and wattson’s friendship. in the quests, crypto and wattson are tasked with rebuilding the broken ghost because of their respective skills, and they’re seen talking in chapter six while they work on it. we’re not really given a clear timeline on how long the story in the broken ghost is, but i think it takes about a week, maybe.

unlike wattson and caustic, their relationship has been given absolutely zero material to work with before now, not even a passing glance in the trailers--which is a little weird considering crypto took down the repulsor tower and destroyed wattson’s home, but. Whatever.

tl dr of the chapter: crypto and wattson talk to each other while doing nerd shit, crypto laughs at wattson’s bad pun, and then suddenly they’re BESTIEEEES, until a couple dozen lines later in the same chapter. then they’re Not.

crypto’s drone gets hacked by revenant while everyone was kind of on edge after the reveal of a spy in their midst, he gets framed as the spy by caustic, anddddd wattson gets upset.

before i get into how dumb this storyline is, i’m gonna talk about the set-up to this conflict.

we have been given no reason to believe that these characters have ever talked to each other, and quite frankly, their friendship doesn’t really make sense.

ignoring the fact that crypto destroyed wattson’s home--which she probably doesn’t know about, so that’s forgiven for now--crypto is a paranoid guy. in the lore book he makes people stand on fucking footprints in his house so he can scan them for weapons and listening devices, and he apparently doesn’t stick around much after the games and nobody knows anything about him because he doesn’t talk to them.

a key part of crypto’s story is the fact that he is undercover and afraid of anyone finding out anything about him ever. him becoming friends with wattson kind of comes out of the blue, and we’re not even given a reason as to why they supposedly became close in the first place. i would kind of understand if like, maybe he draws parallels with her and mila in his mind and it makes him open up a little more, but that doesn’t happen. he just laughs at her joke and suddenly they’re friends.

maybe they’re trying to go for this ‘wattson can become friends with anybody’ angle, kind of hinted at with caustic but not really we’ll get into that, but that also? kind of doesn’t make sense since so many of her voice lines straight-up say she doesn’t understand people and electricity is more her thing, but honestly, she also does have those really friendly elements in her voice lines too, so its not as egregious as what they did with crypto.

their sudden out-of-the-blue friendship would’ve been fine if they spent a little more time fleshing it out, and giving us something to work with, but instead, the story immediately tries to rip it apart and frame it as this grand conflict where crypto is framed as the mole, crypto then accuses caustic, and wattson feels betrayed.

except it doesn’t really work, because we don’t give a shit. for several reasons. 

one: crypto and wattson became friends and then ended their friendship in the same exact chapter. they did not speak to each other onscreen until this chapter began, you can read the entire quest on the wiki and see for yourself that their interactions up until that point were nonexistent aside from mentions in the narration that they were building something together.

the reason wattson feels betrayed is kind of stupid too. why does she really care that much if one of them betrayed loba? nobody else really cared about the fact that one of them was a spy, in fact, nobody even seems to like loba that much, and they just found out that loba’s been lying to them this whole time, and wattson was conscious for that conversation and had a speaking line, so she’s fully aware of the situation. 

maybe it’s just like, the idea that one of them lied, but that’s still kind of a weak reason. 

this entire betrayal thing is just dumb, and it gets even worse when you realize that there could have been an actual legitimate reason for wattson to feel betrayed by crypto--even if it still would’ve come across as weak conflict because of their newly established friendship, it would’ve made more sense than this. 

Crypto destroyed Wattson’s home. He took down the tower and then all the flyers and stuff invaded Kings Canyon and made it their bitch. Not only that, but Wattson considers the Syndicate her family. The Syndicate are the very people who framed Crypto for murder and he’s trying to take them down. 

They could’ve set up actual conflict with these things, and it almost seemed like they would, because Caustic briefly brings up that Crypto could be working with Revenant because he has something against the Syndicate but then that doesn’t really go anywhere and we’re just back to Wattson feeling betrayed because either Crypto or Caustic was a spy and she doesn’t know who.

Weak conflict could’ve been made better by a strong relationship and a weak relationship could’ve still been interesting with strong conflict, but both the relationship between Crypto and Wattson and the conflict that drives them splitting up as friends were really weak and didn’t make much sense. 

It would’ve been ten times more interesting if Wattson found out Crypto ruined her home, the arena she grew up in, and was now participating in the Games to take out the people she regards as her family. That’s where her distrust could’ve manifested and conflict could’ve began, but instead it was the stupid betraying loba thing. why do you care. you just started talking to this guy like 2 hours ago.

also caustic’s whole reason for framing crypto feels stupid as fuck. he didn’t just frame crypto randomly, he framed him specifically because he doesn't want him to influence wattsob because he likes her Big Brain, but this is the FIRST time we have seen those two interact. 

what influence is he talking about? wraith and wattson have been shown to be friendly with each other in the trailers, according to tom’s tweets, and in the story too so why doesn’t he frame her? at this point the audience had slightly more build-up for those two’s relationship than crypto and wattson and a betrayal storyline would’ve felt a little more deserved if still weak.

this is the point where i briefly want to touch upon shipping, and the fact that part of this conflict feels driven by shipbait. 

aside from their relationship coming out of nowhere and the writers trying to make the stakes seem high and deeply emotional to the characters involved (despite this essentially being the first time they’ve ever interacted) tom casiello literally addresses shippers in a tweet regarding chapter seven, and as the story between these characters progresses, it becomes clear to me, at least that the crypto-wattson thing is just bait for shippers, and it’s lazy. 

it’s easy to get away with giving your characters little to no relationship development if you’re just counting on shippers to do the heavy mental lifting for you

why should i put any effort into making this relationship seem believable? people are going to see a young guy and a young girl having bare minimum interaction and assume there’s romantic interest! then i don’t have to do any work, see look, it’s a ready-made relationship wrapped in a bow for me! all that’s left for me to do is give them conflict so i can keep teasing shippers with lines like ‘you never deserved her’!

i think it’s reasonable for me to suspect shipbait, since tom casiello likes doing darksparks shipbait on twitter, and i’m like, eighty percent sure mirage and bloodhound suddenly being childhood friends in the book is shipbait too, because these characters were the number one ship in apex for a long time despite little to no interaction, and then all of a sudden in the lore book they’re childhood friends despite this literally never being mentioned before?

like bloodhound is set up to be mysterious and nobody knows what they look like, or where they’re from, or who their family is--except for mirage Apparently, who played with them when he was a kid on their home planet, and has seen them with their mask off, because bloodhound did not wear a mask when their parents were still alive.

its weird.

i’m pretty sure they’ve said somewhere they were working on this book before apex even came out, so i could just be completely wrong and they always planned for mirage and bloodhound to know each other, but if that’s the case, why did they never mention it like they did octane and lifeline?

i refuse to believe MIRAGE never brought it up either like ‘heeeeyy bloodhound remember when we used to throw eggs at our parents lab haha wanna go do to that to bangalore’s room’ 

[silence]

‘good talk buddy’

ANYWAYS I GOT OFF TOPIC. POINT IS, shipping is a detriment to the story because the writers don’t feel like they actually have to put any work into establishing or developing the relationship between characters when they know the community’s just going to do it for them anyways, and that they can put in shipbait and it’s fine and it makes sense when it really doesn’t.

imagine watching captain america civil war after not seeing a single other marvel movie.

why would you care about the avengers splitting up or tony and steve butting heads or steve’s commitment to bucky? you wouldn’t care, at least not as much as someone who’s seen all the movies and knows the relationship between the characters and why the sokovia accords exist in the first place. you don’t have context and you don’t have any reason to be emotionally invested in these characters’ relationship.

 this feels like that. the writers tried to squeeze this relationship and stuff into a single chapter and we don’t fucking care unless we were already invested in the idea of their relationship (shippers) because we barely spent any time with it.

so to summarize this little section, the set-up of this storyline Kinda Sucks! crypto and wattson barely seem to know each other, because we the audience barely saw them together and the writers are relying on shipbait in place of a relationship.

wattson and caustic are a little better but not great, but the conflict is stupid and it only gets stupider.

moving onto summarizing the rest of the broken ghost, gibraltar and caustic talk, caustic LITERALLY confesses to being the mole and says he framed crypto so he couldn’t corrupt wattson and to appear innocent because his identity was suspected, then that wraps up the season storyline.

season six begins with new voice lines, where wattson has had enough of crypto and caustic’s shit and is all passive-aggressive and going ‘this doesn’t change anything’. she has to decide who to trust, and how to figure out The Truth for herself because she’s not a little girl anymore. crypto and caustic are both trying to convince her they’re innocent and it creates some interesting conflict.

just kidding. it’s terrible conflict. you want to know why?

BECAUSE GIBRALTAR TRIED TO TELL HER THE TRUTH, RIGHT AFTER THE SEASON 5 QUEST HAPPENED, AND SHE LITERALLY REFUSED TO HEAR IT.

LIKE THERE’S A SEASON 6 LOADING SCREEN WHERE HE’S TELLING EVERYONE THE TRUTH ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED, AND WHEN HE GETS TO WATTSON AND IS LIKE HEY I KNOW WHO THE MOLE WAS AND WHY THEY DID IT, SHE JUST GOES i dont wanna hear it. i need to think

IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH WHY ARE YOU REFUSING TO HEAR IT

SHE SPENDS ALMOST TWO ENTIRE SEASONS MAD AT CRYPTO FOR SOMETHING HE DIDN’T DO BECAUSE SHE TOLD GIBRALTAR TO FUCK OFF WHEN HE TRIED TO TELL HER WHAT HAPPENED

ITS SO DUMB

i think it was towards the end of season 6 or the beginning of season 7 where apex posted this picture of wattson asleep at her desk where she has a letter from gibraltar on it that looks like it tells her the truth, so she knows now, she knows what happened, but NOW her issue is the fact that she doesn’t know anything about crypto.

WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT IS YOUR GODDAMN DAMAGE. YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT BLOODHOUND EITHER ARE YOU THIS UPSET WITH BLOODHOUND TOO?? HAVE YOU EVER TALKED TO PATHFINDER. DO YOU HATE PATHFINDER TOO

oh but she was friends with crypto and now she’s mad that he lied to her EXCEPT THEIR RELATIONSHIP WASN’T BUILT UP WELL SO IT JUST FEELS STUPID. THEY SPENT LONGER BEING NOT-FRIENDS THAN THEY SPENT BEING FRIENDS. THEY BECAME FRIENDS IN ONE CHAPTER AND THEN IMMEDIATELY AT THE END OF THAT CHAPTER THEIR FRIENDSHIP ENDED AND THEN WATTSON SPENT LIKE 2 SEASONS MAD AT HIM FOR SOMETHING HE DIDN’T DO . 

AND THE WRITERS TRIED TO RECTIFY THIS BY SAYING OH SHE’S NOT MAD ABOUT THE TRAITOR THING SHE’S MAD BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HIM AND IT’S LIKE WHY THE FUCK DID YOU NOT MAKE THAT CLEAR WHY DOES SHE SAY ‘IT DOESN’T CHANGE WHAT YOU DID’ IN HER VOICE LINES WHY DOES SHE CALL HIM A TRAITOR IF HER CONFLICT WAS HER NOT KNOWING MUCH ABOUT HIM . WHAT DID HE DO. 

HE JUST STOOD THERE AND LAUGHED AT HER JOKE AND THEN HE GOT FRAMED AND THEN THAT WAS THE END OF THE CHAPTER AND NOW SHES SUDDENLY LIKE IM ACTUALLY MAD BECAUSE YOURE A LIAR AND I CANT TRUST YOU EVEN THOUGH I NOW KNOW YOU WERE FRAMED I STILL DO NOT LIKE YOU AND HES LIKE YEAH THATS MY FAULT

The Caustic voicelines are stupid too, again his reason for framing Crypto was stupid and a lot of his voicelines just seem to be that shipbait thing again but like from the angle of overprotective dad who doesn’t like the new boyfriend. it’s stupid but not as egeregious as this next part which is

crypto telling wattson his identity.

CRYPTO was framed for MURDER and is paranoid and can’t trust anyone and doesn’t talk to anyone and the last time he did talk to someone he got framed for Another thing and the person he was talking to turned her back on him and actively refused to know the truth for like 2 seasons and then he went This Is Fine I Can Tell Her My Identity

the stupidest update to this storyline was crypto telling wattson the truth

why did they do it on the dropship where there are presumably syndicate members and other legends around.

why didn’t he scan wattson for listening devices like he did for pathfinder in the book.

why is he telling her his identity when he knows she has very close ties to the people that FRAMED HIM for MURDER. Does he trust her that much? WHY? They spoke to each other in a chapter and then spent two seasons not talking to each other beyond passive-aggressive BS. why are you so fucking stupid taejoon

their relationship was so poorly set-up that even if the writers maybe intended for them to come across as close friends who had spent weeks bonding, it really feels like they became friends in a single conversation, had a falling out, and now crypto suddenly trusts her with his identity after an undetermined amount of time because he wants to be friends again. 

that does not make SENSE this conflict feels contrived AS FUCK and the resolution feels even worse and unearned UGGGHHHH

it honestly comes across as crypto feeling desperate for friendship, and maybe this would’ve worked better if that’s the angle they played it as.

he’s been alone for roughly two years, and just wants a friend, and he’s honestly so lonely he just breaks down to the first person who’s really talked to him. it could’ve been an interesting little part of his character, and they could've gone into depth about how much this situation has affected him, but that’s not what they’re doing. he’s still paranoid and anxious and doesn’t trust anyone, except for wattson, because the plot needs him to or else there won’t be any stupid soap opera drama.

and to rub salt in the wound, wattson’s new voice lines with caustic have him telling her that she forgave crypto.

WHAT ARE YOU FORGIVING HIM FOR. ARE YOU FORGIVING HIM FOR BEING FRAMED? WHY DID HE HAVE TO APOLOGIZE TO YOU WHEN YOU WERE THE ONE WHO REFUSED TO HEAR THE TRUTH?

 did the conversation just go hey my real name is taejoon park and something bad happened to me and she went aight i forgive you WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

Caustic’s new voice lines to Crypto where he’s like ‘what did you tell her’--YOU TOLD GIBRALTAR STRAIGHT-UP YOUR EVIL MASTER PLAN LIKE A SUPERVILLAIN AND NOW YOU’RE SURPRISED WATTSON AND CRYPTO ARE ON GOOD TERMS NOW?!

THAT’S LIKE TELLING SOMEONE YOUR SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER AND THEN BEING SURPRISED WHEN YOU BECOME THE VICTIM OF IDENTITY FRAUD. YOU SET YOURSELF UP FOR THIS WHY ARE YOU ACTING LIKE CRYPTO DID SOMETHING SINISTER OR LIED OR WHATEVER. WHAT THE FUCK. WHY DO YOU HAVE LIKE 3 BRAINCELLS

this is at like ten pages already so i’m going to just try and wrap this up quickly. 

it’s frustrating seeing this storyline play out when there are actually good relationships and storylines written into apex. i’m kind of getting tired of the loba and revenant conflict, but we at least had set-up to it in the form of a few animated shorts and it doesn’t play out as stupidly as this story does. bangalore and loba’s friendship is actually developed well, even if the point between the end of season 5 and season 6 where they suddenly talk like each other feels like it could’ve used a little more. 

where crypto and wattson having an established friendship in the broken ghost failed, lifeline and octane’s established friendship works because we’ve been told since octane’s release they were childhood friends and given lore materials that indicate they’ve known each other for a very long time.

apex wants this storyline between crypto and wattson and caustic to feel dramatic and tense and ultimately rewarding when crypto and wattson did become friends for real and stuff, but instead it just comes across as hollow and empty. 

there’s nothing there. it’s a case of tell, don’t show, and it looks like this stupid conflict is gonna keep going for another couple of seasons at this rate. 

side note: this entire script was written before the new twitter comics

please tell me ur thoughts and feel free to respond with ur own lil essay

also believe it or not this is not the "shipping is a detriment to apex's story" essay i was gonna write this is a completely different essay that has some overlap SKXISOSOW

[herstrayskies]

Matching Crowns

Yatori Week 2021 Day 4 - Moving Forward

Ao3 Link or read below~

Thanks to @asin-ka for being my beta <3

Matching Crowns

It had been four years since Hiyori was in the city inhabited by a wishful thinking God and his ever devoted shinki. She was only there to meet up with her childhood friends seeing that they had to beg her up and down for weeks to come and enjoy a weekend with them. The only thing that held her back was the possibility of running into him. So when she finally broke down and decided to come back home, the memories of her teenage years flooded back in like a tsunami the moment she stepped off that train. The temptation to visit her once favorite shrines tugged at the back of her mind like a fishing rod every time she passed them. The bait was ever so tempting but her pride was stronger.

That is until she heard his voice, smelled her favorite scent. Something that was a mix of cherry blossoms and honey.

-More under the cut-

The bustling of the city wasn’t enough to keep her eyes from finding him in a second. He was passing out business cards on the street to unkind people who passed him by without a hint of attention. But then again, she knew a lot of those people couldn’t see or hear him as he shouted his name into the unending crowd. She wanted to reach out and grab a card out of his hands for the sake of his happiness but she had to remind herself that they hadn’t talked to each other in years. Knowing well that he was the one that vanished from her life.

She readjusted the bag on her shoulder and turned away from her once friend; holding back the need to have her fate twined with his once again.

One Day Later

The bar was packed and Hiyori wasn’t much of a drinker but couldn’t resist her friends' smiling faces and pleading eyes when they asked her to go to their favorite hang out. It was dark and lit by colored ambient light like any other place. A mix of young and old people filled the booths and bar stools. It was loud but what bar wasn’t on a Saturday night? The three friends found an empty table in the middle of all the bustle and patiently waited to be served their first drink.

It wasn’t long before the round of drinks kept coming with each emptied glass. As the liquor started to calm her down, creating a light and bubbly atmosphere, Hiyori began to enjoy herself and forgot all about a certain boyish God.

The group of friends laughed over their high school adventures and talked about the new people they’ve come across in college. The two of them kept bugging her about any potential suitors but she waved them off each time, attempting to make them believe that school was more important to her. Which wasn’t entirely a lie but not entirely true either.  

Hiyori got up out of her seat to use the restroom and swayed her way down the dimly lit hall. She almost ran into a woman leaving the bathroom but was quickly able to avoid her only to tumble into someone close behind. She laughed and apologized without looking back and slipped into the restroom before the door closed. She could have sworn she heard her name whispered through the crack.

When she returned to the main part of the bar, she scouted out the area for her table. It was getting later into the evening which dissipated the huge crowds. What was left were the small groups of friends catching up, couples sharing secrets over drinks, businessmen being shaken awake by the bartenders, and the few regulars sipping their way through their favorite liquor. Eventually, people’s faces began to blur in with one another and the room started to spin. It wasn’t until a lock of dark violet hair passing her by that made her eyes go into focus again.

She really didn’t know he would be there. He wasn’t known to go to bars, not while she knew him. He was more into stealing beer out of her father’s or Daikoku’s fridge.

But the sight of him made the movement of everyone else stop. His name played on her tongue like the strong alcohol she had downed not even ten minutes ago. She wouldn’t let it spill but the temptation was a strong tug on her heart. Its beat sped up with each step she took towards him. It had been three years. Three years of silence and unanswered messages. Three years of desire and grief.

She grabbed onto his wrist without a care in the world and when his heavenly blue eyes met hers she felt that tight bond weaving through her fingertips again. She held on tightly to that feeling and spoke before he could even get a word out.

“I’m Hiyori Iki, and I was wondering if you’d like to have a drink with me.”

His laughter rang throughout the bar and into her heart. That was the smile she missed so much.

“Nice to meet you, Iki-san,” he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, “Sorry about that but I’ve never had a girl, save for you, be so bold to flirt with me.”

She felt her face heat up and tried to convince herself that it was only the alcohol, “I’m very upfront about what I want.”

“Only when you’re drunk, right?

“Yes, ah wait,” what was she saying?

“As you should be,” he reached for her hand and pulled it up to his lips, leaving a brushed kiss on her knuckles, “please, call me Yato.”

Slightly annoyed that he knew how to appease her, with her lips quivering of the thought of those lips on hers instead, she smiled and took her hand away. Did he believe that she didn’t remember him or was he playing along?

“Nice to meet you, Yato.”

A blush crept across his face before turning away from her, “to the bar, shall we?”

She followed behind him and nodded towards her friends as she passed by their table. They seemed as shocked as she was that she was getting a drink with some random stranger. She noticed how he hadn’t changed at all, that none of her teenage years was a lie and she really was best friends with a God and his shinki. He asked her what she wanted to drink as they approached the bar. She told him to surprise her. He grinned that conniving grin and turned back to the bartender, ordering each of them a mixed drink she’d never heard of before.

“So what brings you here, Iki-san?” Yato passed her a glass and motioned for her to take a seat.

She shook her head, “call me Hiyori.” They sat down at a secluded booth near the back end of the bar. She watched as he stirred the contents with his finger before licking it clean. She tried her best not to stare but her eyes couldn’t help but gravitate towards his lips. She remembered them fleetingly, how soft and desperate they were the night before they last saw each other. She lowered her head, staring at her untouched drink. “I was meeting with my childhood friends. We happened to pass by this bar and decided to get a few drinks.”

Yato took a swig of his drink and grinned slyly, “happened to pass by, huh?”

The hairs on the back of her neck rose at his accusatory voice. It’s not like she knew he would be here but she could see how it would seem suspicious. She thought she hid it pretty well, acting like these past few years had wiped her memory clean of any evidence that he was real. She knew better than that, she could never get him off her mind. No matter how many boys glanced her way or tried to catch her after classes ended. She feared getting involved with anyone else would make her memory start to fade. And he was a memory she never wanted to forget.

“Ami and Yama said this is their favorite bar so they invited me to come check it out,” she admitted, taking a hesitant sip of her drink. It was a bit strong but nothing she couldn’t handle.

“Ah, and where are these friends of yours?”

Hiyori turned her head to find her friends sitting at the table she left not too long ago. They happened to both be staring at her, of course. They were always nosey when it came to Hiyori’s boy endeavors. She hesitantly waved at them as they returned more triumphant, attention-grabbing waves. Yama winked while Ami had a thumbs up. God, why were they like this?

She turned around to Yato’s big smile, a bit too overconfident for her liking.

“Looks like they’re cheering you on.”

Hiyori took another nervous sip of her drink, “they like to embarrass me.”

Yato laughed, making her wish more and more that she could just tell him the truth. That she in fact remembered him to the core. That she just wanted to reach across the table, grab the collar of his shirt and bring those idiotic lips to hers. She pushed the feeling deep down to the pit of her stomach.

“So what do you do, Hiyori?”

She set her drink down and continued with her facade, “well I’m studying medicine. My family has their own practice, a hospital actually, and I’ve always wanted to carry on the family trade.”

“Always?”

She stared at the ice slowly melting in her drink, diluting the alcohol. “I think at one point, when I was in high school, I didn’t really know what I wanted.” She noticed the silence between them carried on a little longer than she would have liked. She looked up from her drink and found a curious expression on his face. Almost hurt but uncertain.

“I guess most high school students are like that, huh?”

She couldn’t help but notice the wrinkles on his brow, the unspoken words on his lips.

“I guess so,” she was desperate to change the subject, “and you? What do you do.”

He shrugged and finished his drink, “I’m a man of many trades. I do what I can to make a living to support my family.”

“Sounds like your heart is in the right place,” she thought about Yukine and Nora and how well Yato got them accustomed to each other over the course of two years. How they slowly developed into this small, weird-found family. She took another sip, she hoped they were still happy.

“I wouldn’t be who I am without them, without-“

Hiyori raised her brows at him, wondering where his words were leading. He had covered his mouth to stop them from overflowing something not meant for her ears. She took a final long swig of her drink and tilted her head.

“What are they like? You’re family?”

Yato slowly dropped his hand from his mouth, a forced smile playing on his lips. He reached for his drink, “it’s gonna take a couple more of these to talk about my loved ones, Hiyori.”

For some reason that made her blush and she opted out to get up and order them more drinks from the bar. The rational thinking was completely wiped from her mind and she blamed the booze.

2 hours later

Her jaw started to hurt from the laughter and never-ending smile he continued to put on her face. She had missed his quirkiness and outright stupidity but she didn’t truly realize it until it hurt to smile. Over and over again.

He talked about his “kid” and how smart he was, how he studied every day even though he really didn’t need to. He praised his sister for overcoming her fears and guilt. He talked about the scuffles he’d get in with a certain glasses-wearing pervert and his long-haired skanky woman. He laughed about a certain clumsy girl with her rigid but loving partner. He talked about the family he found in them and how much he enjoyed their everyday adventures.

She couldn’t help but notice he never mentioned missing a certain girl who so terribly missed him. She put it to the back of her mind and continued to listen to his heartwarming and idiotic stories. It was as if she never left his side.

The snow was getting heavier as they trudged along the city's edge, walking over a bridge that seemed to be very familiar. He stumbled a bit due to a rock hidden among the blanketed snow or possibly the multiple drinks he downed before they left the bar and her friends behind. Luckily for her, the cold was able to sober her up just enough to keep an attentive eye on her friend.

“Be careful, Yato,” she said as she grabbed his arm to steady his balance. He turned his head and gave his usual silly lopsided grin. Oh, he was definitely drunk.

“Hiyori, you’re very kind, you know that?”

She felt a sudden feeling of dread course through her body. She didn’t feel kind, not at all. Not when she’d been lying to him this whole time. Until she reminded herself that without the lies, she wouldn’t be very kind to him at all. Not when he just up and left-

He slipped and fell to his back; sprawled out in the snow, he started laughing. She crouched next to him and wondered what could ever be so funny. Her eyes traveled to his lips, admiring his smile, brighter than a full moon on a clear night. To his eyes, bright pools of hope, joy, and love.

“Are you okay?” She asked as she reached out to help him back on his drunken feet.

He turned his head to the side to look at her, his blue eyes pleading for something she didn’t quite understand. His hand clasped around hers and he held onto it, making no sign of getting up from the snow-dusted bridge. He slowly brought her hand to his cheek and rested it there. Her hand rushed with heat along with her own cheeks. He chuckled and closed his eyes at her soft touch.

“I think this is the happiest I’ve been in years.”

“Years?” She played along, trying to not let her heart burst out of her chest for feeling the same way. “You just talked about how much you loved your friends and family.”

He slowly blinked at her, “I was a lot happier when my best friend was at my side.”

She tried her hardest not to reveal anything from her expression but she was sure she let a beat of sorrow slip, “What happened with them?”  

“How long are you staying in town?” He asked, dismissing her question.

She smiled softly and shook her head, “I’ll be returning to school tomorrow afternoon.”

His smile faltered for a split second, “Ever so fleeting, Hiyori Iki.”

“As is life.”

He laughed, deep from his chest and his heart, her hand still resting against his warming cheek. He closed his eyes and breathed out a heavy sigh, his breath visible in the cold, late-night air. “Will we meet again?”

Hiyori felt like a jolt of lightning struck her, she stood up quickly, ripping her hand from his, and began to walk away from the drunken God. Her mind was whirling with never-ending thoughts, his words from so long ago hammering her brain. We shall meet again.  

How horrible of him, she thought. The anger and sadness she felt that day when she realized he had stopped visiting her. Tears tried to break free but her desperate lie kept the mask on her face, hiding so desperately what she didn’t want him to find out.

She didn’t hear his steadfast footsteps and almost fell back onto him as he grabbed her wrist. She stopped, her feet almost crossing the line of the wooden bridge. She begged herself to keep on going, to forget this ever happened, forget the stupidity of her own decision of approaching him again tonight. She had let the alcohol get the best of her, after three years of forcing herself to stray from the person she loved most in this world.

But his hand was so warm, wrapped around her wrist, his fingers soft and tender as the night those very same hands caressed the back of her neck, kissing her with all the love he had stored away in his heart. She remembered the way he murmured I love you’s against her lips as she nervously chuckled, repeating it back to him.

“Please don’t go, Hiyori,” he pleaded.

She continued to stare down at her own two feet, wondering if he’d continue to come after her if she pulled away again. He said something under his breath, too low for her to hear and she forced herself to look back at him. His eyes sorrowful and lost, a look of desperation splayed across his face.

“What did you say?” She asked, scared to hear his answer.

“I’ve missed you.”

Four Years Ago

The party had quieted down by evening. Kofuku was passed out drunk under the table while Daikoku took care to clean up the leftover food and drinks without waking her. Yukine and Nora sat on the back porch in lightweight coats, watching the sunset behind the clouds. Hiyori sat at the table looking at her and Kofuku’s unfinished game of Onigiri roulette. She was happy for the small graduation party her friends had thrown for her and even happier that Yato was the one to organize it. After missing her birthday the first time around, he always made sure to never forget it or other important events again.

She reminisced a few hours back when she walked in and everyone cheered “Congratulations'' to her. Food was hot and ready to be eaten, a few graduation gifts in the corner of the room begging to be ripped open. They ate, played games, and re-lived events that had long come and gone.

She smiled as her fingertips brushed against the notebook Yukine had gotten for her. “Don’t Give Up,” was sprawled across the top. He told her that as long as she’d write her class notes in there, she would never fail a test. A blessing from a God’s Guidepost in the form of a lucky charm.

Hiyori looked up at Daikoku as he lifted Kofuku in his arms, staring lovingly at his Goddess before realizing he was being watched. She almost felt jealous, wishing she had someone to look at her like that.

He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna take the missus to bed, why don’t you go see what Yato is doing?”

She wondered if he could tell she was thinking about him, “where did he go?”

He shrugged, “he probably slunk back to his room after realizing he’s the only one who didn’t get you a present.”

Hiyori laughed, “I don’t need him sulking like he did when he found out about my birthday that first year,” she got up and dusted off her skirt, “guess I’ll go see what he’s up to.”

She watched as he took away Kofuku before heading up the stairs. Odd metallic noises could be heard from the hallway but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. She made her way to the top and opened the doorway to his room.

She found him there, sitting at the small desk against the wall, working on something. She quietly made her way over to him, hoping not to alert him, and stopped as she was close enough to peer over his shoulder. She couldn’t see what he was working on.

“So this is where you disappeared to?”

Startled, Yato put his hands over something on the table and looked up at her, “H-hiyori! What are you doing here?”

She laughed, “Well I was wondering where the organizer of my party went and had to come looking,” she tilted her head, “what are you working on?”

He looked back to his hands, “um well, I’m kinda working on,” he paused before looking back to her, “a gift for you.”

“For me?” Her voice hitched up with anticipation, “what is it?”

“Well, it’s not done yet. I meant to finish it up last night but Yukine and I got a job and it was very tiring you know,” he looked at her with desperate eyes, “I got back home, immediately crashed on the floor and didn’t have time so I thought…” he trailed off. She could tell he felt bad for not getting her gift done in time for the party but it made her heart flutter knowing he was making something special for her. She sat down cross-legged and turned her back to his, slightly leaning against him.

“Can I keep you company while you finish it? I promise I won’t look.” She listened as he readjusted his position to uncover her unfinished gift.

“That would be nice,” he admitted. He started working away again, his back shifting against hers once in a while. It was warm, he felt warm. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her head on top.

“Thank you for the party, Yato. I had a lot of fun.”

“O-of course. You graduated High School! It only happens once in life you know.”

She laughed, “I do have to say though, I can’t believe you left me to play Onigiri Roulette alone with Kofuku.”

“I’ve played way too many times, I don’t need a mouth full of toothpaste again, no thanks.”

Hiyori straightened up and turned just enough to see the side of his smiling face, “still, I expected you to be there but you crawled away without even a word.”

He bit his lip, his eye-catching hers, “I’m sorry,  I just really wanted to give you this.”

Hiyori ever so casually placed her chin on his shoulder, their faces mere inches apart, “this gift must be extra special then.” Without realizing it she took in his calming and sweet scent. How she wished it was her own.

His face flushed and he turned away from her eyes, “y-you promised you wouldn’t look.”

She peeled away and readjusted herself, pressing her back into his once again, “sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

He mumbled something under his breath but continued to work. The silence pressed on and anticipation slowly scratched at her heart.

“Have you heard back from any colleges yet?”

Her heart sank with the deep weight of a folded-up letter in her skirt pocket. She had planned on telling him. She really did. But every day it seemed harder and harder. Being accepted to a prestigious medicine school that was hours away from her best friend was a hard pill to swallow. She had no idea when she’d find the time to visit him and she didn’t want him to forget his duties, put them on the sideline for her. With him on the way to becoming a God of Fortune, she couldn’t let him give that up for her. He also had his responsibility to be there for Yukine more than her. She could never deny that. Not after everything that they had been through.

She just had to tell him, grab the letter out of her pocket and show him the good news-

“Not yet, but I’m pretty positive I’ll get into the place I want,” she hated lying.

“Definitely! You’re so smart, I know you’ll do great.”

She smiled at his compliment. She kind of knew it herself but hearing it from the person you like is a completely different story.

“Okay, It’s all done,” his voice was chipper, “Hiyori, close your eyes, please.”

She did. She felt him shift behind her, felt the brush of his knees against her lower back as he knelt down behind her. Then, ever so cautiously, his hands collected her long hair to move over her right shoulder. His fingertips brushed against the nape of her neck and a small shiver ran through her back, more aware of his fleeting touch. She felt nothing for a few breaths until something light and small tapped the center of her upper chest. Instinctively she moved her hand to check it out but Yato’s own hand caught hers before she could.

“Not yet, just one more second,” he released her hand and she put it back into her lap while he went back to work. She tried her best to keep her mind off his timid and floating touches but every nerve in her body wanted to focus solely on where his hands were.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now,” he said as his hands disappeared from her senses, “Congrats on graduating, Hiyori.”

When she opened her eyes and looked down at the golden necklace hanging from her neck she almost gasped. She picked up the charm between two fingers and admired the handiwork made by the hands of a god. By her friend, Yato.

It was a crown, small and golden. One that matched his own. May our fates intertwine engraved neatly on the back. She fought the tears building up behind her eyes as she turned on him. His face was flushed, an embarrassed smile playing on his lips.

“I love it.” She said, still holding onto the small crown in her hand.

“I’m glad. I hope you don’t think it’s weird I just thought-“ he stopped as she rested her hand on his chest, her fingertips brushing against the crown embroidered on his tracksuit.

She smiled, earnestly as ever, “we match.” She kept her eyes level with the crown, too shy to make eye contact, too embarrassed to see what kind of expression he would make next.

To her surprise, he reached for the very hand placed on his chest and rested it on top of hers. She felt his heartbeat start to pick up a fast and steady tempo. What was this feeling that pulsated under her palm? What was his heart trying to say? Surely he didn’t feel the same...

She hesitantly looked up and met his burning eyes. Her own heart started to fluctuate as she noticed the heavy blush across his cheeks and at the tip of his ears.

Oh.

“Does it make you happy that it matches?”

“Y-yeah. It’s like I always have a part of you with me,” she bit her tongue from saying anything more.

She felt his hair brush against her cheek as he fell forward a bit. His breath inching closer to her ear.

“May I say something?” He asked, barely above a whisper.

She nodded her head, unable to get an unshaken word past her lips.

He rested his forehead on her shoulder, breathing an unsteady breath down her collarbone. His heart wasn’t letting up now nor anytime soon.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a very long time but I just didn’t know when the right time would be.” With his head back up, he took her hand in his before bringing it to his lips, mimicking that first night at Capybara Land. The hair on the back of her neck rose with the certainty that her heart was in sync if not faster than his now. He smiled nervously but lovingly all the same behind their hands, “Forgive me if I’m out of line but, Hiyori...”

She sucked in a hesitant breath. No, he couldn’t, there’s no way he-

“I love you,” he let out a relieved sigh, “I love you and it's something I’ve been sure of for a long time now,” he briefly kissed her shaking fingers before letting the hold on her go, returning her hand to his chest where she once felt his heart's beating. It fluttered beneath her hand like a scared little bird.

She was scared too. She parted her lips to reply but closed them soon after. She wanted to say so many things with the first thing being I love you too . She wondered if it was okay to love him at all, a God.

He smiled nervously at her silence and chuckled. “You don’t need to reply now or even ever if you don’t want to. I’ll understand if you don’t want to-“ he stopped at the feeling of her hand trailing its way up past his heart, to the side of his neck to his cheek. She felt the heat beneath it, his true feelings. She met his eyes and returned a nervous smile.

“Actually, I uh,” she bit her bottom lip before parting them once more, “I feel the same.”

His mouth was agape and she had to suppress a laugh at his shocked expression.

“R-really? Are you sure you don’t mean something else?”

“Yato, be more confident in yourself. I’ve told you this multiple times.”

“Yeah but I just want to make sure it's the same way I feel,” he grumbled.

She sighed and swallowed her nervousness. “Yato, I love you,” she tilted her head, “I’ve known for quite a while myself.”

He smiled, “when was this?”

Hiyori pursed her lips, “when you left to find your father and I came after you. Kazuma stopped me and told me that a God can never love a human.”

It felt good to get it off her chest but she immediately had to talk Yato out of beating up his former shinki.

“It’s fine, right? He was wrong,” she reassured him.

He reached for both her hands and brought them towards his lips, he kissed them and looked at her with unwavering eyes. “He was very wrong. I’ve never loved anything more in my life than you.”

She swallowed hard as her whole body heated up at his words. She watched as he lowered her hands to fit in the space between them. He inched closer, his eyelashes fluttering.

“Hiyori, can I try something new?”

“W-what?” She had an idea as she saw him quickly lick his lips. Oh man was the room getting hotter or was it the verge of springtime flowing in from the window?

All of a sudden his hand was caressing her warm cheek, her embarrassment reflected upon them with a shade of pink.

“I think you know,” he chuckled nervously.

“I d-don’t unless you clearly s-say it.”

“May I kiss you?” It came out as a soft and careful question and it warmed her heart that he asked. He knew what heartbreak and suffering the last one caused her. She squeezed his other hand that was still holding onto hers. She couldn’t get any words out so instead she nodded.

First, she felt his hair tickle her forehead and the side of her cheek. Next was the warmth of his exhaled breath before taking one in. Last was his hesitant lips hovering over hers before she pushed herself to steal away the last remaining space between them.

She didn’t know the full extent of what a real kiss could feel like. She didn’t know it would make her stomach flutter, her fingertips tingle, her heart burst into a tiny flame. His lips were soft and warm and so gentle. He began to pull her in more and more with each sparing breath they took. When his hands took roost on her hips it felt like nothing she’s ever experienced before. It felt electrifying. It felt right.

She had to keep telling herself that this wasn’t sudden in the slightest. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen this coming. Not when soon after defeating his father they started to confide in each other more and more. It wasn’t as if after that first accidental handhold under the kotatsu, that his hands just so happened to entangle themselves with hers on occasion. He would never take a hold of her hand after walking her back to her house, kissing the inside of her palm before their goodnight farewells. She definitely didn’t find excuses to give him hug after hug. As if she wanted to feel the warmth and closeness of his body, to get a secret whiff of her favorite scent. She wouldn’t even admit the fact of him kissing her forehead a total of eight times.

And no she certainly was not keeping count, but she would admit that most of them were when their lips had almost met each other’s, but one would reel back in realization. He’d give her a kiss above her brow for forgiveness.

But now he was murmuring I love you over and over again against her heated lips. She had her shaky hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him in closer and closer like an uncontrollable need. She had wanted this for so long; since the moment he appeared to her with his broken shrine in hand but instead of looking at the damage her eyes couldn’t stray away from those lips.

The early spring was cold but Hiyori wasn’t lacking in warmth. Yato helped with that.

“Shouldn’t you be heading home soon?” He said in a soft, warm voice, his fingers brushing hair behind her ear.

“Probably,” was all that she could muster. He laughed as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He sat behind her now, with enough room between his legs for her to sit perfectly, her back against his chest. She liked the feeling of his heart pounding behind her, his breath tickling the side of her neck, his hand reaching for hers. She grabbed on and squeezed, realizing she really didn’t want to go home.

“I’ll walk you home if you want,” he suggested.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” She teased.

“Believe me, Hiyori, I don’t want you to leave, not ever. But I also don’t want your family to panic when they realize you aren’t home.”

A hum escaped her lips. He was right but there was one thing she had to do before she left.

Yato seemed surprised as she turned around on her knees to fish something out of her skirt pocket. His eyes never left the rummaging of her hands even as they pulled out a folded piece of paper. He looked up at her and cocked his head as she tried to hand it to him.

“Go ahead, read it,” she said in a soft voice.

He did and it didn’t take him long to realize what it meant, well partly. He crashed into her, almost knocking her back onto the floor. He held onto her tightly and an excited laugh rang in her ear.

“I knew you’d make it in, Hiyori! I just knew!”

She hugged him back and buried her face in the crook of his neck. She was happy but the pit in her stomach was still there.

“You’re going to be amazing! Dr. Iki. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

She pulled back and smiled lightly, “I’m excited,” she admitted, “but it’s far away, Yato.”

His happy face only faltered for a split second before he was able to put it back on. “I’ll come visit you every day.”

Hiyori laughed, “I’d love that, but please don’t forget about your first priority. Yukine will always need you.”

“Of course, I’ll be there whenever you want. I’m just a wish away.”

“Is that your new slogan?”

He placed a kiss on her forehead, “only for you, Hiyori.”

And he was right. He visited every day she wished him to. In between classes when quick kisses were stolen in empty hallways, on weekends when she had caught up on school work, and nights when the winter chill was just too much for her to bear alone. Some days they’d get lost in meaningless conversations or games while others they’d bask in silence and kisses.

On occasion Yukine would tag along, the three of them doing everything but also nothing in particular. It was like nothing really changed.

Not until he caught her with a failed test result.

“Are you sure you’re doing okay, Hiyori? Am I coming here too often?”

She jumped up at the question and stared down at him, lying next to her on her dorm room bed, “I’m doing fine! I just,” she paused trying to come up with an excuse, she sighed when she couldn’t, “forgot about it.”

He reached up and cupped her cheek, “remember when you said Yukine is my main priority? School is yours, don’t neglect it because of me.”

“I promise, I won’t.”

It was the only promise she managed to let slip from her hands. The last night they spent together was full of affection and words of love. He had gently taken her crown necklace that she wore every day between his two fingers and smiled at her.

“I’ll always love you, Hiyori.”

Present Day

Hiyori gripped onto the end of her sleeve like it was a lifeline. He had known all this time and hadn't said a word to her. He had known she was lying this whole time, acting as if she had forgotten him.

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew.”

“Did you follow me today, to the bar?”

His eyes flicked away and he shrugged.

“What was your plan? To avoid me the whole time I was there and hope I didn’t see you? Did you plan to approach me at all?”

“I don’t know I-“

"Why haven't you said anything? Why did you play along?  All these years..."

He scratched the back of his head. “You were failing your classes, Hiyori. I saw your scores on essays and exams. I was a distraction, I’m not that naive to realize it wasn’t good to have me around all the time.”

“You didn’t say a word to me. You just stopped responding to me. Do you know what I went through?”

He watched the snowfall melt into the pond below them, below the bridge. “I do. Do you think I could go years without checking up on you?”

She clenched her teeth, “of course you did, you’re a high-class stalker.”

He chuckled and she almost had the nerve to push him over the bridge into the cold water below.  

“Then why,” she pleaded, “if you knew how broken I was after you left without a single word, why did you never tell me why you left.”

“Because,” he paused, meeting her angry gaze,  “I knew if I went to see you again, I wouldn’t be able to leave a second time.”

She ripped her hand from his and walked off the bridge. She wanted to yell at him, to call him selfish for all that he has done. But she couldn’t deny that he was right. After he disappeared, her grades skyrocketed, her focus shifting back to schoolwork. It was something to keep her mind off him. She also knew if he did come back to visit her, she would have found a way to make him stay.

“Do you know how hard it was to keep away from you, Hiyori? Every day I had to convince myself to not approach you, no matter how desperate I was.” She heard him sigh. “It took all my willpower to not let you see me again after that night.”

She stopped and spun around on him. "That night…"

“I knew it would be the last, that’s why I told you-”

“Shut up.”

He reached out for her, “Hiyori-“

“I said shut up!” Her hands were balled into fists against her side, her eyes never straying from the snow-covered ground.

He dropped his outstretched hand, hiding them deep within his pockets. “I’m sorry. I realize now I probably should have approached the situation differently.”

“It was inconsiderate.”

“I know.”

“Selfish and so stupid.” She couldn’t hold back her tears any longer and she flinched when his hand touched her cheek. She looked at him timidly, letting his thumb wipe the tears from her eyes.

“I’m an ass, that’s for sure,” he admitted.

“Most idiotic God for a boyfriend.”  

“Hiyori, please-”

Her lips met his again, this time drowned by the saltiness of her tears. He accepted it with eagerness and pulled her in tight. There was sadness and desperateness behind her kiss. Something so raw and powerful that it almost made him falter at the knees.

She pulled away to only have him pull her in again. Keeping her lips and body hostage to his demand. She didn’t mind it but the longer this went on the harder it would be for her to walk away.

When they did, his arm lingered on her shoulder and down to her fingertips. They tingled and shook at the thought of not being able to see him again for God knows how long. They met eyes and she smiled first, her makeup running down her face.

“Will you come see me again?” She was almost afraid to ask.

He closed the distance once more, leaving a feathered kiss on her brow before tapping her forehead with his.

“Only if you keep your grades up. How many more years do you have until I start calling you Dr. Iki?”

She laughed and sniffled, her feelings all over the place. “Too many.” Looking up to his eyes she noticed he was staring down at her chest, at her necklace. “I wear it every day, you know.”

“I know, I’d sometimes watch you put it on.”

She shoved him playfully and he put up his hands in defense, “please forgive me my beautiful and ever so devoted girlfriend.”

“You’re gonna have to kiss up to me better than that for all the years you left me alone.”

He grinned, “Shall I start with your lips?”

“Hmm,” she hummed, “how about you start by walking me back to my hotel room?”

He grabbed her hand, “as you wish.”

[flowercrown-bard]

To give without knowing (10/?)

word count: ~5k

read on AO3

previous / next

Geralt sat on the forest floor, doing his best to sort their equipment. For the past weeks, Geralt had carried most of their things. Jaskier claimed it was because he couldn’t possibly carry his lute while having the weight of all the things Roach used to carry on his back. Geralt had snorted at that, saying that if that were so, maybe Geralt should let him carry everything to get him to quiet down.

It had been an empty threat and they both had known it. When Geralt had relented with a grunt and shouldered everything he could carry, Jaskier had smiled at him. The next hour had been spent with Jaskier composing ditties praising Geralt’s strength and selflessness and with Geralt scowling in order to hide the way his face warmed at Jaskier’s words.

Walking the Path without Roach was strange. Geralt found himself missing the comforting click-clack of her hooves and the way she would nibble at his shirt when she was happy.

Jaskier did his best to distract Geralt. He didn’t state his intentions, but they were clear as day. Jaskier was louder than usual, sang more songs and nudged Geralt’s arm playfully whenever he passed him. It wasn’t much, but after having to let go of so many other Roaches all on his own, Geralt was grateful for his efforts.

Well. Not that one could speak much of Jaskier’s efforts now. In fact, Geralt was the only one working, trying to figure out which of their stuff should go into the saddlebags and which they should continue to carry themselves.

All the while, Jaskier was still his bright, loud, distracting self. Only this time, he didn’t sing about Geralt. Oh no. He was singing an ode of the most beautiful lady with chestnut hair and kind eyes. One who was loyal, lovely and would get to spend a long portion of her life with Jaskier. A lady who wouldn’t bite him in the fingers when he offered her treats in her greed or stomp her hooves threateningly when he wanted to plait her mane without bribing her first.

Geralt shook his head and grinned when Jaskier’s song was cut off by a yelp when the new Roach started nibbling at his hair.

Jaskier was squawking indignantly at her. “Dear lady! You have no appreciation for the arts! Here I am trying to serenade you and already you interrupt me.” He swatted at her neck, but ended up running his hands over her soft fur and cooing at her instead. “Truly, you are a mare after Geralt’s own heart.”

Geralt’s chest warmed and his grin turned into something gentler as he watched Jaskier do his best to win their new companion’s favour.

When Jaskier caught his eyes and winked at him, Geralt had to force himself to look away. If he kept staring at the ridiculousness unfolding before him, he would never get to finish his task. Still he listened with half an ear as Jaskier picked up his song again, this time telling Roach about all the adventures her predecessor had been a part of. He promised her that one day she would get to meet Old Roach, just as he had promised Basia that they would visit her and Roach again some time.

Geralt had just put their cooking supplies in one of the saddle bags, when he paused. There was only one thing left. Something that he had carried ever since saying goodbye to Old Roach.

The bag with the animals he had carved for Jaskier. They weren’t heavy, but still Jaskier had insisted that Geralt should carry them. He hadn’t told him why he was so adamant about it, but Geralt had had the suspicion that this was yet another way in which Jaskier had tried to comfort him. It had worked.

As right as it felt seeing Jaskier with Geralt’s gifts, it felt right holding them himself – being allowed and trusted with something so important to Jaskier. There was no doubt that the figures were Jaskier’s through and through and holding onto them gave Geralt an irrational sense of having a part of Jaskier with him. It was reassuring, even though the real Jaskier was never more than a couple of steps away from him. It was the carvings that had made Jaskier decide not to leave Geralt’s side even once until winter and Geralt was holding onto this promise, reassured by the weight of the animals.

And now they had a new Roach. A horse with big enough saddle bags to stow away the figures.

Geralt hesitated – and put the carvings back to his own belongings. He would hold onto them, claim that he had forgotten about them when he had sorted their stuff if Jaskier asked. If Jaskier demanded that he put them in the saddle bags, he would do so, of course. But if Jaskier didn’t…. well, Geralt could live with carrying a little more weight than normally, if it meant he still got to hold the reminder that Jaskier would stay with him close.

He willed his heart not to speed up and closed the last of the bags before standing up. He leaned against a tree with his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching with a bemused expression how Jaskier switched to telling Roach about his own great accomplishments as travel companion and bard.

“You forgot to mention that you are also incredibly humble,” Geralt chimed in when Jaskier needed to take a breath before he could continue telling Roach about what an invaluable friend he made.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes and wagged a finger at Geralt. “No need to be so sarcastic about it. My humbleness is one of my best qualities.”

“As is your ability to be quiet.”

Jaskier huffed and put his hands on his hips. “Oh, mock all you want. I know you’re just scared that by the end of the day, I will be Roach’s favourite.”

Geralt grunted in amusement. “Good luck with that.”

Jaskier’s grin got broader. “Good thing I have my lucky charms then.” He lifted his chin triumphantly. “And once Roach and I become inseparable, you will always have to let me stay with you or else you will risk breaking the poor girl’s heart.”

Geralt melted a little and he unfurled his arms. “If that’s your plan, then there’s no need to suck up to her.”

Jaskier scoffed. “So eager to get rid of me that you’d deny me a friendship with your horse?” he asked playfully, but there was an edge to his words that cut into Geralt’s chest.

Geralt shifted his weight and pushed himself off the tree, walking towards Jaskier. He petted Roach’s neck, so he didn’t have to look at Jaskier when he said, “I would keep you around even if Roach didn’t like you. So you can save your energy and make yourself useful. Gather some firewood.”

For a moment, Jaskier was quiet, stunned. Then he put his hand on Geralt’s that was still resting on Roach’s neck. He hinted at threading their fingers together for a moment, before pulling back again.

Geralt tensed up. He almost reached out to take Jaskier’s hand again and really hold it this time. Instead, he let his hand drop to his side and clenched it into a fist.

Jaskier must have sensed how uncomfortable he suddenly was, for his soft expression vanished and was replaced by a smug grin.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he said playfully and demonstratively resumed petting Roach.

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned without heat.

“Oh no, my friend. You just said that I don’t need to do anything special for you to want me around.” He threw Geralt a playful wink that did something funny to Geralt’s insides. “You like me. I don’t need to be useful.”

Geralt growled, but he didn’t disagree or take his earlier words back. Not when Jaskier looked so gleeful at the prospect of Geralt saying that he liked him. Not when that was the truth.

“Fine.” Geralt shrugged his shoulders. “Keep doting on Roach and you’ll be cold tonight without a fire.”

“But Geralt!” Jaskier turned his pleading eyes to him, not even bothering to hide the mirth in them. “You, as my dearest friend that likes me and wants me to stay with you, would surely not let me go cold in the night?” He tilted his head a little and Geralt would have called his smile downright devious if it hadn’t been so infuriatingly endearing. “Besides, I have it on good authority that you are wonderful at cuddling to keep your friends warm.”

Geralt choked on the air and had to turn away forcefully to hide the thoughts flashing through his mind.

He hadn’t held Jaskier close at night ever since the storm. But oh, how he wanted to. Every night he looked at Jaskier, only a few feet away from him but still too far, and had to bite his tongue to not ask him to come closer and allow Geralt to hold him again.

Nothing good would come of that. If spending one night feeling Jaskier’s heartbeat against his own had such an impact on him that the thought of it consumed his mind every waking hour, then what would happen if he allowed himself to have this again? He didn’t want to find out.

No, that was a lie. He wanted more than anything to find out, but he’d be damned if he ever let himself be that weak again.

So instead of risking saying something he might regret, he scoffed. “Why don’t you ask your new best friend Roach if you can cuddle up to her? Maybe if you sing another song about her grace and beauty she’ll let you sleep next to her just to get you to stop singing.”

Surprisingly, Jaskier didn’t rise the bait. Unsurprisingly, the teasing grin on his face grew wider.

"Speaking of Roach‘s beauty, I'm surprised you didn't succumb to the temptation of buying a black horse instead. You know, to really sell that dark, brooding loner thing you insist on putting on when you’re not showering your dearest friend with affection."

Geralt huffed.

"Oh come on, Geralt We both know that deep down you're as dramatic as can be. There's no use denying it."

Geralt only gave him a blank look and Jaskier rolled his eyes.

"Alright then. I see a black horse would have been a bit too much even for you. But why, oh why didn't you even look at the white horses?" Jaskier whined. "It would have made for such a good song! The White Wolf, a knight in shining armour and his trusty steed the white stallion!"

Roach chose that moment to nudge her head against Jaskier's back, making him stumble forward.

"Alright, fine," Jaskier relented and lifted his hands in surrender. "I admit, no other horse could come close to your beauty."

"I don't choose my companions based on how pretty they are," Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier shot him a sly smile and a wink. "And yet you travel with me."

"I didn't choose you, did I?"

Jaskier's eyes shone with glee and Geralt felt as if he had stepped into a trap he should have seen coming from miles away.

"I don't hear you disagreeing. You do think I'm pretty. My, Geralt, you're full of compliments today. What did I do to deserve such generosity?“

Geralt didn't answer, though his mind and foolish heart supplied him with a myriad of memories of things Jaskier had done for him that warranted praise and compliments that Geralt would have given if he knew how to.

Jaskier seemed to take his silence as his cue to sigh wistfully and turn to Roach for support.

"You truly are the only one who understands me. It's the two of us now - you and I suffering from Geralt's lack of taste," he declared in his overly theatrical voice that made it clear he was just having fun and wasn't truly offended. He hung his head in mock-lament. "It's such a pity that a gorgeous lady such as yourself has to suffer the shame of being named after a bug."

Geralt scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't name her after a bug." His lips twitched and he was sure in his eyes was the same sparkle of mischief he had so often seen in Jaskier's. "She's named after a fish."

For a long moment Jaskier gaped at him, not unlike the fish Roach was named after.

"Are you telling me all these years you let me live a lie? You didn't name her after - no wait, a fish isn't much better. Geralt, what on this sweet earth possessed you to name your horses after a fish?"

"Why did you name yourself after a flower?" Geralt shot back, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"That is not the end-all argument you think it is," Jaskier said haughtily. "I'm not sure if you just said that to prove a point, but I assure you I could spend the next hour elaborating on the meaning of my name."

"Please don't," Geralt said, though he put no heat in it. He wouldn't mind learning why Jaskier had chosen that name for himself. He hadn't wanted to push him for an explanation. It was none if his business, but if Jaskier were willing to tell him one day, Geralt would be more than happy to listen.

That day, it seemed, was not this day. Jaskier's grin turned impish, making him look like a cat ready to pounce.

"I shall spare you the tale. On one condition. You tell me why you name your horses Roach."

Geralt turned away slightly, crouched down and pretended to be busy with the bags again. He knew the act fooled no one. "If you're expecting a dramatic or tragic tale you’re going to be disappointed. There's not much to tell."

"Humour me."

When Geralt chanced a quick glance at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier looked genuinely curious. Gone were all traces of teasing and challenging. All he wanted was to learn more about something that was important to Geralt.

"It's... My first horse didn't have a name for a long time. I didn't plan on ever giving her one. Don't look at me like that, Jaskier. I know what you're going to say. Don't."

"No, I..." Jaskier trailed off. After the slightest hesitation he sat down next to Geralt, brushing their shoulders together. "I'm not judging you. It's just… You didn't call me by my name too for a long while either. I think I understand and I'm glad you do now."

Geralt nodded, unable to give any other response. So he just continued his story. "That horse was the worst. Stubborn and mischievous. Wouldn't listen to a single thing I said." He couldn't keep the fondness out of his voice and when he briefly looked up he saw Jaskier look at him with an affection in his eyes that made Geralt's chest ache. He couldn't tear his eyes away and for a heartbeat all thought left him.

"She sounds wonderful," Jaskier supplied when Geralt stilled.

His words shook Geralt out of his reverie.

"Of course you would say that." he swallowed thickly and kept his face carefully blank, unwilling to show a hint of hurt that next part still caused him sometimes. "I got chased out of town a lot back then. I didn't know yet to recognise the right moment to leave before things turned bad. So I ran. Had to leave all of my supplies. I had nothing to eat, nothing to keep me warm. Only my swords and that bastard of a horse. Without my crossbow or any gear to set up snares, all I could think of doing was to try to fish."

Jaskier's hand found his and this time when he linked his fingers with Geralt's, he didn't pull back.

"You caught a roach?" Jaskier guessed.

Geralt's lips twitched into a half smirk. "Something like that. Turns out fishing is damn near impossible without a rod or some kind of spear. I still tried to catch a fish with my bare hands."

Jaskier's eyebrows shot up. "That's impressive."

Geralt hummed in amusement. "Maybe it would have been, if the horse hadn't found it funny to nudge me with her head right as I was leaning over the water."

Jaskier let out a startled laugh. "She didn't!"

Geralt's grin became wider. "Made me fall right in. I landed on a roach; pretty much squashed it against a rock somehow." He scoffed. "I swear that horse was laughing at me the whole time."

Jaskier snickered. "Can't blame her."

Geralt shot him a false glare that only made Jaskier laugh harder.

"Of course you would take her side."

"Of course,” Jaskier echoed. “How could I not adore anyone who managed to shove the great Geralt of Rivia into water? I know how near impossible a feat that is. First Roach has all my respect." For a moment he was silent and as they listened to Roach's huffing and scraping at the dirt with her hooves. Jaskier squeezed his hand. "Thank you for telling me, Geralt. That means a lot to me."

Geralt nodded. He thought that was all the reply he would be able to give, but something tight in his chest was begging to be released. After a small pause he whispered back, "Thank you for listening."

-

After that, Geralt was once again filled with that burning need inside him that made his fingers itch to take up carving again. And so he did. After so long of not picking up his carving tools, his hands felt a bit rusty and clumsy, like when he had first learned to use those tools, but the wood felt familiar and right in his hands.

He thought of his first horse- his first Roach- as he carved. The familiar motions felt smooth and sure as he was cutting away wood piece by piece until Geralt held his new creation in hand. He smiled as he looked at it. It was exactly how he had wanted it. Now all he needed was to find the perfect moment to hide it for Jaskier to find. With this carving, he felt the need to perfect the execution more than with any other. He owed it to his first Roach.

So he carried the figure with him for days, separate from Jaskier’s collection. Jaskier had noticed how Geralt carried the other carvings still, but he hadn’t mentioned it. If anything, he had seemed pleased for some reason.

Geralt couldn’t wait to see Jaskier’s face when he saw this newest carving for the first time.

It wasn’t until one day the sun shone unusually bright – probably the last hot day of summer before autumn winds would chase the warmth away – that Geralt knew the time had come.

Geralt sat on a riverbank, holding a provisional fishing rod in hand and waited for what felt like hours, even to him. Jaskier must be going mad with the wait. It sure seemed like he was about ready to tear his hear out, from the way he had flopped down on the grass, too bored to even sing anymore.

“Does this always take this long?” He whined.

Geralt forced the smile that tried to twist his lips to stay hidden. “You’re the one who thought it was a good idea to fish for our dinner.”

“That’s what I get for trying to be sweet and honour Roach.” Jaskier groaned. “And in my defence, I suggested fishing before I knew how boring it would be. Are you sure you’re even doing it right?”

Geralt hummed in the affirmative.

Jaskier didn’t look convinced. “Really? Because from here it looks like you’re not even doing anything. You’re just -” he gestured vaguely at Geralt, “ -sitting there. One could almost think this is just an excuse for you to do nothing and be quiet for hours.”

Geralt couldn’t keep the grin off his face any longer. “Maybe you should try it then.”

Jaskier made an outraged sound, but before he could come up with any colourful protests, his mouth snapped shut and he narrowed his eyes.

“You know what?” he said and held out a hand demandingly. “Fine. I’ll do it. See if I don’t catch something faster than you.”

Geralt snorted and scooted over to let Jaskier sit where he had just been. He handed over the fishing rod.

“And just so you know,” Jaskier added, “I know what you’re trying to do here. And I tell you, you will not find me sitting all quiet.”

“There goes my masterplan to get some peace,” Geralt deadpanned.

“So how does this work then?” Jaskier asked, giving an experimental tug at the rod.

Geralt’s brows knitted together and he put his hand over Jaskier’s, holding the rod in place. “You’re not supposed to move it.”

“You sure? Because not moving it hasn’t brought us dinner yet,” Jaskier teased.

Geralt let go and took a step back. “Alright then,” he said, barely able to keep the amusement out of his voice. “Figure it out on your own then.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I will. Can’t be too hard. I’ll just –“ He gave another tug, only to stagnate mid-motion. His eyes became wide and Geralt could see the moment he realised what was happening, as unbridled joy and triumph bubbled up in Jaskier’s chest with a loud laugh. “Geralt! I caught one! Ha! I told you I’d better at this then you.”

Geralt watched with raised eyebrows how Jaskier gave another harsh yank, until suddenly the something came flying out of the water with a splash, attached to the fishing line.

“Look! Geralt, I did it! I-“ Jaskier’s smile turned into a confused frown and he did a double take. “The hell is that?”

Jaskier grabbed the fishing line with one hand and brought the thing at the end of it closer to his face. Geralt’s heart was hammering in anticipation as Jaskier let out a small gasp, finally realising what exactly he had caught.

“I’ve got to say,” Jaskier said slowly, “the fae are getting more creative in their delivering.”

“Oh? It’s another gift then?” Geralt asked as nonchalantly as he could. “What is it this time?”

“A fish,” Jaskier said, baffled. “What even… is it a cod? A carp maybe?” He made a face. “I’m only just realising that I know absolutely nothing about fish.” He paused. “Pike?”

Geralt snorted at Jaskier’s silliness and rolled his eyes. One would think that less than a week after talking about this very same thing, Jaskier would have a clue as to what this could be.

“It’s a Roach,” Geralt deadpanned.

The palm of Jaskier’s free hand met his face and he huffed out a single laugh, before his face took on a look of mock-annoyance. “Oh very clever. I sure hope the fae think they’re funny.”

Geralt grinned openly. “I think they’re hilarious.”

“I guarantee that you are the only person who would think so.” Jaskier’s shoulders were shaking with poorly supressed laughter, giving the lie to his words.

“You better not let the fae hear that,” Geralt warned, “or they might stop giving you gifts.”

“Nah, they like me too much to forsake me.” Jaskier waved a hand through the air with a self-assured grin. “And I’ve complained about your terrible sense of humour for years and you’re still here, aren’t you?”

Of course Geralt was. As if Jaskier could do anything that would make him want to leave.

Jaskier didn't seem to expect or need an answer. His focus shifted back to the roach in his hand. He turned it over and admired the scales Geralt had carved into it.

Jaskier seemed to hesitate but then his brow set in determination. He lifted his head and looked Geralt dead in the eye.

"I'm naming the roach Horse."

Geralt didn't think about what he was doing. All he knew was that Jaskier was bursting with laughter and that he was being so ridiculous and suddenly Jaskier's laughter turned into a surprised shout when Geralt nudged him just enough to make him stumble right into the water.

Vaguely he registered Jaskier dropping Horse, the roach, on the grass before he hit the water.

After a heartbeat Jaskier emerged from the water with an enraged look that would have been much more effective if he didn't also look like he was doing his damndest to hold in his laughter.

"Geralt of Rivia!" Jaskier shrieked accusingly and wiped the wet hair out of his face. He reached out one hand to Geralt. "You help me out of here right now!"

Geralt shook his head with a grin. "You know you won't be able to pull me in with you."

"I won't try to do that. Promise." The mischievous twinkle in his eyes betrayed him but Geralt still grabbed his hand and hauled him up.

Jaskier hadn't been lying. He didn't try to pull Geralt into the water with him.

What he did instead was practically throw himself at Geralt with the momentum from his pull. Jaskier wrapped both arms around him, soaking him thoroughly. For good measure he rubbed his dripping wet hair into Geralt's face.

Geralt let out a startled laugh. After a second of stunned immobility, Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier as well, his laugh ghosting over Jaskier's hair.

He could feel Jaskier's pout where his face was pressed against him.

"You're not supposed to like this," Jaskier said accusingly. "This is my revenge."

"Yes, you're being very evil right now," Geralt grinned and chuckled when Jaskier only scoffed.

This was so petty. Jaskier was just utterly ridiculous. Geralt loved him so much.

Oh.

He froze and his heart refused to beat in its normal rhythm.

Oh no.

This...this wasn't really what he felt for Jaskier. It couldn't be. Jaskier was his friend, his travel companion, the one person who was always by his side without ever asking for more. Geralt couldn't want - he couldn't be in love with him. He couldn't.

And yet the burning in his chest where Jaskier's heart beat against his own, already knew what Geralt's mind was still trying to deny.

Geralt's body wanted nothing more than to stay right where he was, in Jaskier's arms, but he needed to know, needed to see.

Painfully slowly, Geralt pulled away from Jaskier until he was only holding him on the shoulders.

Jaskier's eyes crinkled with his laughter. "Changed your mind then? My revenge was effective?"

Geralt's mouth was too dry to answer. All he could do was look at Jaskier and know, feel, wonder how he could have not seen this before.

All this time Geralt had stared at Jaskier like an enigma and now it was revealed to be as easy to solve as a children's puzzle. It had always seemed so complicated, so impossible to understand and now within the blink of an eye, the meaning of it all had become so clear, so simple, so inevitable.

Because that was the thing; Falling in love with Jaskier had always been inevitable.

And yet Geralt had wasted so much time not knowing, not wanting to know. He had told himself improbable lies when all this time he had - just how long had he felt like this?

Long enough that Geralt couldn't remember what it had felt like getting touched by Jaskier without having chills race down his body. Long enough that the mere thought of not getting drunk on Jaskier's smiles, his words, his closeness seemed impossible.

Geralt felt Jaskier slip from his grasp and immediately his hands felt painfully empty. He watched as if from far away how Jaskier bent down to pick up the roach again and brushed the dirt off, throwing a grin at Geralt as he did so.

The sight alone was enough to make it impossible to form a single coherent thought.

Every stutter of his heart, every tightening of his chest, every time he had yearned for Jaskier's touch... it had always been this. This simple word.

This word that flared up when Jaskier complained about dirt on his clothes. The word that wedged itself between Geralt's thoughts when Jaskier composed a ditty about Geralt's hair when the wind had made it shaggy like a wolf's coat.

Geralt had loved Jaskier as if it was the easiest, the most natural thing in the world to do. So easy that he hadn't even realised he was doing it until he was in so deep that he couldn't turn back if he wanted to.

He didn't want to. He wanted this, this feeling, this knowledge every moment of every day.

Geralt watched with an aching softness that he finally could give a name to, as Jaskier introduced his wooden fish to Roach as if he was announcing an honoured guest at a ball.

In this moment, Jaskier was utterly undignified. And Geralt…Geralt knew without a doubt that he was utterly in love with him.

---

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[blueaura]

Lost and Found Ch. 8

A/N: Hello again! This chapter is a little shorter than the last couple of chapters but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Thank you for the feedback on the last chapter, it means a lot. Also, I’m making a seperate tag list for people who would like to be tagged in all of my supernatural stuff (one shots, dabbles, other series etc.), so let me know if you want to get on that. Also, Also - if any of you have any requests for one-shots or the like, I’d love to do that. Thanks to everyone who’s read and re-blogged it this far. As always, any tips and suggestions are welcome. Feedback would be amazing. Thank you and happy reading!

Summary: Sam and Dean meet a young hunter who is a little rough around the edges and they reluctantly take her under their wing. But she might be a little more connected to them that any of them realise. 

Word Count: 1.8k

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8

To Dean it felt like it took forever.

He watched Cas’s hand glow as if he were healing her, not even daring to breathe. Sam stood beside his brother in support. Cas had his eyes closed in concentration. Dean was looking worriedly at Y/N but she didn’t look like she was in any pain. He trusted Cas with his life and knew he would never knowingly hurt Y/N, but worrying came naturally to him and he had to make sure she was safe. There was an instinct there that he was usually used to associating with just his brother.  

Cas had only wanted to see her soul but as soon as he put his hand on her, he was bombarded with her memories. Her thoughts, her pain, her experiences – they were so loud. He had never felt so crippled by a human mind before. He was surprised by the intense anger he felt on her behalf. The girl didn’t seem to harbour much anger herself – there simply wasn’t any place for it beneath the fear, uncertainty, loneliness and hurt. He saw her memories like he had once seen Dean’s when he pulled him out from hell. Once he was sucked in, he couldn’t get out until she let him even though he felt like he was somehow violating her privacy. But, if he ever had any doubt that there was a part of Dean Winchester in this girl, the burning determination underneath everything else would have been enough to remove it. Even without seeing her soul, shining as brightly as her father’s.

Y/N was expecting pain even after Cas assured her that there wouldn’t be any. What she was not expecting was the warmth. It felt like she was bundled in the softest blanket and nothing could hurt her as long as she stayed in the cocoon of that warmth. It was bright light and hope and love and like nothing she had ever felt before. She almost didn’t want to let it go but she could feel the sensation trying to pull away from her. She chased it until she couldn’t. She didn’t know how long had passed before she came back to Earth, so to speak.

Cas’s hand slid from her forehead down to her cheek momentarily.

“I’m sorry for the hard life you’ve had Y/N. You are truly an incredible human being and I vow to protect you to the best of my ability from here on. I shall not let any harm befall you.”

The intensity of his words surprised her but she didn’t say anything. Dean, on the other hand, balked at the words.

“Wait, what just happened?” he asked, looking from Cas to Y/N and back again.

“What’s with the vow of protection? Is this some kind of Twilight imprinting bullshit?!” Dean’s voice grew more hysterical with every word, making Y/N muffle a snort.

“Dude, why the hell do you even know what that is?” Sam asked incredulously. Dean ignored him in favour of glaring at his friend.

Cas turned away from Y/N to give Dean his best imitation of Sam’s bitchface.

“No, Dean. I didn’t imprint on your daughter. I can assure you I have no intention of mating with her,” Cas sarcastically dead-panned, which would have normally impressed and even amused Dean but his brain had stopped working at that moment.

Daughter. Daughter.

Fuck.

There was a ringing in his ears. He could hear Sam calling his name, could feel the weight of his hand shaking his shoulder, but everything was muffled – the only thing he could focus on was the fact that he had a fucking daughter.

Of course, he had known it was a possibility – that was the whole damn point of the angelic test, but now… it was real. He was a father. Just like that. In that moment – he fucking hated Sandra.

Sam would have loved to say that Dean reacted maturely and focused on Y/N and didn’t freak out at all, but father or not, he was still Dean Winchester. So, Sam wasn’t all that surprised when instead of making sure his daughter was alright, Dean stormed out in the direction of the shooting range, or so Sam assumed. He knew his brother and he knew that it was how he processed things. Working on his car or shooting stuff was Dean’s way of dealing with the news and Sam was just grateful that he didn’t choose to turn to the bottle instead.

He watched Dean walk off but instead of trying to reason with his brother, he turned towards the other person affected by the news. His niece (Holy shit, he had a niece) was frozen in place, her eyes not really focused on anything. Cas looked at him worriedly and Sam realised that Cas hadn’t meant to drop the news in such a way. He smiled at him reassuringly, and walked to where Y/N was still standing.

Instead of calling out to her, he gently guided her to the library and made her sit down on a chair. She didn’t react at her which didn’t necessarily surprise Sam but worried him nonetheless. Cas brought a glass of water from the kitchen and Sam quickly thanked him before setting it down on the table and kneeling in front of Y/N.

“Kiddo? Hey Y/N, are you alright?” he instinctively asked and winced. Of course, she wasn’t alright. Her entire world had just turned on its head.

“Y/N, you with me?” he tried instead.

She looked at him without really seeing him. He had to repeat the question a couple of times before he even saw a hint of acknowledgement in her eyes. He waited patiently until she finally shakily nodded her head.

Her throat was dry. She reached for the glass of water blindly. Sam quickly picked it up and placed it in her waiting hands, watching as she took small sips.

“Where’s…” she trailed off, sipping at the water again just to have something to do.

“Probably in the shooting range. He’s… processing. But I guess so are you,” he said uncertainly.

“You have a shooting range?” She was clearly avoiding the big elephant in the room, but Sam didn’t take the bait.

“I’ll show you later,” he dismissed the topic change expertly. “How are you holding up?”

“You mean after learning that my mother lied to me my entire life?” she spat out. Sam winced at the tone but ignored the hostility, only squeezing her shoulder in response. She deflated at the lack of a fight. He simply waited.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “I wasn’t expecting… I know you were all but convinced but I wasn’t. San- my mother always gave me the impression that my father was dead. Until a few minutes ago, I didn’t even have distant relatives that I could call family. Now suddenly, I… I don’t know how to deal with that,” she said, frustration heavily lacing her voice.

Sam noticed the hesitation at her mother’s name and stored that little piece of information for later. His heart went out to her, it truly did.

“Look, I can’t even begin to imagine being in your position right now. Or Dean’s, for that matter. Hell, I’m still reeling from the fact that I have a niece, and I’m not even the one directly affected by this! So, I cant tell you how to feel or what to do. That’s up to you. What I can tell you is that you’re family now, Y/N. That word has way more weightage in this household than it probably does anywhere else. So, whatever you’re going through, you won’t be alone. I’m here, Cas is here and when he eventually gets over his little temper tantrum, Dean will be here too,” Sam smiled wryly.

Y/N chuckled a little even as emotion clogged her throat, shaking her head at Sam’s attempt at levity. She was suddenly pulled into the tightest hug by Sam, but this time she refused to cry. She’d had way too many breakdowns in the past few days and she’d ignore the stinging in her eyes and the burn in her throat if it was the last thing she did.

Instead, she sniffled into Sam’s plaid shirt, realising this was the second time in as many days that she was in this position. She chuckled at that, and instead of pulling away burrowed herself deeper into the comfort of the embrace.

Sam squeezed her tighter and kissed the top of her head. This was his niece. He was a fucking uncle! What did uncles even do? She was probably too old for toys. He also didn’t see much pranks in their future, at least for a little while. He could teach her he supposed. She clearly needed education and didn’t seem particularly thrilled about any form of formal institution. Yes, he would be the brainy uncle, who answered all the questions. He could do that.

Eventually, she pulled away. Seeing the hopeful expression on Sam’s face, she managed a weak smile at him, trying to tell him that she would be alright.

“I think I’m going to get some sleep and… process all of this. Let me know if De-Dean comes back soon,” she stumbled a little, not entirely sure what to call Dean anymore. Was ‘Dean’ inappropriate? It was way too soon for anything remotely in the ‘Dad’ ballpark. She put it away as a problem for later, not wanting to deal with the headache that accompanied thinking about her new family.

“Yea- yeah! No issues, kid. Get some rest. Dean will probably be a couple of hours. Cas already went to him earlier. He’s good at making Dean sort through things. I’ll probably head over there myself in a few,” he said assuredly.

“What’s up with that anyway?” she asked, her earlier curiosity making it harder for her to keep her mouth shut.

“What’s up with what?” Sam sounded confused.

“Cas and Dean?”

Understanding dawned on Sam’s face, immediately replaced with a look of long-suffering exasperation. Y/N giggled at that, making Sam smile subconsciously at the sound.

“If you ever figure it out, let me know,” he sighed and with a last kiss to her head, walked away.

Y/N shook her head and walked up to her room. She once again took stock of all the things that supposedly belonged to her. The mattress was the softest she’d ever slept on. She had her own freaking room. She had food to eat and clothes to wear and a couple of guys who cared more for her than what she thought she was worth.

Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t so bad.

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[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Stripped

My heart is aching for my darling rat bastard since his breakdown after Wrestle Kingdom. I want him back in NJPW so much. Or failing that, I want him in AEW causing havoc. 

Pairing: Jay White x OFC

Word count: 3,914

Content advisory: Sexual situations (takes place in a strip club), language

The stage is littered with those stupid fucking plastic stars because the owner likes the effect of the girls moving through it. “Stardust” he calls it, like it’s supposed to make everything magical. A fucking hazard is what it is. The floor gets slippery during the night and those stupid things kill any kind of friction you might be able to get in the skyscraper platforms and stiletto heels you work in. So you and all the other girls who work here have to focus on not slipping on stardust while you’re also focusing on shaking your ass and gyrating just right for the drunk businessmen or frat boys or bachelor parties or vaguely creepy loners you rely on to pay your rent. A shift turns into this ninja-style obstacle course of trying not to get your legs broken by the owner’s preferred decorations and trying not to get your face broken by guys who think you owe them more than dancing. 

But it’s a fuck of a lot more lucrative than waitressing or telemarketing, which are the two jobs you’d be likely to get other than dancing, and you’d still get treated like garbage at those places. So you spend time between dances picking these stupid goddamned stars off of your boots, because you don’t want to make it more dangerous to work here than it has to be, and reminding yourself that you could do, and have done, worse. 

Tonight is what you’d call a good night: decent crowd, decent tips, enough turnover to ensure that no one gets too possessive, the clientele drunk enough to be generous but not so drunk as to be violent. So aside from the threat posed by the imitation stardust, you head out to your third dance of the night with a sense of confidence. That is, until you see him. 

You can immediately tell that he’s drunk, obstreperously drunk. He’s slumped into his chair, spread out in an ungainly fashion. The bouncers hover close by, knowing that he’s far enough along to cause trouble but he doesn’t. The waitresses continue serving him, which is a little surprising. The guy must be tipping a fortune. If the mark is generous enough, they’ll bring him drinks until he’s unconscious. They’re supposed to cut him off at a reasonable point and the bouncers are supposed to get him into a taxi, even if they have to take the money out of the register, but if the guy’s throwing enough money around, the servers will toss security a share to look the other way for a bit. 

You’re noticing all this while waiting your turn on stage because you can barely take your eyes off him. His long hair is pulled back into a messy half-ponytail and his beard looks scruffy but there’s something magnetic, something intense about him. Contrary to his body language, his eyes look clear and manic, darting around like he’s expecting someone to jump him at any moment. His shirt is already loose and has a few buttons open and the more he slides around on his chair, the more you’re able to see. And dear god what a treat it is to see. Every time he breathes, there’s a ripple of muscles in his chest that looks like something out of a superhero comic or romance novel. You move around so that you can get a better look at him from different angles and so that you aren’t just sitting by the bar, dumbstruck and practically drooling. 

By the time it’s your turn on stage, you’re so keyed up you’re worried that you’re going to forget what to do or end up wiping out on the star-shaped death traps on stage. Every girl is paying special attention to him because he’s pushing so much money at them. And a lot of them are probably thinking the same thing you are: that he’s young and gorgeous and the chances of getting that combined with that much money and being too sloppy drunk to pose a real threat is like finding the pot of gold at the end of the damn rainbow. You’re all essentially auditioning for the role of “girl he’s going to want to take to a room upstairs for a private dance” and you are determined to absolutely kill this audition. 

You know you look good and you know you can move with the best of them but in order to make your turn really special, you need to channel what he’s making you feel, you need to make him understand what he’s doing to you and you need him to know that you’re inviting him to do more. You usually like to stick to your planned routines because you’ll be more confident on your feet but this is all about getting closer to him, about eye contact and the scent of pheromones and trying to bait a perfect trap. 

He seems to recognize the extra effort you’re putting into your work and gives a crooked smile as he tosses money towards you. He’s not even looking at the denominations, just casually tossing bills on the stage. This is going to be a very profitable evening for you if he does nothing other than stay around for a while. But you want more than that. Up close, there’s an aura about him, equal parts spoiled brat and caged animal, something contemptuous about the way he sips his drink, surveys the surroundings, even the way he looks at you when proffering bills. But when the two of you lock eyes, there’s something else, this desire, a need in him that he wants you to fill. 

You slide gracefully down on all fours in front of him, still undulating to the music, moving close enough that you can speak to him without having to raise your voice. 

“Baby, if you want to have some real fun, you know you can ask for a private room,” you coo. 

“So people keep telling me,” he smirks. 

He obviously wants to see if you’ll be offended, if he’s managed to hurt your feelings by letting you know that you’re just one of many vying for his attention and his money. But his tone isn’t dismissive, it’s challenging. 

“Aw, are you trying to make me jealous, handsome?”

You raise yourself up on your knees, running your hands over your breasts, then down between your legs, never breaking eye contact. He keeps his arrogant expression fixed in place as he produces a few more bills, holding them out between his fingers. So you lean forward, stretching slowly, like a cat in the sun, making sure he can see how flexible you are. You take the bills between your teeth and as you feel his hold on them loosen, you make sure that the swell of your bottom lip brushes the tip of his finger. 

Spinning yourself around, you rise to your feet again in one smooth motion and start to back away as the last few bars of the song signal that your little audition is ending. You make sure to give him a last look and the hint of a smile as you step backstage. When you do, you immediately move so that you can see what he does. 

He downs his drink and spends a long few moments contemplating the glass as the next girl takes to the stage. His eyes drift up to her and he drops a few bills but then you see him beckon one of the staff over. You can’t help but smile. He’s asking for you, you can feel it. 

*

“Guy’s pretty loaded,” the security guard cautions you. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “in more ways than one.”

The meat slab in a suit laughs at your joke and reassures you he’s there if you need him before he steps into the darkened booth at the end of the hall. It’s not something they advertise but the clubs keep cameras in the private rooms, so that security can keep an eye on things and take action if clients get out of line. Not every club does this, of course, and you’ve worked at some places where being in a private room meant you were on your own. This place is Fort Knox by comparison. 

You open the door where your Prince Charming is waiting for you. He’s sitting on one of the leather chairs, spread out like he owns the place, a bottle of scotch, the expensive stuff, sitting on the table next to him. Even in the low light you see his sparkling eyes lock on you. 

“Well it’s nice to see you again, handsome.”

You walk closer to him, loosening the robe that you’d thrown on before coming up. As it falls open, it catches on your breasts, the diaphanous fabric just barely covering your nipples, which grow hard at the sensation. 

“You’re the lucky girl who gets me to herself tonight,” he slurs. 

You spread your legs so that they’re on either side of his as you bend over to him. The fabric of your robe brushes against his skin as you bow your head close to whisper, “I feel pretty lucky right now.”

You step back and press a button to start the music, allowing the robe to fall from you as you start to sway for him. You don’t get too close, not right away. Building anticipation is always the best, watching that hunger build in a man’s eyes, all the more so because this one is so arrogant and full of himself as well as being gorgeous. You want to see just how worked up you can get him. So you hang back just a little, letting him watch the way the soft light plays on your skin and the movement of your hands over your body. 

After a couple of minutes of this, he gives a slow clap and pulls out more money for you. 

“You don’t have to do that here,” you remind him. “You’re all paid up.”

“Yeah, well I want to make sure I get the best service.”

“That’s what I’m here for, honey.”

“Jay,” he snaps. 

You give him a little frown, not exactly sure what he means. 

“My name,” he clarifies, as if you’re stupid for not understanding. “Not baby, not honey, not handsome. My name is Jay White.”

A circuit connects in your head as you hear him. 

“Jay White. You’re a wrestler. I’ve heard of you.”

“I’m not just “a” wrestler. I’m the best on the fucking planet.”

“Well then I really am lucky.”

You can hear the tension in his voice and the sooner you can stop this line of conversation and get him back to thinking about your body, the better. You move closer and gyrate slowly downward and back up just in front of him, your hands resting on the arms of the chair just a couple of inches from his. 

He still has the money in his hand and his expression remains sour. 

“Take it,” he nods towards the bills. “I’m a rich man. I can buy whatever the hell I want.”

You smile and shake your head. “You don’t have to do anything. Just relax and enjoy. Not that I don’t love that sexy accent.”

“Oh really? What kind of accent is it?”

It’s starting to feel like he’s brought you in here just to pick a fight, which is throwing you off your rhythm in every sense and also frustrating because it’s not making him any less attractive to you. You keep your slight smile as you lean close to him. 

“It’s a New Zealand accent.”

“You sure it’s not Australian?”

You nod. “I spent a couple of summers working in Australia and New Zealand. I can always tell the difference.”

He pushes his face close to yours, the scent of alcohol so strong that you feel like you’re going to get drunk from the fumes. “Were you working as a whore there too?”

Instead of responding, you pout a little and give him a sad look. At first, he scoffs but after a few seconds, his body relaxes a bit and he looks, if not apologetic, at least happy to move on. 

“Well, show me what you can do, then,” he drawls, taking another drink of scotch. 

You’re happy to oblige, winding your body around him in a serpentine fashion, making sure he’s close enough to feel the heat radiating from you, even pushing your hips close enough that he might be able to smell how turned on you are by him. And that’s only augmented by the feeling of his breath against your thighs, or the low moans that escape him when you hold yourself precariously close, barely respecting the rules of not touching that exist here. 

The music is slower than what plays in the club, sinuous and sensual and you move in perfect time with it, your body flowing like water around him. His thirst is palpable. You catch him adjusting himself or rubbing his palm against his groin with increasing frequency and the more turned on he seems to get, the more lustful you make your movements. 

You’re bent over him, drinking in the sound of his panting and grunting, when he speaks again. 

“I quit my job today,” he grumbles. 

You’re a little offended that he can detach himself so easily from the moment but when you look at him, his expression hasn’t changed, like what he’s going through here is linked somehow to what he’s done. 

“Why did you do that, hon- Jay?”

He smiles when you correct yourself and leans close, his breath condensing between your breasts for a few seconds before he responds. 

“Because I’m too fucking good for them.”

You don’t know who “them” means but you know better than to tell him that. 

“So they don’t deserve you,” you purr. 

“Goddamned right they don’t. Look at all this money I’ve got. Doesn’t mean a fucking thing if I don’t have respect.”

“Why wouldn’t they respect you?”

 He snaps his leg to one side, hitting your knee and almost making you collapse on top of him. 

“Come closer,” he whispers. 

You’re not really sure how much closer you can get without breaking the rules, but you incline your head close to his, so that his lips are next to your ear. 

“They don’t know what they have in me,” he hisses. “They don’t know how fucking lucky they are, how much I’ve given up for them. They just want to make me the leader of the fools in their company because they think that’s the best I can do. But you don’t think that, do you?”

His eyes glitter like a tiger in the jungle shade but you meet his gaze and don’t look away. 

“No,” you tell him, “you look like a damn rock star. You look like a king.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

He smiles and runs his hand up the back of your thigh, grabbing your ass and holding you in place while he grips your arm with his other hand. He presses his lips against the skin of your inner arm, lightly trailing kisses over the sensitive flesh before giving a sharp bite to your wrist. 

You give a little cry just as the door slams open and the security guard who’d accompanied you up here bursts into the room. 

“We got a problem here?” he roars. 

Jay slumps back in his chair with a defeated expression, like he’s preparing himself to be thrown out of the club by his hair. You rise as gracefully as you can and go to the guard, who’s obviously waiting for you to signal what needs to be done. 

“It’s ok,” you tell him calmly. You walk up to him so that your conversation won’t be overheard. “I kind of goaded him on.”

It’s not really true that you goaded him but it is true that you’ve been wanting him to touch you all night and it’s possible that he picked up on that. 

“Looks like he got a bit grabby.”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem for me.”

You keep your eyes trained on Jay, who’s watching your interaction with the beefy man and obviously trying to figure out what’s going on. In return, the security guard scowls at him and cuts a serious look at you. 

“You want me to turn off the camera?”

There it is, the magic question. The women who work here are dancers, strippers, and their job is only to move in an erotic way, to excite their clients. They’re kept secure by the presence of cameras that alert security if a client is getting out of line, if he’s breaking the rules by actually laying hands on one of the dancers. But there’s what’s allowed and what’s really allowed and that question is at the heart of it. 

The cameras protect the women but they also protect the club: they prove that all that’s going on in the private rooms is dancing and titillation, not prostitution. But if a woman wants to, she can tell security to turn off the camera for a while, meaning there’s no record of what happens. None of the girls are obliged to do it, and the official position of the club is that it’s not allowed, so if you get caught, they’ll fire you immediately. But if you’re ok with offering more than just a dance and willing to give the security guard a cut of the earnings, he’ll shut off the camera in the room and you can do whatever you want with your client. 

You’re not actually planning on charging Jay White anything more unless he wants something really kinky but you’ve already made so much money off him that you can cut the guard in and still have a great night. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, never taking your eyes off Jay, “that’s what I want.”

“It’s done,” the guard grunts. As he turns to leave, he gives your bicep a little squeeze. “You know I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

The financial details will get worked out later. Not all of the guards are so mellow but this guy, nicknamed “Bob” by the girls, is old school. He knows you have to bend the rules to make ends meet and knows that no one is making a fortune from what happens here. He never tries to shake the girls down, never assumes that being off-camera means he can just pretend the room is empty. He’s the perfect person to have working at this moment for you. It’s like fate. 

He leaves without another word and you stand in place until you see the tiny red light in the corner go out. Then you walk back over to Jay, bracing your arms on the chair so that you’re hovering just above him. 

“So what does that mean?” He nods towards the camera, apparently having noticed you looking at it. 

“You mean the little red light?”

“The little red light that’s gone out.”

“Well that means that you and I have some privacy, Jay White. That means that the rules are relaxed a little.”

He smiles a little and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you down onto his lap and giving you a nice preview of coming attractions. Yes, you think, the trailer definitely makes you want to see the movie. You continue to grind in rhythm with the background music but you’re no longer pretending that it’s the focus of your attention. Instead you lean in and press your lips to his, softly letting your tongue slide into his mouth and weaving your fingers into his hair. The kiss is every bit as electric, as passionate, and as needy as you’d hoped. The two of you remain lost in it, moaning and sighing, your bodies writhing against each other, seeking greater contact. 

It’s him who finally pulls back, his eyes hardly focusing as he runs his hands up and down your back. Finally, he pulls you close to him and buries his head in your chest, kissing every bit of flesh he can reach from your collarbone to your breast. When his mouth reaches your nipple, he locks his lips around it, licking, sucking, even nipping at the taut bud as his hands squeeze greedily at your back. 

He bites down sharply and you cry out at the pain, trying to twist away from him, but he’s more than strong enough to hold you in place. He swirls and flicks his tongue over the offended flesh, sighing and mewling as he does. The gentleness of his touches is enough to resolve any hesitation on your part, and you let your head fall back, moaning at the sensations he’s giving you. 

It’s a couple of minutes before you realize that your skin is wetter than it should be and you pull back, your first thought being that you’re bleeding from his bite. His head falls against your chest when you move and it’s then that you realize that he’s crying. Under normal circumstances, you’d ask him what was wrong, but this seems anything but normal, so you thread your fingers deeper in his dark hair and scratch gently at his scalp. 

“I just gave up on the only thing I’ve ever wanted,” he sobs, the tears coming harder. 

“Because they didn’t see the value in you.”

“I don’t know what the fuck is going to happen to me.”

His arms close tight around you and you can’t help pressing kisses all along the side of his head, down his neck as far as you can reach. 

“What if they’re right? What if I’m not as good as I think I am?”

You force yourself back so that you can look him straight in the eyes. 

“Stop it. You know that’s not true. You know you’re one of the greats because you came in here and fucking told me so yourself.” He looks at you with a forlorn expression. “Don’t let assholes make you think you’re worth less than you are.”

In one smooth movement, he stands up and sets you on your feet, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist so that the two of you are dancing like teenagers in high school. You pull him close and bury your head in the hollow of his shoulder, the way you always imagined yourself doing with your crushes back in the day. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he rasps. 

“You’re gonna be fine, baby,” you reassure him, completely unsure why you feel that way. “You’re gonna be great at whatever you do.”

“You mean it?” He pulls you tighter against him and buries his face in your shoulder. 

“Absolutely.”

“So are you gonna stay with me until I get on my feet again?”

You’re aware that it’s the alcohol talking, that he’s reached the stage where he’s willing to grab onto anything that looks like a stable point in a flood, and it hurts a little that you really mean what you’re about to say. 

“You’re damn right I will. I want to see just how far you can go.”

He smiles against your skin and pulls you even closer. The two of you sway back and forth to the music, languishing in the temporary security of each other’s bodies. 

[monttagues]

Hey I know you did this for someone else not to long ago,but I was wondering if you could write another Nalby smut. It would make me the happiest person in the world if you did!!!! Thanks

i just quickly want to add this is the first tmr fic i’ve writen in like. 4 or 5 years maybe. so there: have it. is there a fandom left to appreciate this? 

For their first date, Newt and Alby go out to get some drinks. Alby is so nervous he drops his jacket, his wallet (twice), and the glass of beer he was holding, spilling it all over Newt’s lap. Newt takes it all in stride, tells Alby it's fine and he shouldn’t worry so much. Then, with a wink, he adds their second date should take place somewhere safe. Maybe Alby’s place? Or Newt’s? He’s flexible.

Alby doesn’t take the bait. 

And that’s fine, really. Newt’s more than happy to take this thing at whatever speed Alby’s comfortable with. He’d been dropping hints for weeks when Alby suddenly realised Newt was serious about going out together. So what if they take things slow, take a couple of dates to get to know each other better. 

Their second date is the movie theater. Alby doesn’t drop things this time, but when Newt reaches over in the dark to hold his hand, he notices Alby’s hand are sweaty. 

“I’m sorry,” Alby mumbles. 

Newt just gives his hand another squeeze and holds it for the rest of the movie. Afterwards, he grabs it again on their walk home, and Alby smiles at him. 

The third date is dinner. Alby’s the one to reach out and lace his fingers with Newt’s this time. They split dessert. Alby occasionally feeds Newt a little bite of their chocolate brownie, making Newt smile, and when it’s all finished, Alby brings Newt’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles. It absolutely makes Newt blush, which surprises him. 

Date four is a picnic in the park. Alby feeds him strawberries this time. When Alby lies down, Newt decides to use his chest as a pillow. Alby plays with his hair and tells him about all the places he’d like to visit. The cities he wants to see, the countries he wants to discover. 

When the sun begins to set, they gather their things and walk home again, holding hands. Alby drops Newt off at his place, says goodbye, takes a second to lean in and lean back again. Then leans in again and presses a kiss to Newt’s lips. Just a quick one, lasting maybe a few seconds. They’re both smiling when Alby leaves. 

Hiking marks date five, and another movie is date six. More kisses happen. Alby cups Newt’s cheek now when they make out. Newt sits close to him, rests his hand on Alby’s shoulder when he gets the chance. They hold hands, a lot. 

For date seven, Alby invites Newt over. 

Weeks ago, Newt would have thought that’s a clear invitation. You go on a date, you kiss, you go back to the apartment, you have sex. Isn’t that how it goes?

Now, the thought doesn’t even cross his mind. He doens’t even consider it when he knocks on Alby’s door, happy to keep the slow pace they’ve set. Kissing Alby is amazing, being close to him is wonderful, getting to know him honestly is a gift, no matter how sappy that sounds. 

Alby has cooked dinner for them, and Newt eats is all with a healthy appetite. It’s delicious, Alby’s gorgeous, it’s a great date. 

So it’s a surprise when, long after they’ve finished eating, after they’ve moved to the couch, after they’ve been making out for a while, Alby suddenly asks him: “do you want to stay over?” 

It could be taken a couple of ways, but Alby’s bashful look, nervous fingers, and tentative smile say it all. 

Newt’s so surprised it takes him a second to react. “Oh. Um. Yes!” he says, but his hesitation makes Alby frown.

“We don’t... have to...” he starts. 

Newt interrupts him with a shake of his head. “No, no! That’s not it! I didn’t think you’d ask,” he says.

“Well... you did say you wanted to go back to my place.”

Newt smiles, gives Alby another kiss. “You’re right, I did. And I do.” 

They kiss again, they smile some more. Newt lets his hands wander, now he knows Alby wants. He moves to sit on Alby’s lap, feels Alby’s hands on his hips, then his ass, smiles into their kiss. 

“This is nice,” Alby whispers, words almost lost between their lips. 

Newt makes a sound of agreement and tilts his head to kiss Alby again. 

When Alby’s hand start to wander under Newt’s shirt, when Newt starts to grind down on Alby’s lap, when they’re both breathing hard into each other’s mouth; that’s when they decide they should move this from the couch to the bedroom. 

Alby leads the way, holding on to Newt’s hand. When the bedroom door closes behind them, Alby is first to take his own shirt off. Newt follows his lead. 

Alby takes of his pants, gets them tangled around his shoes, has to sit down on the edge of the bed to take them off properly. “Well. That’s awkward.” 

Newt laughs, a soft and fond sound. He kicks his shoes off first, and then drops his pants. His underwear is next. He climbs back onto Alby’s lap. “If you kiss me again, I might forget.”

Alby kisses him again, with newfound determination. 

It doens’t take long for them to get back in the mood. Newt lets his hands explore, touches Alby wherever he can reach, and Alby does the same to him. They kiss until they can’t breathe, until they’re pressing closer to each other, Newt clutching Alby’s shoulder. Alby’s hands have gotten lost in Newt’s hair, tangling his head just right to kiss him deeply. 

Newt can feel Alby’s hard, has been for a fair while now, and he rocks down as best as he can. 

There’s hardly any finesse, but it’s good, and it’s hot, and they’re close. Newt can feel it, can hear it in the way Alby’s gasping, in the soft moans that escape both of them every once in a while. 

He manages to reach down between them, wrap his fingers around Alby’s dick, and within a minute, it’s over for Alby. He moans Newt’s name, trying to thrust up into Newt’s hand, and it’s so hot that Newt uses his other hand to touch himself, too impatient to wait for Alby to come down. 

It doesn’t take much longer for him. He looks into Alby’s eyes and swears, spilling over his own hand, adding to the mess between them. 

Alby smiles, a slow and satisfied grin, and kisses him again. 

Newt can feel himself relaxing against Alby, equally is satisfied, and very pleased with himself. 

“Stay the night?” Alby asks him. 

Newt laughs. “I am never leaving again now.”