#i feel like it was honed but it comes across as natural

[turian]

tbh i have so many issues with the ways bg3 characters are perceived en masse but astarion gets first place in the "they forget he is an experimental fusion of lucille bluth and dennis reynolds" race. like. listen, i do love him. but he's not a charisma build, he's a cat that just fell into a river. if u ascend him u also ascend the clown aura. u have brought the clown aura into the light permanently. now the clown aura can fly and summon swarms of whatever the fuck ascended astarion can summon (clouds of locusts? more bats? idk, it's late) and like. talk to wolves or whatever.

[soulofapatrick]

Wingspan - Azriel x female reader

Summary: You decide Azriel's lap is where you'll sit which leads to something new

Warnings: Semi-smut; male orgasm

Words: 5K

Notes: I feel like im teasing you all with no real smut these last few ACOTAR stories hehe - you will get your smutty pt 2s I promise

Y/N's POV

As I step into the lounging area of the House of Wind, the warmth from the fire crackles softly in the background, but the room is full of quiet laughter and relaxed conversation. Every seat is taken.

Cassian is sprawled out on the couch nearest the hearth, his muscular frame looking far too large for the space, his arm slung lazily around Nesta. She’s sitting beside him, legs tucked beneath her, engrossed in a book but absently resting her hand on his thigh. Across from them, Feyre sits next to Rhysand, her head resting against his shoulder as they talk quietly, her soft laugh occasionally filling the room. Rhys lounges with that familiar ease, and the moment I step inside, his eyes meet mine. A brow quirks, and I know instantly that he’s about to summon another chair for me.

I shake my head, just the smallest movement, and his smirk widens knowingly.

Elain is seated next to Mor, both chatting lightly, and Amren is perched in an armchair with a drink in hand, glancing up from a book now and then, clearly uninterested in the chatter around her.

But my eyes find him. Azriel is sitting alone in a solitary armchair, slightly apart from the others, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. His shadows swirl faintly around his shoulders, and he holds a barely touched drink in his hand, eyes distant as if lost in thought.

Without a word, I make a beeline for him, my heart picking up speed as I approach. His hazel eyes lift when he senses me coming, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. His expression softens almost immediately, though, his gaze innocent, confused, as if he can’t quite believe I’m heading straight for him.

I don’t stop. I reach out, nudging his arm gently, and he instinctively shifts the glass from his lap, his breath catching in his throat as I slide smoothly onto it, settling into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment, he’s utterly still, his body tense beneath mine. The faintest hint of a blush creeps across his cheeks, and I can feel the way his breath hitches slightly, like he’s trying to keep his composure. His free hand hovers awkwardly for a second, unsure where to rest, before it finally settles on my waist with a cautious, almost reverent touch.

Azriel says nothing, but his lips part as if to speak. I glance up at him, catching the quiet storm of emotions swirling in those beautiful hazel eyes—surprise, uncertainty, but beneath it all, a soft warmth that he tries to hide behind his usual stoicism.

His shadows dance lightly around us, curling closer as if they, too, are reacting to the shift in our proximity. The room around us seems to fade, the others’ conversations becoming distant as we sit there, close, his breath steadying but his chest still rising a little too fast. He’s not used to this kind of attention—not from me.

I reach for the glass in his hand, gently prying it from his grasp. His fingers linger on the cool surface for a moment before he releases it, watching me closely. Without breaking eye contact, I raise the drink to my lips, taking a slow sip. The liquid is smooth, warming as it slides down my throat, but what really heats me is the way Azriel’s eyes darken, honing in on the way my tongue darts across my bottom lip to catch the last drop.

His gaze is searing, intense, as if he's committing the moment to memory, and for a heartbeat, it’s just the two of us in the room. Then, as if by some unseen force—probably Rhys or Amren—the glass vanishes from my hand. I barely have time to process its disappearance before Azriel moves.

It’s instinctual, primal—the way his scarred hands slide up my waist, firm and possessive, pulling me closer. Before I can react, his face buries in the crook of my neck, and I feel the warmth of his breath as he inhales deeply. He’s holding me like he needs to, like being close to me is the only thing keeping him grounded. I can feel the faint tremor in his arms, the way he tries to keep his composure even though he’s giving in to some deeper urge.

I relax against him, sinking into his embrace, my body shifting slightly in his lap as I try to get more comfortable. The movement causes his grip to tighten, and a low, guttural sound escapes him—a growl, quiet but unmistakable, rumbling from deep within his chest. The sound sends a shiver racing down my spine.

That’s when I feel it—him. Stirring beneath me, hardening as I shift, and it’s my turn for my breath to catch in my throat. The weight of him beneath me is undeniable now, and suddenly, every inch of space between us feels electric. I can’t breathe, can’t move, trapped in the tension that pulses between us, my heart hammering against my chest.

Azriel's breath hitches as I shift slightly in his lap again, the movement sending a jolt of awareness through both of us. His grip on my waist tightens, almost as if he’s afraid I might slip away. His face remains buried in the crook of my neck, and I can feel the warm brush of his lips against my skin, his breath coming in uneven, shallow pulls. His scent—night-chilled wind and cedar—wraps around me, intoxicating and overwhelming, and I can't help but lean into him, the tension between us crackling in the air.

For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of his breathing and the steady thrum of my own heartbeat, loud in my ears. His hands, calloused and scarred from years of battle, hold me like I’m something fragile, but there’s a rawness to the way his fingers press into my skin, as though he’s fighting the urge to pull me even closer.

I shift again, just slightly, and this time, a soft moan escapes his lips, barely audible but filled with a need that sends heat pooling low in my belly. My own breath catches in my throat, a shiver coursing through me as I feel the hard length of him press more insistently against me. My heart races, and I know that he feels it too—the pounding rhythm of it against his chest, the rising heat between us.

Azriel finally lifts his head, and when his eyes meet mine, they’re darker than I’ve ever seen them, his usual calm shattered by the hunger simmering just beneath the surface. His gaze flickers to my lips for a brief second, and I see the way his jaw clenches, like he’s holding back from doing something he desperately wants to do.

I feel his grip loosen slightly, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of my shirt in small, absent circles, but his eyes never leave mine. The tension between us hums in the air, almost unbearable now, as if the world around us has disappeared, leaving only this moment. My body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve on high alert from his touch, his closeness.

I open my mouth, trying to find something to say, but before I can, his scarred hand moves, sliding from my waist to the back of my neck. His fingers tangle in my hair, gentle but possessive, as he tilts my head just slightly, his face so close to mine that I can feel the heat of his breath ghosting over my lips.

"Are you... okay?" His voice is low, hoarse, like he’s barely able to get the words out, his control hanging by a thread. There’s a vulnerability in his question, as if he’s afraid of what my answer might be.

I nod, swallowing hard, my body trembling against him. "Yes," I whisper, my voice breathy and uneven, and his grip on my neck tightens, just slightly.

The corners of his lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. More like he’s relieved, as if that simple word unlocked something within him. His gaze drops to my lips again, and this time, there’s no mistaking the hunger in his eyes.

Before I can even process it, his mouth is on mine—slow at first, tentative, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to have this. But then I kiss him back, and something inside him snaps. His hand tightens in my hair, pulling me closer, and his other arm wraps fully around my waist, holding me against him as his lips move hungrily against mine.

His kiss is fierce, consuming, like he’s been starving for this moment and can’t get enough. I melt into him, my hands finding the front of his shirt, clutching at the fabric as if it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. Every brush of his lips, every stroke of his tongue sends sparks of heat racing through me, and I can’t think—can’t focus on anything except the feel of him, the way he tastes, the way his body responds to every movement I make.

When we finally break apart, both of us are breathless, our foreheads resting together. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his eyes still dark with need, but there’s a softness there now, too, something tender that makes my heart ache.

His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks. "I've wanted this... for so long." His confession hangs in the air between us, raw and unguarded, and I can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear that maybe I don’t feel the same.

But I do. Gods, I do.

I press my lips to his again, softer this time, letting him know without words that I want this too—that I want him. His body relaxes beneath me, the tension melting from his shoulders as he kisses me back, slower now, more controlled, savouring the moment as if we have all the time in the world.

And in this moment, in Azriel’s arms, it feels like we do.

Our breaths mingle, warm and shallow, as we slowly pull away from the kiss. The world seems to stand still around us, every sound muffled by the rush of blood in my ears, by the feel of his hands still gripping me, like I’m the only thing keeping him anchored. I finally glance around the room, blinking as if waking from a dream, and that’s when I realise we’re alone.

The others—Cassian, Nesta, Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Amren, and Elain—they’re gone. At some point, they must have quietly slipped away, leaving us here in the lounging area, tangled together on the chair like some kind of forgotten secret. My face flushes with sudden awareness, the intimacy of the moment crashing over me now that we’re truly, utterly alone.

Azriel must sense it—the sudden flush creeping up my neck, the way my body stiffens just slightly. His eyes narrow, a flicker of concern passing through them, but before I can even speak, the world around me shifts.

It happens so fast—one moment I’m sitting on his lap, surrounded by the warmth of the fire, and the next I’m engulfed in darkness. Not just darkness, though—his shadows. They wrap around me, soft, velvety, and thick, their weight comforting and familiar as they pull me under. I barely have time to register the sensation of falling before I land, gently, on something soft beneath me.

I blink up, my breath catching as I realise I’m on my back, lying on the plush surface of a bed. The shadows swirl around me before retreating, leaving nothing but the low glow of candlelight to illuminate the room. My heart pounds in my chest as I take in my surroundings—the large bed beneath me, the soft sheets crumpled around my legs, the faint scent of night-blooming flowers hanging in the air. And then, I see him.

Azriel is hovering above me, his body blocking out most of the dim light, his wings half unfurled like a dark halo around him. His hands are braced on either side of my head, caging me in, and his face is only inches from mine. The shadows still dance around his shoulders, swirling lazily, but his gaze… his gaze is locked on me, and it’s intense, burning with something that makes my breath catch all over again.

He’s staring at me like I’m something precious, something he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to have. His lips part as if to speak, but he hesitates, his eyes flicking over my face as if he’s memorising every detail. His presence is overwhelming—warm and solid and intoxicating, and I can’t help the way my body reacts to him, my skin buzzing with the nearness of him.

Azriel’s wings flutter slightly as he hovers above me, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts, eyes locked onto mine with a fire that seems barely contained. The room around us is dim, the only light spilling in from the moon outside the windows, casting long, gentle shadows that seem to dance across his features. His wings frame him, dark and powerful, the membranous folds trembling with barely concealed tension.

I feel it too, the overwhelming tension that hangs between us—thick, electric, like a storm about to break. My pulse races, the heat between us coiling tight in my chest, and I can’t help but take in the sight of him. His muscles are taut beneath his shirt, his shoulders broad and wings extended just enough that I can see them twitching, the sensitivity of that velvety skin so evident even from where I lay beneath him.

His eyes are locked on me, dark and molten, and the connection between us, the bond we share, hums with the weight of his desire, of his need. I feel his emotions as if they’re my own—raw, unfiltered hunger. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing there’s no way back, and part of me is already tumbling over it.

The bond pulses with an intoxicating mixture of want and restraint. I sense his struggle to hold back, to keep himself in check, even though the thread of control is so thin it feels like it could snap at any moment. His shadows swirl restlessly around us, as if they, too, are caught up in this moment, drawn to the fire igniting between us.

“Azriel…” I whisper, my voice barely audible in the quiet of the room, but the sound seems to break whatever thread of control he was holding onto.

His gaze softens, and without a word, his head dips, his lips brushing against my throat, feather-light but sending sparks racing through my veins. His breath is warm against my skin as he inhales deeply, as if he’s savouring the moment, the feel of me beneath him.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” His voice is a low, gravelly whisper against my neck, filled with equal parts wonder and restraint. His hands, those scarred, powerful hands, slip down to my waist again, pulling me closer to him as he presses his body flush against mine, his weight grounding me.

I shiver beneath him, the flush on my face deepening as I feel him everywhere—his solid chest pressed against mine, his hips brushing against my legs, his scent surrounding me, wrapping me in warmth and desire. My pulse races, and I know he can feel it, can hear it with those sharp senses of his.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words die in my throat as he lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine again, dark and full of that smouldering intensity that makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world. His thumb brushes against my hip, a simple touch, but it sends a wave of heat coursing through me.

Azriel's lips curl into the faintest of smiles, and then, as if unable to hold back any longer, he leans down, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that’s slower this time, more deliberate. It’s not rushed or desperate like before, but deep, exploring, savouring. His mouth moves against mine, teasing, tasting, and I can’t help but arch into him, the heat between us growing more intense with every passing second.

The soft sheets crumple beneath me as I reach up, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as I kiss him back with everything I have. He responds with a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips, and it sends another shiver down my spine.

His body shifts above me, his weight pressing me deeper into the mattress, and I feel the hardness of him, unmistakable now, as he presses against me. My breath hitches, and I can’t stop the way my hips move, instinctively arching up toward him, seeking more of that delicious contact.

Azriel breaks the kiss with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes hooded and dark as he pulls back just enough to look at me. His expression is raw, full of want and need, but there’s something else there, too—something vulnerable, as if he’s asking for permission.

"Tell me to stop if you want me to," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper, but I can hear the restraint, the effort it takes for him to hold back.

I meet his gaze, my heart pounding, and slowly, deliberately, I shake my head. “Don’t stop.”

That’s all it takes.

The moment the words leave my lips, Azriel’s entire demeanour shifts. The restraint he’s been holding onto starts to unravel, his gaze darkening to a molten amber that sends a shiver through me. His hands tighten on my waist as though he’s been waiting for this—waiting for permission to lose control.

And then, his mouth crashes back onto mine, but this time the kiss is deeper, hungrier, as if he’s been starved for this. His tongue teases mine, coaxing and tasting, and my body responds with an intensity that surprises even me. I can’t help but arch into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as I pull him closer, needing more of him, more of his touch.

Azriel groans softly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against me. His hand slides down to my thigh, his strong fingers digging into the soft skin as he hitches my leg over his hip. The movement presses our bodies together in a way that has me gasping, feeling every inch of him against me.

And gods, he feels good. So good it’s almost overwhelming.

He drags his lips from mine, trailing hot kisses down my jaw and to my neck. Each one is deliberate, like he’s savouring the taste of me, and I tilt my head, giving him more access. He doesn’t hesitate. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of my throat, and I gasp, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure racing through my veins. His wings shift slightly behind him, a subtle twitch as if even they are responding to the growing tension.

I slide my hands down his back, feeling the hard muscles beneath the fabric, and then lower, fingers brushing the edge of his wings. His reaction is immediate. A low, guttural sound rumbles from his chest, and his wings flare, just slightly, the movement causing him to press more firmly against me.

I do it again, trailing my fingers along the sensitive membrane, and Azriel gasps this time, his breath hitching. His wings are trembling under my touch, the connection between us growing more electric.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, strained. "They’re... sensitive."

I smirk, teasing him again with the softest brush of my fingertips along the arch of his wing, watching as his reaction mirrors the way he would if I touched him elsewhere—his body tensing, his grip tightening on my waist, his breath catching in his throat.

“Sensitive?” I murmur back, voice low, playful. “Good to know.”

Before I can do it again, Azriel’s patience seems to snap. In one swift motion, he pulls back, grabbing the hem of my shirt and yanking it over my head, discarding it without a second thought. His eyes rake over me, dark and full of hunger, and he lets out another growl, the sound making my pulse race.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, barely loud enough to hear. But I do, and it sends a flush of heat through me. 

Without hesitation, his hands return to my body, but this time, he doesn’t stop. His mouth follows the path of his fingers, trailing hot kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, and lower still. His lips and hands explore every inch of me as if memorising me, worshiping me.

And all the while, his wings—those magnificent, powerful wings—shudder in time with his touch, as if they are just as desperate for contact, just as in need of attention.

My breath hitches as I lift a hand, letting my fingers gently trail over the scars that line his forearms, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin. His breath falters, and I can sense him tip just a little closer to losing himself, feel the wild, unconfined need rippling through the bond.

Without breaking eye contact, I let my hand drift higher, toward his wings.

His reaction is immediate. The moment my fingertips graze the soft, sensitive skin of his wing, a shudder runs through him. His wings flare slightly, trembling as though he’s fighting not to let them fully expand. I can feel his breath catch, the bond between us flaring with the intensity of his pleasure, the sensation so strong it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.

I don’t stop, letting my fingers trail along the edge of his wing, marvelling at how the slightest touch sends shockwaves through his body. His wings twitch, and his control slips just a little further. His whole body is trembling now, the tension in him barely held together, and the bond surges with the primal, visceral pleasure he’s feeling.

"You’re playing with fire," he growls, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a glint of amusement, a challenge hidden behind the heat.

Before I can respond, he’s kissing me again, harder this time, more possessive. His hands slide lower, fingers digging into my hips as he presses his body more firmly against mine, and I can feel every inch of him, hard and ready, against me.

The intensity between us builds, a slow, burning heat that’s all-consuming, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes me, my body arching into his touch. A soft groan escapes him, low and guttural, as his hands grip my waist, holding me as if I’m the only thing anchoring him to reality. But when I press a little harder, tracing the ridges of his wing, something in him snaps.

He buries his face in the crook of my neck with a desperate, almost feral groan, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. I feel the sharp bite of his teeth grazing my neck, almost too hard, but the pain mingles with pleasure so intense it sends a shiver down my spine. His hands tighten around me, pulling me impossibly closer as his wings tremble violently beneath my touch.

Before I realise it, Azriel’s entire body convulses with the force of it, a full-body shudder that ripples through him as he comes undone, his breath heavy and laboured, his wings quivering beneath my hands as the overwhelming pleasure tips him over the edge. His face remains buried in my neck, his lips pressed hard against my skin, and I can feel the pulse of his heartbeat racing, hear the low, guttural groan that escapes him as his body tenses and then releases in wave after wave of pleasure. His hips jerk into mine and I can feel the way embarrassment tinges the thread of our bond to I just kiss the side of his forehead as he rides out his orgasm. 

The bond between us flares white-hot, filled with the intensity of his release, and I can’t help but gasp, feeling every shudder, every tremor as if it’s my own. His wings continue to tremble beneath my touch, and I keep my fingers there, gently stroking the sensitive skin, letting him ride out the final waves of pleasure until his body slowly begins to relax.

Azriel’s breath is still hot against my neck, his body pressed so intimately against mine that I can feel every lingering tremor that still rocks through him. For a moment, neither of us moves, suspended in the quiet aftermath, with only the sound of his heavy breathing and the rapid beat of our hearts filling the room. But then, I feel it—the unmistakable tension of his body growing rigid again, the slow but deliberate shift of his hips against mine as the evidence of his renewed desire presses hard against my thigh.

Slowly, Azriel raises his head from where he’d buried it in my neck, his breathless groans now replaced with quiet, almost desperate pants. His hazel eyes lock onto mine, and they’re no longer merely molten—they’re molten chocolate, deep and swirling with so much raw need that it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. His gaze is intense, but beneath the fire burning there, I see something else—something that makes my heart stutter in my chest.

He’s pleading.

“I need you,” he whispers, voice rough and low, his hands shaking as they grip my waist just a little tighter. His forehead rests against mine, eyes heavy-lidded but full of a barely contained hunger. His lips part as if he’s about to speak again, but it’s as though the words are too difficult to form. Instead, they tumble out, strained and needy, “Please…”

There’s no mistaking the fervent desire coursing through him. His body, his wings, even the bond between us pulses with it. He’s already hard, ready, and I can feel it—the urgency in every inch of him as his hips press forward, seeking any relief. But despite the wild hunger coursing through him, despite how his entire body shakes with need, he still waits. He still pauses. His fingers twitch slightly at my sides as if every fibre of his being is fighting for control, waiting for permission.

The gentleman in him, even in this frenzy, is waiting for me to say yes.

One word, a singular thought, chants in my head over and over again, echoing through the bond, through every breath I take as I look up at him. It’s a need that matches his, an all-consuming fire that burns hotter with every second that ticks by.

Mate.

I reach for his shirt without thinking, my hands trembling with the same need that’s consuming him. My fingers curl into the fabric, and I don’t even hesitate. I rip it in two with a force I didn’t know I had, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room as the shirt falls away from his body in tatters.

Azriel lets out a low, rough groan as the shirt is discarded, his wings flaring slightly, and his eyes darken even further—if that’s possible. His skin is flushed, the muscles of his chest and arms rippling under the soft moonlight, and I can’t help but run my hands across the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the way his breath stutters beneath my touch.

But we’re not done.

Azriel’s hands move down to his trousers, and with one smooth motion, he’s shucking them off, kicking them aside with an urgency that leaves my heart racing even faster. The sight of him, naked and unashamed, standing over me with every inch of him ready and willing, sends a fresh wave of desire crashing through me.

My own body burns, flushed with heat as I feel the bond between us pulsing with an overwhelming surge of need. He moves with precision, fingers deft but trembling as he does the same to me, discarding every layer between us until there’s nothing left, until I’m as bare to him as he is to me.

His eyes never leave mine, and there’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at me now, like he’s seeing me for the first time, or maybe like I’m the only thing that exists in this moment. His hands are gentle as they skim over my skin, but there’s a trembling edge to his touch, a tension that speaks of the frenzied desire threatening to overtake him.

And through the bond, I feel it too—the storm brewing inside both of us, the need to come together, to consummate what’s been simmering between us for so long.

Azriel’s wings twitch, his breathing erratic as he hovers above me, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. He lowers himself, his body pressing against mine, skin to skin, and I feel the weight of him, the heat of him. His breath ghosts over my lips, and his voice, husky and raw, whispers again, “Tell me… tell me what you want.”

I feel his body trembling, barely held together by the thread of control that’s slipping fast. His hands are on either side of me, but it’s his wings that twitch, sensitive and exposed, sending a shudder through him every time they brush against the sheets. His eyes plead with me, and I know that this moment is the tipping point. All I have to do is speak the word, give him the permission he’s so desperately seeking.

And the bond between us pulses, thundering in my chest, as that singular word echoes louder and louder in my mind.

Now.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[lushrve]

hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader

cause who doesn't want the image of these boys all sweaty and bloody in hockey gear (also i haven't mastered writing in a scottish or manchester accent yet so don't come for me)

you’re a figure skater, something you’ve devoted your whole life since childhood to. over the years, you’ve honed your craft, becoming one of the best in your area. you do well enough at competitions; not olympic material, but skilled enough to bring home a state title every now and again. you take pride in the way your body glides across the ice, painting pretty pictures with each scrape of the blade of your skate. it’s methodical, structured, clean. if you close your eyes, you can almost pretend you’re dancing on clouds.

it’s a small town and there’s only one ice rink for miles, so of course you run into the local hockey team practicing and warming up for matches. you don’t know most of them (don’t care to, frankly), but some are more notorious than others.

the team captain and center, price, the tactical mind behind their victories. from the few games you’ve watched them play, you can tell that he calls the shots. you watch as he sits on the bench, watching his teammates rush back and forth across the ice. it’s like he sees beyond the game. sometimes, you see him close his eyes, like he’s seeing a play take shape in his head, before calling out to the others and making it happen. they always listen, his booming baritone too compelling to disregard. (that voice made you feel something too, but you didn’t want to admit it.)

then there was a defenseman, simon. you just knew him as “riley” by the last name emblazoned on the back of his jersey. but if you listened closely (and you did), his teammates called him ghost. it didn’t take you very long to find out why. ghost was a large man, all broad shoulders and hard lines. he preferred the silent approach to taking down an opponent, slamming them against the boards before they could even register the sound of his skates scraping the ice. he played dirty, your eyes often meeting his when the referee threw him in the penalty box. (he winked at you once as he cleaned some blood from his lip, fresh from a fight. you pretended not to notice.)

left wing belonged to johnny, a scottish man they called soap. he got his nickname from his assist record, always coming in to clean up what price or ghost or another teammate had fumbled to lead his team to victory. he was quick on his feet, but brutal. while ghost was the primary muscle, soap wasn’t afraid to get physical if someone was coming between him and a goal. soap was also mouthy, chirping in his thick accent across the ice to get in the other team’s head. half the things he said, you don’t understand. hell, the other team probably didn’t either. but the tone was what mattered. (he leaned over the plexiglass after a solid win, personally inviting you back to their next home game. you blushed crimson.)

right wing was kyle. by far the prettiest one on the team, you thought. he’d take his helmet off as he skated back to the bench, running a hand through his sweat-soaked curls. the sight of him was like a work of art, a canvas brutalized by the nature of an aggressive team sport. he wasn’t as quick to get physical as the others were, but the moment everyone dogpiled on the ice, he was right there in the fray, throwing punches that landed just as loud and hard as the rest of them. the way he moved on the ice almost reminds you of your routines, careful and choreographed. he knew exactly where he was going, and he always hit his marks. (you wondered if he always moved like that, wondered if he danced through life.)

ghost and soap approached you after a win, coming up into the stands after they’d stripped themselves of their gear. while soap looked a bit smaller after shedding the heavy padding, ghost didn’t. still a hulking wall of muscle. “oughta sit in the stands mo’ often, birdie,” soap chirped, a smug smile on his face as he leaned on his hockey stick. “y’r like a good luck charm fer us.” you blushed pretty, averting your eyes and missing the way the two men looked at each other. you’d do just nicely, they thought. ghost cleared his throat, your eyes snapping up to him like he’d commanded it. (he could’ve. you would’ve obeyed.) “when d’you skate again?” he asked, arms crossed over his expansive chest.

“y’ve seen us in our element. now we wanna see you in y’rs.”

[incendiobrock]

The Driskill Hotel {Chris Sturniolo}

Summary: fem!reader x bf!Chris go to Austin, Texas with Matt and Nick to film a video for Sam and Colby's channel at the Driskill Hotel. The reader is very sensitive to the supernatural and gets convinced to do the elevator ritual alone... What could possibly go wrong? ;)

Warnings: anxiety/panic attacks, ghostly encounters, fear of elevators, language, FLUFFFFF

A/N: I know this video is from awhile ago but I've had this idea and couldn't stop thinking about it. I started my page with imagines like this for Colby x reader and so I wanted to throw it back to my roots and make a Chris x reader (because I'm a die hard Chris girl)

Part 2??

You had been a fan of Sam and Colby for years, enjoying their content and being fascinated with their supernatural findings. There was always a part of you that was convinced you had a special connection with the supernatural, feeling extremely vulnerable and tethered to their world. Maybe it was due to your empathic nature, or maybe you were a undiscovered medium that hadn’t tapped into your powers.

You never tapped into your "abilities" because you were scared of what could possibly come from speaking to the dead. But when Nick, Matt, and Chris (and yourself) got asked to join in for an XPLR video on Sam and Colby's channel, you all knew that you couldn't pass it down. This is what led you all to Austin, Texas where the historic, haunted, Driskill Hotel was located.

The night had started somewhat normal, you all walked through the hotel with a tour guide where she explained the history of the building as well as the ghost inhabitants. Throughout the tour you would catch glimpses of shadow figures on the wall, hearing inaudible voices, and being extra sensitive to smells like cigar smoke and roses. The fear was definitely building inside of you when you observed that none of the rest of the group seemed to be experiencing the same things you were. You did your best to hold it together, knowing the triplets were excited to be included in the video, and not wanting to ruin your own experience of an inner fangirl being on an XPLR trip.

As the tour wrapped up and the night went on, Sam and Colby began to lead the investigation portion of their video. You stayed glued to Chris' side, feeling comfort in his presence, even with everything going on around you. Chris held an EMF reader in his left hand as his right hand was busy interlocking your fingers, running his thumb over your knuckles soothingly. He couldn't tell if you were nervous or if you were just trying to hone in on filming the video since you were all a guest to Sam and Colby's channel.

You and Chris stayed slightly behind the group as you made your way over to the elevators on the main lobby for the next part of the video, the elevator ritual. The elevators had already been acting up earlier in the night, not wanting to take you guys up to the floor you had requested. Elevators weren't necessarily your favorite inventions, a slight irrational fear of being stuck in one or one falling with you inside.

"Matt, the ghosts seem to really like you. Maybe you should be the one to do the ritual." You heard Sam say, observing how the EMF in Matt's hand continued to light up to red as they crossed through the grand lobby. As you passed by the receptionist desk you saw the figure of a tall man dart across the wall, making you subconsciously squeeze Chris' hand out of fright. "What's up baby? You okay?" Chris asked softly, pausing in his tracks to check up on you.

"Did you see that?" You asked him back, hoping that maybe you weren't going as crazy as you thought you were. Chris furrowed his eyebrows, glancing around the rotunda, trying to see whatever it was you were talking about. "See what?"

You let out a shaky breath, your palms becoming clammy as all the supernatural sensitivity was beginning to catch up to you. The hand that was holding onto Chris' disconnected as you rubbed the sweat on your pants, "I keep seeing shadows on the walls..." Chris frowns at your reply, wrapping his arms over your shoulders and pulling you into a hug. His lips pressed a firm kiss on your forehead, "I won't let anything hurt you, I promise."

"Chris! Y/n! You guys coming?" Colby asked, staring at you two from down the hall where they had stopped in front of the elevators. "Yeah we're coming, sorry!" Chris responded, gently pulling away from the hug and instantly wrapping his hand back in yours. As you stood in front of the elevator doors Sam explained to the camera, and to all of you, what the elevator ritual would consist of.

"y/n, will you do the honors?" Sam questioned, pulling your out of your trance and causing your jaw to drop open. "Huh? What?" You stuttered, not registering what he had elected you to do for this ritual.

"Do you want to do the ritual?" He rephrased, looking at you with big, hopeful eyes. Your body tensed at the thought, not only did elevators terrify you, but you had already been experiencing paranormal things the whole night. "You don't have to if you don't want." Chris said, breaking the short silence that filled the room, knowing you were already on edge and trying to stand up for you in case you were wary about doing it. "Uh, yeah, I think I could do it... I would just need to write down the order of the floors." You said, uncertainty filling your voice.

"Awesome! I'll text it to you." Sam said, beginning to type up a message to send to your phone. A lump began to form in your throat as you awaited the notification being sent to you. Chris gently rubbed your lower back, doing his best to calm your anxiety without bringing too much attention to your state, understanding that you didn't like when others were aware of your intimate emotions. Your phone vibrated in your hand, looking down to see the message;

12:00AM

Sam: 4, 2, 6, 2, 10, 5, 1

"Okay it's exactly midnight, you have to start now." Colby said, pressing the up button and watching the elevator door open. You took the camera from him, not saying a word as you faced the elevator. You swallowed the lump in your throat, knowing there was no way you could back out of this now. Stepping into the elevator you instantly felt chills run up your spine.

"Now remember, when you get to the fifth floor a lady might join you. If she does then when you try to come back down to the lobby the elevator will actually go up to the tenth floor, that's how we will know it worked. If it comes back down to one then the lady didn't enter and the ritual failed." Sam said, reminding you and the audience how things were supposed to go.

Shakily, your finger made its way up to press the number four, officially beginning the ritual. The door slowly shut in front of you, keeping eye contact with Chris until you couldn't anymore. The elevator rose and the door opened, nobody was there. Floor two, nothing.

Sixth floor.

Second floor, again.

Tenth floor.

Then finally, the fifth floor. Your breath caught in your throat as the elevator door opened unusually slow, revealing an empty hallway. 'This is just a game', 'It's not real', you tried reminding yourself as your heart beat uncontrollably inside your chest. You waited for a couple seconds before pressing the button for the first floor, praying that this stupid ritual hadn't actually worked. The doors shut and the elevator began to descend back to the first floor, allowing you to let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "I guess the ritual failed guys," You lightly giggled talking into the camera, feeling relief wash over your whole body.

"Woah!" You yelped, almost dropping the camera as the elevator slightly dropped, the lights inside flickering. The screen above the door signaling that you were on the third floor. Before you knew it the elevator came to a halt, stopping dead in its tracks on the third floor.

"What? Oh no, no, no, no, no..." You whispered, panic rising inside of you as you dropped the camera to the floor and made your way to the control panel. You smashed the button for the first floor over and over again, hoping the elevator would start to move again. Nothing was happening however, the buttons not even lighting up when you pressed them. You began to reach into your back pocket for your phone, pulling it out to call Chris.

The dial tone played as you dropped to the floor in a seated position, legs shaking beneath you. After three rings Chris' voice filled your left ear, "Hey babe, why did you stop on the third floor? We were waiting for you to come back down-" He said quickly before you cut him off.

"Chris! The elevator is stuck! I don't know what to do, I'm freaking the fuck out!" Your breath became labored as you heaved in and out, feeling like no matter how much air you inhaled it wasn't reaching your lungs correctly. "Woah, woah. Okay, calm down please! Just breath alright? Listen to my breathing!" Chris instructed, knowing you were on the verge of a panic attack.

He let out slow, steady breaths of air while your vision began to blur with tears. Your head started to heat up and your ears began to ring, "I-I can't Chris... I can't breathe!" You huffed, clenching your hand over your aching heart.

"The elevators stuck, somebody go try and find someone to help!" You faintly heard Chris yell to the other boys, holding the phone away from his ear so it wasn't directed to you. "Yes you can, I believe in you babe. Nick is going to get some help, okay? Just hang in there." He continued to comfort you through the phone, coaching your breath back to normal as Nick found an employee. After five minutes, which felt like an eternity to you, the elevator doors where being pried open. The elevator had stopped just barely off center to the second floor, making the door inoperable on your side.

When the doors were finally opened you couldn't help but let the tears you had been containing fall, all the overwhelming fear catching up to your eyes. The employee held out a hand for you as you jumped the three foot distance onto the second floor lobby, landing slightly unsteady as the tears blurred your vision. Chris rushed over to you, faster than you had ever seen him move before, pulling you deep into his embrace.

"There, there, I got you. I got you, don't worry." He said, running his big hand through your hair. Your arms wrapped tightly around his torso, scared that he might disappear if you didn't hold him close. Tears stained his jacket sleeve as you buried your head into his shoulder. You both stayed like that for awhile, the others watching as you crumbled into Chris' arms.

Once you had finally cooled down, you all sat on some couches that were in the main lobby. You drank some water that Nick had brought for you as you stayed by Chris' side, his arm wrapped over your shoulders. "Y/n, I am so so sorry that the elevator got stuck. I had no idea that was going to happen and I feel horrible. I didn't realize you were scared of elevators." Sam apologized to you, feeling guilty that he had put you in this position in the first place.

"Sam, it's not your fault! How would you have known the elevator was going to get stuck?" You said sincerely, appreciating his apology even though he had nothing to do with the unfortunate situation.

"If you guys need to call it a night and go back to your hotel, we completely understand." Colby said, offering to end the night where it was instead of finishing out the investigation. "No, it's okay. I'm good now, really. There's no need to scrap the rest of the video just because of me." You reassured, wanting the boys to finish the video they had put so much effort into already.

"Are you sure?" Chris asked you.

"Yes, I'm sure. Now who's ready for the Estes Method?"

[scorpioriesling]

TikTok Thirst Traps

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Featuring: Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Lucien, Eris, & Tamlin

Warning(s): none

Summary: Nothing much, just the ACOTAR males as TikTok stereotypes / thirst traps.

SR’s Note: Guys I’m soooo sorry I swear I’m working on Invisible String and THTH — I have so much personal life stuff going on too and it’s been hard finding time to write! Anyways, here’s a little sum sum in the meantime for you all. <3

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Rhysand

major businessman / entrepreneur vibes for rhys’ thirst traps

a man in a suit is just… *chef’s kiss*

he has money and he knows it and does not care to show it on social media

his page is definitely a dark colored theme, most of his attire is black, and he comes across super professional

however

he knows what the ladies like

occasionally his car will make an appearance, or what he would deem “risqué” (ahem, the middle inspiration photo)

doesn’t care too much about comments… he actually finds that the women who frequently spam his page are a bit annoying more than anything

regardless, he would never say anything rude to anyone

keeps his pages mostly professional to avoid conflict in the workplace; but lets be honest, everyone in his office is down bad for this man, he’s not getting in any kind of trouble

genuinely couldn’t find just one that was a perfect fit for rhys, but his page comes very close if it were a bit darker themed and more luxurious / CEO-ish? is that a word? more suit content? you get the gist

Cassian

i almost feel like it’s a given that his tik tok thirst traps would be the “gym bro” / hot guy workout videos

a lot of these are simply him working out, not necessarily trying to get girls attention or anything but simply provide content for his fitness account

to take this a step further— when the girlies start commenting on his posts with emojis and such, he gets a little flustered. he wasn’t expecting this… he just lifts, that’s all

but, he can’t complain

his page is chaotic; videos of him lifting, flexing, what he eats to stay in shape, and even some videos of self reflection

it’s the comments like, “let me come to the gym with you!” or “you could lift me instead” etc that he turns into videos of how to get into working out / body building… not realizing the girlies just like to look at him. lol

he would respond to just about every comment with something kind or positive, even if it was sexual / silly in nature he’d find a way to make light of it

best example i could find would be this man

Azriel

i think we already know modern!az is a biker boy. there. i rest my case. that’s all.

i’m kidding

he thrives off the attention from booktok ladies; he doesn’t respond much, but he secretly reads every comment / mention / dm and takes every suggestion seriously when considering new content to create

yes, he films a few with a scream mask on

again, i rest my case

of course he has a darker themed page, lots of slow bass music on his videos and many videos of him riding at night

he’s always in a tight tee to show off his body that he’s spend years honing — and yes, he knows the girls love his arms too

not too much humor online from this guy. no full face reveal either.

however, when he reveals his smile for the first time…

let’s say his followers just about loose their minds

there’s so many tik tok pages like this yall already know what im talking about… here’s an example in case you don’t

Lucien

at first, he didn’t follow trends or do any kind of thirst traps of any kind. he thought those were kind of dumb and mainly used the app to send funny videos to his friends

however

lucien is creative, and his outlet here is music

apparently being a sassy redhead wasn’t enough, so he started filming himself playing his guitar

shirtless… of course.

the jump in followers may have prompted him to continue filming such content… or maybe the types of comments he was getting to boost that ego of his HAHA

anyways, his vibe is more acoustic / beachy / peaceful and light, very beach boy vibes with him but he will dabble in the electric guitar all the same once he gets used to playing it

per mentioned previously, he used to not make many videos, but now that he does, he finds himself being very real on this app and a lot of times recording small snippets of his own songs and talking into the camera

he enjoys the comments that show he is clearly capable of snagging the attention of the ladies; however, he responds to a lot of the ones that pertain to his talent and are interested in more than just his pretty face <3

i like this example best, with a lighter / more beachy and acoustic aesthetic … this may be more accurate

Eris

i’m really hoping you guys understand what i’m going for with this one… eris cooks.

like, very handsome, very demure, very good looking, cooking alone, but also… he knows what he’s doing and likes to play with his food, so to speak.

walk with me here.

he knows that a man with expensive taste already gets the ladies going. but a man with expensive taste AND in the kitchen? sir-

he will show every skill he has. baking, cooking, mixology…

and of course, some implied skills as well

he reads his comments — especially the ones where the girlypops are horny on main. he doesn’t give af; he loves that shit. in fact, keep it coming

sensual music, low lighting, expensive clothes… he’s a man that gets it. he could get it. and he knows that.

i think his videos would be a combo of this page and this page if you can use your imagination

Tamlin

tamlin is a hot ass, gentlemanly, mothafuckin cowboy and i will die on that hill — don’t play with me

while some videos are very pg, very church-boy, very homegrown… there are also the shirtless, sweaty, pickup-truck ones

don’t lie. you know exactly what i’m talking about.

he is a built dude. he works all day in the sun, he’s very caring for his land and the animals that live on it, and when he realized the attention he got from filming himself doing simple things around the ranch…

boy oh boy.

it started with simple things — throwing hay bales, riding horseback, etc…

but then he read his comments. people wanted more. the pretty ladies on the tik tok wanted more.

so he yanked off his shirt and jumped on the trends.

did he particularly like it? no. he didn’t like filming himself walking around his oversized pickup in just his jeans and boots, the sun kissing his skin over the rim of his hat…

but what he did enjoy was the cuties in his DMs and all their sweet messages for him.

he was a countryman at heart, so naturally his page was filled with images of the great outdoors and him in it — though many of his comments went unanswered. he was a bit shy, as social media wasn’t something he liked to use regularly

nonetheless, he did enjoy reading positive feedback after a long hard day of work

his feed would look a lil like this or THIS

ﾟ:* ✧

[junowritings]

Can I request headcanons for Haarlep, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor with gn crush who can't genuinely can't tell if someone is being platonic or romantic to them?

Anon dear nothing but kisses thank you for the amazing request and requesting my fav Tiefs~

I'd wanted to leave the scenarios between each vague when I began this; I swear this started off small but it's now like 2am and ten pages long but here we are!

Also I've only just finished Act 2 so I may not have been too accurate with Haarlep and the others' act 3 moments but I do hope you enjoy~

=======

Haarlep 

♡ You’ve certainly put yourself in it this time. Managing to earn the affections of an incubus like Haarlep? You’ve either done something very right, or so very very amusing.

♡ At the House of hope the lines between affection and lust have all but blurred for Haarlep long before you showed up snooping around in places you weren’t supposed to be. You aren’t the first one to be lured in and, if the place’s owner had its way, you most certainly wouldn’t be the last; but that doesn’t mean you can’t provide some worthwhile entertainment for the incubus you stumble across in Raphael’s quarters.

♡ The second you’d poked your head into the boudoir to snoop you’d caught Haarlep’s attention, if only for the fact that you most certainly shouldn’t have been poking around so brazenly. They’ve heard your name plenty of times; heard how you’ve toed the fine line of keeping Rapael on his toes at every turn without making an enemy of him - yet. You should know better than to test the limits like this - but you don’t, and that makes the thought of killing you so wasteful to Haarlep when there’s far more amusing ways to make use of you.

♡Maybe it was merely for curiosity’s sake that they allowed you to walk in and out of the place with your life and soul intact; the potential of getting to do something - or someone - fun too tempting to pass up on after wiling the days away with the same old faces. For you to come voluntarily traipsing round the corridors of Raphael’s very ‘home’? Knowing the consequences and either too brave or too foolish to heed them? Now that piques the incubus’ interest, enough that they’re willing to let you leave after they’ve had their fun. After all, they know you won’t be able to stay away for long.

♡ You keep coming back - of course you do. You’re fun to toy with - the most amusement that they’ve had in quite a while. Even with an unwanted guest squirming around in your head and time being a precious commodity when your corner of the world is on the line, you always have a penchant for coming back for more. And they are more than content to give you those reasons to keep coming back; you’ll never stray for long now that they’ve got their claws into you, of that they’re certain.

♡ Oftentimes your visits aren’t with the promise of fulfilling desires - at least not the carnal ones. Instead you make a habit of sneaking into Raphael’s boudoir just to keep them company, flashing them that mischievous grin as you stretch out onto that luxurious bed and eagerly pat the space beside you. Haarlep feigns the role of a lover well - they’ve had enough centuries to hone their craft after all. So even they know when the line between a mere amusement and something more affectionate begin to blur together when it comes to you. It's gradual, of course - those simple hours listening to you rattle away about the latest scandalous adventure as they gently card clawed fingers through your hair; watching those little twinges of content pleasure on your face as you lean into their touch almost instinctively. 

♡ Haarlep is intimate by nature, always wanting to keep a hand on you at all times no matter the form that they take. Even in the most mundane circumstances you’ll find claws rubbing soft circles into your sides, a head perched upon the crook of your shoulder and warm breaths against your ear just close enough to get you to squirm or playfully push them away. If they’re feeling particularly greedy they’ll hide you away from the world within their wings, pulling your attention to focus purely on them as their tail curls loosely around your leg.

♡ The first night that you make the mistake of drifting off right there in the incubus’ arms is the day that Haarlep puts a face to the emotion that rattles awake within their chest. When was the last time they had felt such affection? Adored for merely existing? The concept of love is inherently foreign for someone like Haarlep, who has long released any such ties the moment they were contracted to be Raphael’s personal mirror in bed. And yet the feeling is relished nonetheless. 

♡ Be it blind trust or mounting exhaustion that leads you to this they care not; they’re far more focused on engraving every little contour of your face to their mind, running a finger down the curve of your jaw with a pleased hum. Such a hopeless one they’ve managed to fall for - if only you knew just how much you drew them in.

♡ Haarlep knows full well that you must be a little clueless to keep willingly coming back to the incubus without thought of the potential consequences. One would mistake you for a fool, or someone who values their life so little - but you’re neither (most of the time), and it doesn’t take much for Haarlep to clock onto why that is. You’re hopeless at differentiating between platonic and romantic advances; poor thing. A better person would take pity on you, perhaps assuage your inner turmoil with a few simple words. But when the alternative is being able to get you squirm with just enough hints to keep you on your proverbial toes? Well, who could fault them for keeping you guessing? 

♡ Out of all of them, Haarlep is more than happy to keep you spinning with this ‘will they won’t they’ game that they have circling around your head all of the time. Why waste a good thing with something so frivolous when they already have you right where they want you? Away from prying eyes, tucked away in their arms as they make your head spin with honeyed words and teasing remarks of your little conundrum. There’s no need to spoil the party by putting a name to the blatant feelings that lay thick in the air, is there?

♡That’s what they believe at least while they have you. But alas there’s always the inevitable departure - time is ticking on the surface world, your world. And you can’t spend all of your days in the House of Hope for them to seek out whenever they wish, though the idea becomes more and more appealing with each passing day. They're always reluctant to see you leave, hoping to tempt you back with teases and promises, all the while their hands are on your hips and his tail is back to curling around your ankle as though intent on convincing you to stay. 

♡ They allow you to slip from their claws if you insist, but don’t think you won’t have eyes on you until the very second that you disappear through that portal, contemplating pulling you right back for one selfish reason or another. They have teased and pulled at your heartstrings about missing you before - a comment once said in jest to rile you up - but this time Haarlep’s the one who feels the familiar tug as they slink back to their familiar stage. There’s the ripple of shifting bones and infernal magic rippling through them as they don your form, standing before the mirror within Raphael’s quarters as they bring a hand up to affectionately caress the flesh of their - your - cheek. An imitation of the real thing, but it serves its purpose as they anticipate your return.

♡ Perhaps, they decide as they map out every inch of this reflection of you, they will wrap this little game up sooner than they thought. Better for the cat to snatch you up before a fox does, hm?

Dammon

♡ Nothing’s been easy since long before Dammon and the other Tieflings took up the journey to Baldur’s gate, hoping for a better life than the ones that they’re leaving behind. He’s had to leave a lot of things behind in pursuit of that better life - his forge and his tools, anything he couldn’t carry or risk going back for. Hells, he was limited to the clothes on his back and the essentials he’d been fortunate enough to take with him; but that was all he had left of his old life, and Dammon knows the others are the same. It’s not just material possessions either - any plans he once had about his future went up in smoke months ago, instead clinging to the hope of forging some kind of livelihood in the city when they finally arrived. Anything other than that? Any dreams of love? A partner? A family? A dream is all they’re set to remain as.

♡ Dammon’s thankful that there’s plenty of things to keep him busy. Sure the forge and tools at the grove don’t hold a candle to his setup back at his old place but it’s an excellent way to keep himself occupied whenever he finds himself getting restless and itching for the outlet of familiarity. While things remain a stalemate between the Tieflings and the druids, he passes the time helping where he can, repairing armor and weapons with what limited materials he has to make sure that no one’s going out there completely unarmed. It’s good work for now, and lets him stave off the pining, leaving the humored thoughts of kindling anything romantic with anyone for the lonely nights at his forge or tucked away in his books.

♡ That all changed once you came along of course.

♡ Your mere presence is a whirlwind of a tale in itself. Armor bashed and dented from something much larger than goblins, weapon looking as though it’s one good swing away from snapping in two. Hells, it looks like you took a tumble from a damned cliff and walked it off - a thought he admits to a few days after your first meeting. He decides it’s probably best not to ask when you laugh, patting his back with a shake of your head as you chuckle that he doesn’t know the half of it. Wherever you came from you’ve taken a hell of a beating, and yet you still look ready to take on the world as you amble over to his forge to browse his wares and introduce yourself to the tiefling.

♡ You make yourself known about the Grove, making fast friends with some and tolerable allies in others. Dammon’s firmly in the former category, and really enjoys having you around. Even if you don’t know much about smithing you humor him whenever he talks about his craft, listening with an eager ear whenever he gets that bright glint in his eye that signals he’s going to go on a tangent. Don’t mention it though - it will fluster him to the hells and back to know that you notice that kind of stuff. Not to mention you respect his space while he’s working. Dammon’s focus when his working is honed in on defining details and making each piece perfect in his own way, so it's easy to lose track of what’s going on around him when he’s bent over his forge with his newest labor of love. 

♡ Maybe that’s why you’re able to catch him by surprise so often, startled out of his own reverie spotting you leaning against the beam of his makeshift workspace. You comment how amazing it is to see him so immersed in his craft - it’s inspiring, really - and that small appraisal alone has his face turning a lovely shade of copper. His work’s been praised before - it’s the highlight of his days seeing people genuinely appreciate the things he creates with his own hands. But being the one receiving such praise rather than the items he makes does something to his poor heart.

♡Dammon recognizes that he’s beginning to fall for you. It’s not something that hits him all at once, more like a gradual wave of affections that wash over him with each little greeting or rushed wave as you dart around the camp and back out again on the next adventure. It makes him feel…lighter, warmer. He’s tried to remain hopeful about what the future holds, to keep morale going in his own way; but he’s just as uncertain about it all as the others are. But having you around? Seeing the lengths that you go to - both from the issues at the Grove to the attack on the inn and the conflict at Moonrise? That kind of life that he had to push on the backburner feels feasible now - and you’re beginning to become an integral part of it at every turn.

♡ Dammon’s love language is acts of service, so you can expect him to go out of his way to do things for you to make your life easier. It starts off small; giving you discounts on anything you buy from him and little freebies he can spare whenever things aren’t so dire. Dammon always believes that you deserve more however, so eventually you can find him going out of his way to fashion whatever materials he can spare into things for you. 

♡ He’s no jewel smith, but he knows his own craft well, so he’ll gift you things that he knows you’ll find useful - weapons . He’ll refuse any kind of payment you try to give him, assuring you that you deserve far more after all you’ve done as he gently presses your gold back into your palm with a warm smile, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. 

♡And yet you still wonder why the party strong-arms you into being the designated buyer whenever you stop by his forge for repairs or supplies - your lack of awareness is going to give Gale more gray hairs at this rate.

♡ The only problem with Dammon’s acts of service, is that it’s very easy to mistake these gestures as him just being a good person - which he is! You’ve seen how easily he goes out of his way to help others in a pinch. You were there when he went through all of that effort to help Karlach curb her infernal engine enough to give her the chance for closeness that she’d been deprived of for years. (after all she’d almost cracked your ribs returning the hug you’d given her to test if Dammon’s upgrade had worked.) It’s easy for you to rationalize all of his gifts as something that’s just platonic - you couldn’t hope for more, right?

♡ Dammon wishes so badly that you would.

♡Is certainly the most upfront about his crush out of all of the tieflings once he realizes that you struggle to discern any romantic intentions. Though he does worry that he’s the one misreading the situation and that you may not actually reciprocate the feelings he has for you, in the end it doesn’t stop him. He needs to get his feelings out there before they burn over - especially with what could very well be the end of the world dangling over everybody’s heads by the time you all finally reach Baldur’s gate. If he doesn’t do it now, he worries you’ll never get the chance to figure it out for yourself. 

♡ He’ll call you away from your companions, asking for a moment of your time at the back of his shop. Tucked away in the far corner of his workplace, it reminds him of back at the Grove curled over his forge with you by his side watching him work with a quiet admiration. The memory gives him the confidence to reach for your hand, noting the way your eyes widen and your breath catches. You’ve fought gods and toppled cults, and yet you’re left speechless by his touch? As if the tiefling couldn’t fall for you any more. 

♡ If he had his way, Dammon would give you something far better than just spilling his feelings, something more profound than just words. But he knows better, that you’re on borrowed time and a small moment whisked away in the back of his forge is all he can give you right now - with promises for a proper date and confession when you come back alive.

♡ Expect Dammon to go overboard with the gift though, because of course he won’t just leave it at words. He keeps flipping between something classic like flowers and sweet treats (maybe even craft some metalwork flowers himself?); or perhaps you’d like something more practical like a weapon or armor with custom engraving (that he absolutely put his signature on in the hopes it will remind you of him when you’re on the road.) In the end he decides to go with a combination of both, carefully tucked away somewhere safe to give to you whatever your answer may be.

Rolan

♡ The idea of a crush was, at the beginning, a laughable notion to Rolan. Back at the Grove his priority was focused on two things and two things alone - one, getting to Baldur’s gate to begin the apprenticeship he’s dreamed of for months; and two, getting Cal and Lia there with him in one piece. Anything beyond that was unimportant, at least, that’s what he told himself at the time to make the idea of leaving the Grove without the rest of them more palatable. But then of course some newcomer just had to step in during one of the bi-daily spats about it and that whole idea went up in the air along with whatever patience he may have had.

♡ You’d convinced him to stay, convinced him not to pack up and leave in just one conversation and he’d bended to your interjection just like that. Rolan still doesn’t know why he conceded, watching with furrowed brows as Lia rounded on you excited to figure out how you did that and Cal sighing in relief that the whole argument was finally over with. It doesn’t matter - soon you’ll be right back out of those gates, just another soul passing through, and you’d be gone as though you never existed in the first place.

♡ If only it was that simple, but no, you just had to stick around instead of carrying on your way. Perhaps it would have saved his heart the trouble if you hadn’t.

♡ His feelings are misplaced, mistaken for frustration watching you traipse around fixing problems he hasn’t been able to. At first it’s jealousy - another ugly feeling he won’t admit. How do you make helping people look so easy? Breathing life into the cracks that have formed between the two groups and patching them up as simply as you breathe? 

♡ It doesn’t help that you stop by to see him every time, a habit that persists long after your time in the Grove. Rolan believes it’s out of pity and the wizard is ready to give you an earful about it. But the longer you stick around the more he has to come to terms with the fact that it’s nothing as malicious as that - you just enjoy coming to see him, for whatever reason. Rolan doesn’t know at what point your company becomes more than tolerable, even enjoyable - but the idea of it being anything more than that, with anyone much less you, is a far off notion.

♡ Of course he doesn’t expect to fall for someone, and he most certainly doesn’t expect it to be you. He’s a stubborn soul, who is just as reluctant to come to terms with his own feelings, much less the realization that these feelings aren’t the closely guarded secret he believed them to be. 

♡ All it takes Cal makes an offhand comment once about how Rolan’s ‘complaints’ about you these days sound more like praises - that if he didn’t know any better it sounds like he actually loves having you around. And just like that Rolan very nearly chokes on the drink he was unfortunate enough to be imbibing in at the time. 

♡ Him? Have feelings for YOU?! You, some wayward adventurer with a penchant for sticking your nose in where it doesn’t rightly belong out of some presumed sense of duty to this little wayward band of Tieflings? Who goes out of your way to seek out his company again and again no matter how harshly he comes off in return? Who humors his temper, grins at his sarcastic wit, and gives him that damned smile that sometimes makes the warmth in his chest feel like it’s shooting straight up to his throat threatening to spill-

♡ Oh.

♡ Oh no.

♡ The lightbulb pings simultaneously, and it's a good thing you’re not around to hear his siblings absolutely losing it over the knowledge that their brother is stuck pining over you. Not even a few weeks ago he was cussing you out over some perceived slight that was childish in hindsight, spurred on by his own feelings of helplessness. But now? You still made his blood boil, but gods if it didn’t feel like his blood burned for you now.

♡ Rolan’s way of flirting is by showing off to you. He believes that his greatest asset to impress you is his magic, and is fully prepared to use the arsenal of non-lethal spells at his disposal in an attempt to get you swooning. During the celebration at the Grove he remembers fondly the sound of your applause at his performance, your eyes alight with mirth as the sky right above your heads came alive with the results of his magic. The satisfaction of witnessing your face light up in the glow had been worth it; you’d rolled your eyes at his admittedly overdramatic bow but still grinned as your expression softened in embers of the campfire. It still has that warmth Rolan’s begun associating with you kindling in his chest, so he sets on impressing you every chance he gets, with the hope that just maybe it’ll be enough to kindle a warmth within you too.

♡ Rolan insists that he’s not outright confessing to you because surely you already know? Granted he hasn’t been the most…open, about his feelings, nor has he been very direct in his approach where others would have been bold…

♡ Oh who is he kidding - the thought of your rejection scared off any attempts to confess before this point. You’ve always been there - coming in every time there’s been mortal peril to save his life and the lives of his family again and again. It’s hard not to feel as though he’s got nothing to give every time you prove your resilience - would you even want him after you’ve seen him at his worst? He’d much rather live with the torment than know the answer to that question, even if it gnaws at him every night.

♡ Before you ask, yes there’s a betting pool on who’s going to confess first. What began as an inside joke spread like wildfire amongst the group the second Mol caught wind of the lucrative deal. Rolan doesn’t know what’s more mortifying - the fact that his affections are blatantly obvious enough to everyone around the pair of you, or that despite all of this you’re the only one who has no idea.

♡ Someone else is going to have to break the stalemate that’s going on here and convince him to confess. Not just for your sake or Rolan’s, but because your respective groups are getting fed up with the building tension with no-one saying anything. Gods you can’t both be this dense can you?

♡ Yes. Yes you can. And no one is having a good time right now.

♡ Fortunately for the both of you, the aftermath of Moonrise is when the dam finally breaks on all of the things that Rolan’s been holding back. Loose lips sink ships, and in Rolan’s case all of the drinks he’d imbibed earlier attempting to drown his sorrows at the last light inn have eased the filter that kept his feelings at bay. It’s made him far more prone to speaking his mind, not to mention that he’s still reeling from the rush of relief at seeing his siblings alive - yet another thing he has to thank you for - so much so that he’s seeking you out before he can think otherwise.

♡ He doesn’t have to go far; you and Rolan nearly butt heads as he goes to shoot up from his seat, and though you look worse for wear still bearing the bruises and battered gear of a battle well won he watches your expression light up. All it takes is seeing you’ve come back alive, that you’ve come straight to him before you’ve even thought to patch yourself up and his resolve crumbles. 

♡ Rolan’s out of his chair and in your arms before you can blink, one hand winding through your hair and the other pressed against your back to stop you from falling flat on your ass with how swift he moves as he holds you like you’ll slip right through his fingers. He swears he can hear your heart hammering against his chest, too focused to notice the twitch of his tail curled round your leg. By the time he catches himself, Rolan practically goes rigid and pulls back, enough to see your face. The tiefling takes in your wide eyes and slack jaw with a sudden jolt of clarity that fuck, you really weren’t aware of what you were to him this whole time; and now he’s gone and-

♡ He opens his mouth again - whether to take it back or blame it on the drink. But before he can there’s arms around him, and suddenly he’s back in his chair with your face pressed into the crook of his neck, and he swears he sees a flash of red on your face enough to rival his own skin. You hold him tight enough that he has to focus a little to breathe, but it’s a sacrifice he makes gladly as his ears pick up on your hurried murmurs of ‘having no idea’ and ‘can’t believe it’ as you practically corner him into his seat.

♡ The moment is broken by the swift screech of “Finally!” from somewhere in the inn, and suddenly the world’s spinning again. Rolan’s glare over your shoulder in a bid to suss out the offending party is half-hearted, lacking any real bite in lieu of having someone far more important to focus his attention on.

Zevlor

♡ Welcome to slow burn two: electric boogaloo, and in this essay I will-

♡ Zevlor has not lived an easy life, even before the fall of Elturel; you can tell he’s got more than his fair share of scars and war stories behind those deep yellow eyes, the testament of a man who fights daily to hold the pieces of his hope and faith close to his heart. He’s a weathered soul, who many have relied on and put their faith in even in spite of his own perceived shortcomings. The tieflings that he leads to safe pastures are no different; they’re all hoping to find a better life at Baldur’s gate, and all of them turn to Zevlor to lead them all there. 

♡ The relief is almost palpable when you arrive through those gates, dragging Aradin and his men in behind you. You’d made short work of the goblins fighting to tear their way inside, still plucking bits of arrow and guts from the battered shell of your armor as you’d wandered into the Grove alongside the rest of your party. 

♡ He has every reason to believe that you’ll simply go on your way, knowing that you’re more than capable enough to handle the threats out on the road to leave the Grove in your peripherals without a second thought. Yet you don’t; instead you’re right back into the fray, pushing between the spat between himself and Aradin without hesitation with a sharp reminder that there’s more here at stake than some squabbling about something that could have - but didn’t - happen.

♡ Zevlor isn’t proud to admit that he’d hoped you’d be useful in easing tensions in the grove between the Tieflings and the druids. You’re a neutral third party, so to speak, and though he’s sure that the druids are set on locking down the grove and kicking them out to the wilds he hopes that someone like you will be able to at least buy them all some time. When that inevitably didn’t work he’s surprised to learn you’ve set your sights on the next best thing - forget just the goblins at the gate, you’re gearing your party up to take on the source at the heart of that camp.

♡ He’d be lying if he said he didn’t admire you from the beginning, a feeling that only becomes more profound the longer you’re around. Zevlor watches you humor Mattis’ salesmanship, sees you taking the time to train the others to better defend themselves and diffusing any quarrels on the daily rounds that you insist on joining the Tiefling on. It has a visible impact on the camp’s morale, and Zevlor has to wonder if you were truly just a passing adventurer or something more divine sent to them in their hour of need when he catches you conversing with the other tieflings, bringing smiles to their faces after months of hardships.

♡Another firm member of the ‘won’t broach the blatant pining in the room’ club. Zevlor’s lived long enough to put a name to the emotions that he’s feeling, and has taken the time to process what exactly that means when it comes to his feelings for you specifically. What he feels for you runs deeper than respect, deeper than the mere admiration that he held for you at your first encounter beyond the gates. 

♡You consume his thoughts every second that you’re not close to his side. Worries himself into a panic each time you leave the safety of the grove wanting to follow but kept rooted with his own duties. You’re more than capable of defending yourself as you’ve demonstrated time and time again, but gods if he doesn’t lament not being there to protect you as ardently as you do to others. It would be selfish to want such a thing, but it doesn’t stop him from craving it in the least.

♡ Out of every single being on this list, there is none more reluctant to confess to you that he’s begun to fall for you than Zevlor. He knows this affection; wishes for nothing more than to allow himself this small act of greed keeping it close and savoring the warmth it provides. But unless you say something that is as far as he is willing to dare your relationship to progress. 

♡ What really stops Zevlor from confessing is himself. He firmly believes that he’s simply not worthy of you. He’s a man who has made too many mistakes, made too many choices that have led to lives lost and consequences on those around him. Surely you deserve someone unmarred by that kind of life? Who can give you love uninhibited by the guilt and ghosts of one's past that plague him on so many sleepless nights?

♡ But oh how easily you’ve got this man curled around your finger, and you don’t even know it. Now that you’ve so thoroughly poured your life into the cracks of his soul, after everything you’ve done, that selfish want kindles a fire in his heart. He’d drop to his knees and pledge you his life if it meant having you look at him with a sliver of the affection he holds for you.

♡ The closest that Zevlor’s ever gotten to confessing to you was during the after party in the Grove. It had been the first time in who knows how long that Zevlor could try to shelve his worries for the future, to allow his guard to relax for the single night of revelry that this celebration offered. A respite like this was far too welcome, and Zevlor was about as ready to fall asleep where he stood as he was to wile the hours away enjoying the revelry.

♡ And there you were, the one responsible for it all leaning up against his side, thoroughly exhausted from doing the rounds around the camp but beaming with pride. His eyes were on you the moment you pressed a hand to his shoulder, golden eyes glowing in the light of the campfire taking in your ruddy cheeks and tired grin as you sighed over how good it was to finally see him smile.

♡ Perhaps it was the longing of a sentimental old tiefling, or being half drunk on the atmosphere that seeped into every fiber of the party, but in response he’d brought a hand to cover your own. Zevlor had guided it away from his shoulder and you’d allowed him to with ease. You’d watched with curious eyes as he’d brought your hand up just enough to brush his lips across your knuckles, ghosting over bruises and scrapes with an unspoken reverence.

♡ You’d never had the chance to ask him what you’d really meant to him back then - Alfira had interjected to veer you back over to the party, eager to show you the beginnings of her next song dedicated to your feats. And by the time you’d spun around to look for him again Zevlor had all but slipped away, gone for the rest of the night.

♡ By the time you reach Baldur’s gate you’re still struggling to discern Zevlor’s feelings from that night. That’s it; no one else can wait for you to realize the obvious anymore.

♡ Someone else is going to have to step in to give you a nudge in the right direction, and not a gentle nudge either - if you’re truly struggling to see how hard Zevlor is crushing on you you’re going to need an intervention. Don’t be surprised if your traveling party is the one to bite the arrow and do it. You have no idea whether to be confused or offended when they drag you aside to break it to you and ease their suffering. Astarion is griping on about how this started off entertaining but now is downright painful to watch you two eyeballing each other and not doing anything about it. Wyll is trying to stem the migraine he gets in his attempt to really drive home that you’re not just imagining all of these romantic moments you’ve had with Zevlor. And Lae’zel is several minutes away from clocking the entire group round the heads with the hilt of her sword for wasting time.

♡ She shoulders past the other two with a biting comment about their lack of efficiency before turning her attention back onto you. Her tone is sharp but not unkind as she quips that you’re wasting breath on your own perceptions of the tiefling’s actions. What you should focus on is what you want and how to get it. Besides, even a fool would notice the way he starts at your beck and call - she’d like to believe that you’re as competent as she thinks to put the pieces together.

♡ Lae’zel’s words do the trick. They watch your brain shoot through every train of thought you’ve been battling with all at once, eyes comically large and hand clamped over your mouth in a poor attempt to mask your scream of realization as you do exactly what she says. And then the next moment you’re scrambling past your companions, a frantic command for them to meet you back at the camp before you all but trip over the pavement beneath you in your haste to seek out the former hellrider.

♡ Once you find him, Zevlor almost jumps out of his skin with how hard you barrel through the door and into his home. He’s half a mind to worry that there’s something seriously wrong, immediately rounding to close the distance between you and place his hands upon your shoulders to keep you from falling flat on your face. The questions of concern die on his tongue the moment your hand cups his face, guiding him to look at your face and thumb brushing over the ridges of his cheek in such a way his mouth runs dry.

♡ When you finally blurt out what you came here for, asking through hurried breaths if he loves you Zevlor all but freezes beneath your touch. His eyes are wide, wild with the fear that you’ve come to turn him down and fully prepared to assure you that he’ll never burden you with his feelings ever again. That is till you continue for him. All it will take is a little reassurance on your part that he has nothing to fear, that you care for him in turn, and you’ll have this poor man practically crumbling into your awaiting arms as though you’ve slipped the weight of the world from his shoulders. Give him time, hold him for a little longer, and Zevlor will gladly regale you with the feelings he’d intended to leave unsaid for the rest of his days - he’d do anything you’d ask, after all.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Take Me Back to Us

Fandom: Star Wars - The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x GN!Reader

Summary: You were content on being a Jedi healer. You found comfort in helping your fellow Jedi as well as anyone else that needed your expertise. However, you come across a stranger that seems all too familiar, and you're not sure why. Based off this request.

A/N: this is a lil more on the platonic side if you really look at it but its whatever

Qimir Masterlist

It was clear that you and Qimir were special. People around you treated you two differently, especially when they got to witness you two using your...powers.

Your village said you two were blessed by the gods or something. You two felt like you were children of gods when you used your minds to move things around or even start floating mid-air.

Then they arrived, these Jedi, who promised to train you so that you knew how to better use and control your powers.

The only problem was that you would be separated. Qimir would be going to Corrusant and you to Olega.

You hugged Qimir tight before you two departed. After pulling away, you two made a pinky promise, "Together or apart, you're always in my heart." A childish rhyme yet conveyed the deep rooted feeling of love and companionship. You two had a bond, one so deep that even the Jedi training the both of you didn't know how to sever.

You had a Force bond. Whatever the you felt, Qimir felt, and vice versa. Even planets away, you could feel each other's pain, yearning, loneliness. The Jedi Knight training, Master Ekwall, felt the disturbance and pain in you.

It became unbearable one fateful night. You felt a deep searing pain and anger within you, that you didn't know what to do. Master Ekwall, knowing your attachment to Qimir, felt it was him that was causing you to struggle in letting go of your emotions. So he did what he thought was right, he removed your memories of Qimir.

The last thing you remembered was leaving your home planet. A few years lost, but your Master continued to help you hone in on your connection to the Force.

Turns out, you're a natural healer. Although trained in the Jedi art, you moreso work in the medbay in Olega, aiding Jedi, padawans, and locals whenever they're hurt.

Occasionally when you work, you feel a heaviness in your heart, or a shooting pain in your head. You're not sure why and Master Ekwall said that when he took you in, you suffered a head injury that must have some lingering effects.

The local apothecary provides you a concoction that dulls the pain. The storeowner, Ohnell, is a kind older man that gives you a discount on whatever you need since you helped heal him years ago.

However, Ohnell isn't behind the counter today. It's a young man you've never seen before.

"Hell-" the man looks up and his words get caught in his throat. He clears his throat, "Hello."

You look at him curiously, "You're not Ohnell," you state as you cautiously approach the man behind the counter.

He gulps, "No, I'm not. Ohnell had some emergency and asked me to watch the shop while he's away."

You feel that heaviness in your chest again, the searing pain in your head. You hiss, grabbing the side of your head, leaning against the counter.

The man immediately rushes around to steady you, "What's going on? What's wrong?" Once he touches you, the feeling simmers down.

You look at him with confusion, "I-How did you do that?"

"Do what?" the man asks.

For years, I've been experiencing headaches and chest pains. I've been coming to this apothecary because Ohnell provides a concoction to numb the pain. But as soon as you touched me, it went away."

The man looks you in the eyes, "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Remember? Do I know you?"

Before the man answers, another person enters the shop. A young woman with a purple hooded cape. You take the opportunity to leave, the young woman eyeing you as you cross each other's paths.

As the distance between you and the man, grow, the pain starts coming back.

__________________

Mae eyes you through the window before you're out of view and then turns to Qimir, "Do you know them?"

He shakes his head and gives a little chuckle, "No, of course not. Just a customer asking about some products. Anyway, how'd it go?"

Qimir listens intently as Mae recalls her encounter with Master Torbin. He proceeds to make her concoction that will help her in killing the Jedi.

___________________

You stand back, leaning against the wall as Osha tells Jecki about bunta from her home planet.

"Is this the only apothecary in town?"

Kear nods, "It is but..." he sees the man that enters the shop, "That's not our regular guy. I don't know who that guy is."

You speak up, "I went in the other day. That man said Ohnell was away due to an emergency." You shake your head in shame, "I should have known something was wrong."

"Any suggestions of a plan?" Master Sol asks.

Yord steps up, offering his suggestion. However, Jecki dismisses it and provides a better plan. You cover your mouth to hide your smile when Master Sol takes up Jecki's idea. You pat Yord on the shoulder in pity, winking at Jecki, feeling proud for the padawan.

Osha heads down, buying a wrap to make herself look more like Mae. You all huddle around the comm in Jecki's hand as Osha speaks through her PIP droid, "I hope you guys can hear me."

She walks into the shop and hear through the droid her conversation with the man inside.

"Mae, uh, are you okay? Did the poison work?"

"That's all we need. Let's pull her out." Jecki, Yord, and Kear are ready to move, but Sol stops them, "Wait!"

"Wait, you killed Torbin without the poison. He will be so pleased."

"Go!" all of you rush down towards the shop. While you're not skilled enough to be a Jedi Knight, you never know if someone will get hurt.

You follow Master Sol and Yord into the apothecary after Osha's attempt at getting information from the man.

The man goes rigid, being surrounded by Jedi. When you step into view, he stares at you for a moment before Jecki speaks.

"We know you supplied her the posion that killed Master Torbin. We have your confession," the padawan holds up the comm.

"Wait, wait, wait. That isn't my thing. This is her. I didn't know what she was going to do with that stuff!"

Master Sol steps up to him, "If you cooperate, we will consider letting you go with a warning."

The man nods and distances himself from Sol, "Thank you, sir! Please don't do the memory wipe thing or whatever it is you guys do."

You continue to watch the man suspiciously. You feel a pulling at your chest and, as if, the man feels it too, he rubs at his own chest for a brief moment. The gesture has you even more confused about who this man is.

"What is your relationship to Mae?" Sol asks.

"I'm just her supplier. I started out gunrunning for the Hutts, now I supply people like her with what they need. For the right price."

"Well maybe you can supply us with the truth." Yord says which makes you want to roll your eyes.

"Who is 'he'?" Sol asks.

The man looks confused and points to Yord, "Uh, I thought he was with you."

You look at Osha confused and she shrugs. Sol continues to interrogate the man and then he provides something of interest, "All I know is that she wants revenge on four Jedi. If you wanna get to her, she'll be back here tonight. I'm holding some things for her."

Master Sol proceeds to list off orders to each of you. Jecki goes back to the ship. Yord secures the perimeter. Osha accompanies Sol and you are to go back to the Temple. The four exit the shop in haste, but you stay back for a moment.

The man's shoulders sag when the leave, "That was...intense."

"Who are you?"

The man gives you a crooked smile, "Qimir."

In your mind, you hear children's laughter. Your own and...someone else's.

"Together or apart, you're always in my heart."

"..always in my heart," you murmur out and Qimir's eyes widen, "What did you say?"

You shake your head, backing away, "Nothing. I need to return to the Temple," you hurry out of the shop in a rush.

______________________

You were knocked out in the battle. Thrown back by an incredible power of the Force. Surrounding you are various bodies of fallen Jedi. You look for any search of life, hoping that you could help and heal any that survived. You find none.

During your search, you come across the man behind it all...Qimir.

You unsheathe your lightsaber, causing him to stand from an unconscious Osha, his hands out, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You killed my friends, fellow Jedi. How can I trust you?"

"You know me, Y/N, and I know you."

"I don't know you!" you exclaim in frustration and hurt.

Qimir remains calm, "Yes, you do. When we met, you felt something in your chest and you felt it again during that interrogation. You even said our promise, 'Together or apart, you're always in my heart.'"

You grip tightens on your saber, "If I know you then why don't I remember you?"

"The Jedi probably wiped your memory, made you forget about me."

You shake your head in disbelief, "But why would they do that?"

Qimir slowly walks closer to you, hands still up, "Jedi aren't allowed to have emotional ties to people. They probably wiped me from your memory because of the bond that we have. But it's clear our bond is so much stronger than them."

"They told me my memory problems and my head pains were due to a head injury."

"The Jedi are liars. They lied to me, to Osha, to you." he stretches his hand out to you, "Come with me. I can help you get your memories back and show you exactly what our relationship was. No lies."

You hesitate, weighing out your options. What if he kills you? What if he's also lying?

"I promise, I'm not."

Against your better judgement, you sheath your lightsaber, clipping it to your belt. You slowly reach your hand out.

Qimir immediately grabs you, pulls you in, and places his hand on your head.

The world goes black.

_______________

"Qimir! Get down! You'll fall!" a much smaller, younger you shouts up at your childhood friend in the tree.

"I'll be fine," the young boy replies, climbing higher up the tree. His foot suddenly slips and he loses his grip. Falling back with a cry, waiting for impact.

But he doesn't. He's floating in mid-air, slowly floating down until his feet touch the ground.

He whips around to face you and you drop your arms with an exasperated sigh, "Told you."

He rushes up to you with a wide grin, "That was amazing! How did you do that?! All I can do is lift rocks!"

You shrug, "I don't know. All I know is that i was really scared of you getting hurt. I held my arms out and the Force caught you."

"Thank you for saving me," he wraps his arms around you in a tight hug.

You giggle, "What're friends for? Now will you listen to me about being careful?"

He pulls back, giving you a mischievous grin, "Never."

Your eyes shoot open and you take a look at your surroundings. You're in a cave of some sort. You don't think you're on Khofar. You suddenly realize you hear waves crashing. You're near water.

A bowl of stew appears in your line of sight and you look up to Qimir holding it, "You need to eat."

You sit up and see Osha across the cave, eating in silence, eyes on you and Qimir. You apprehensively take the bowl, "Where are we?"

"Can't tell you," he replies.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Two days," he replies, sitting beside you on the bedroll.

"Two days?!"

"Your mind and body is catching up to everything you've forgotten. Honestly, I'm surprised it didn't take you longer to wake up," he looks at you with a smirk "But you were always a persistent person."

You roll your eyes, "And you always seem to be reckless and impulsive."

His brows raise in interest, "What do you remember?"

"You were climbing a tree. I told you to get down or you'd hurt yourself. You slipped, falling to the ground, but I caught you, saving your life."

Qimir chuckles, "That happened a lot when we were young, up until we were separated."

"So you two have known each other since you were young?" Osha asks.

Qimir sighs, "We grew up on the same planet. We discovered we were strong with the Force and Jedi took us away, from our home," he looks at you, "From each other." He looks back at Osha, "I'm not letting them do that to us again." He reaches over and takes your hand in his.

A familiar warmth and comfort filled you, like you knew you were safe and cared for.

You didn't know what was to become of you now. You've abandoned the Jedi, the way of life that you went a majority of your life learning and following. But being with Qimir, having him at your side? It felt right and you knew you'd follow him anywhere and everywhere.

"Together or apart," Qimir starts.

"-you're always in my heart," you finish the phrase.

A promise that you made when you were children and, seemingly, has lasted time and space to bring you back together again.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 26

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Mainly just pregnancy stuff

A/N: I hope I pulled this off while keeping our archer in character. Be gentle.

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

You knew it was bothering him, it was evident in the way he moved. The jerking slices of the knife as he made bolts while he sat cross legged on the old railing across from you. You were perched on the porch swing—he had all but jumped up and down on it to make sure it would hold you safely—just watching him, guilt flaring to singe the inside of your chest. He wanted to go on the run, get the things that you and the baby needed, but you were scared. Hershel had said the baby could come any day. It was at your insistence that Daryl wasn’t going. You didn’t have to try hard, mind you. He was worried about leaving you as well.

Still, it wasn’t sitting right with him for the others to be risking their necks for his baby.

“Maybe you should go.” You finally said, picking at your thumbnail. You saw his movements come to an abrupt halt before continuing.

“Nah. Ya need me here.” He sniffed, starting up on another piece of wood. He had legitimate bolts with his crossbow, so you could only assume he was just trying to keep his hands busy. He was so undeniably torn and it was showing.

“I think you should. You know what I need. You’ve read the books. Maggie will be there to help with the medical side of things, the list Hershel made.” You sat up straighter, attempting to massage the little foot away from your ribs. Of course, Daryl noticed.

“S’wrong?” He was climbing off the rail and made it over to you in one long stride, giving you a once over before he sat down. He didn’t ask before taking over for you, lightly rubbing over the little form of toes with the smallest, gentlest of smiles. You’d almost consent to constant discomfort if it meant you’d see more of that expression.

“Thumper has a personal vendetta against my ribcage.” Your head found your partner’s shoulder, watching that same laser focus that had moments ago been on the wood he was carving now honed in on you. For a moment, you were just a couple expecting a baby. For a moment, the world hadn’t ended. For a moment, you had managed to find perfect. “I love you.”

Daryl’s hand froze but for a mere heartbeat before his fingertips continued chasing little toes as if he were playing a game with the baby, when in reality he was simply trying to divert the tiny digits away from your ribs. “So ya keep sayin’.”

“So you keep saying. Is that all you’re ever gonna say?” You weren’t angry, not even frustrated. There was merely a soft curiosity that sat in the back of your mind; along with the little voice that assured you Daryl was yours and you were his, even if he could never say the words.

“Dunno.” It always unsettled you when he spoke so quietly, small and fragile as if he feared his words would end in some sort of pain. God, you wanted to bury his father in a gopher hole, maybe even his mother and brother. It was normal for a person to be unsure of feelings, to question and explore before accepting what they were, good or bad. Daryl didn’t have that capability. He questioned. He explored. And then he feared, good or bad. He didn’t think he deserved good and he was so attuned with bad that it’s what came naturally in his own reactions. Perhaps he thought you were trying to fix him, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. You didn’t see anything broken. You saw someone who had never been shown what love was supposed to feel like. He wasn’t broken, he just needed to learn, and Daryl was good at learning. 

Still you persevered, your fingers finding their way into his hair, delicately tracing the scar from Andrea’s bullet. “Do you love me, Daryl?” Maybe narrowing it down to a simple yes or no would make it easier for him. Maybe you were pushing him. You would need time if the answer was no but you would be okay. He cared enough to be with you, to raise Thumper as a family. In the end, that was all you needed.

But then his hand stilled on the center of your swollen belly and he lifted his head to seek out your gaze. Even with all the emotion stirring in those stormy pools of blue, you could easily see the fear, but there was something else. You continued to run your fingers through his hair, the color darkening somewhat as it grew. Even with that comforting gesture, you held his gaze, heard his breath stutter, watched his lips move so, so nimbly without a sound. His free hand came up to brush back your own hair, tenderly tucking it behind your ear. As he leaned toward you, the corners of your mouth lifted into a welcoming smile.

“Y/N, I—”

“We’re heading out!” Glenn called from the doorway before stepping onto the porch. Daryl pulled away fast, his hands on his knees, eyes downcast. 

You were going to absolutely torture Glenn before you murdered him.

“You sure you don’t wanna go, Daryl?” Rick had joined Glenn and was checking his weapons before he finally looked up.

Daryl, though, only had eyes for you; his bowed head angled to see you, questioning. 

You sighed with a smile, giving him a nudge with your elbow. “Go. Try to find those bra pad things. Cloths suck and they hurt my nipples.” There was no deeper shade of red that could color his skin. You laughed, loud and true. “Go. We’ll be fine.” Licking his lips nervously, Daryl nodded and left the swing.

T-Dog held out the archer’s bag and crossbow. “Thought you might change your mind. Went ahead and grabbed these.” He only received a nod. 

The group began to descend the steps, but Daryl paused at the end, looking back to you. He closed the distance in seconds, a finger hooking under your chin to lift your face higher, even though you were already looking at him. “Be back ‘fore dark. Promise.”

That earned him one of your sweetest smiles. “We’ll be waiting.” You patted your belly. The rough hand at your chin, moved to your jaw, his thumb stroking the apple of your cheek. “I love you, Daryl. Be safe.” He hesitated, long enough for something to stir in your chest. Hope? Excitement? Then he merely nodded and was gone.

You and Lori were given the least strenuous tasks. She was not far behind you. A few weeks, her belly almost as prominent as your own. Luckily, you found it helped for folding clothing before stuffing them in the correct bag. Your bare feet were propped up in a chair across from you, your ankles swollen, squeezed by the socks that you had to wear to keep them warm. Your body just ached all over. Thumper Dixon was playing field hockey with your internal organs and the nausea you had definitely not missed was threatening to make a comeback. You just felt awful.

“The last month is the worst.” Lori commented while packing away some of Carl’s clothing. “And it’ll take a while after the baby comes to feel human again.”

“Growing a human fucking sucks.” You groused, one of Daryl’s few shirts lying spread over your torso. “And goddamnit, I have to pee. I always have to pee.”

“Means you’re hydrated at least. Silver linings.” Lori tittered. If anyone had been watching the two of you battling to your feet, it would have been worthy of more than a few chuckles.

“Thanks for going with me. Daryl would have a kitten if I went alone.” When you straightened, there was an immediate feeling of change in your body that had you looking to Lori, eyes wide. “Holy shit, I can breathe but I feel like I’m gonna piss my pants and my hips hurt.”

She smiled and placed her hands over her own round bump. “The baby dropped. You're carrying differently now. I wish we had a mirror.” 

“Carrying differently? What do you—oh.” You immediately noticed when you began to massage the taut skin that the swell sat lower. You suddenly couldn’t remember a word the old man had said. Were you about to go into labor? How would Daryl know? You couldn’t do it without him.

“Easy, Y/N.” At some point, the other woman had crossed the small space and put her hands on your shoulders, your stomachs brushing against one another. “It just means the baby’s getting ready. Though, I think after this run, Daryl should probably consider staying behind on any others.” You nodded, trying to get your breathing under control. In through the nose, out through the mouth. “Let’s go take care of business and then let Hershel do his daily thing, okay?”

You nodded again, a jerky motion while you trembled. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” You followed behind her, trying to keep your mind on the fact that if you didn’t empty your bladder within the next couple of minutes, you would still be incredibly anxious but you would be so with wet pants. “Maybe the little gremlin can’t reach my ribs now.”

You felt like crap. All day, you felt heavy and sluggish, swollen and nauseous. By late afternoon, you just couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“Carol.” You spoke her name quietly, leaning onto the dusty countertop to pillow your head on your folded arms. You saw the concern on her face when she turned from canned foods with which she was planning small meals. You couldn’t even wave away her worry. “Do you need my help right now? I think I’d really like to lie down.” 

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” She came to place a hand on your back, rubbing softly. It only succeeded in making your yearn for Daryl to be there, easing your fears in his own Daryl way. He would probably already have an aneurysm when someone told him that you’d done work, light as it was. And then you needed to tell him that the baby had indeed dropped. God, even if you didn’t tell him, he’d notice with that keen eye of his. Your stomach had shifted, still round but lower. There was so much pressure on your pelvis that you thought the bones might separate at any moment. Lori had promised that what you were feeling was normal, that it was simply new and you would take a day or two to adjust unless the baby decided to make its debut before you could.

“I just don’t feel well.” You stood straighter, nodding that she could remove her hand and you were fine. “I’d rather have Daryl come back to me feeling like shit and resting than to me feeling like shit and trying to help get things done.”

“I can’t argue with that.” She laughed. 

Carol was about the only other person in the group that Daryl dropped any of his walls around. With Rick, it was all business. There was respect there, but not yet friendship. You could see it though, the subtle changes in your hunter. He was getting comfortable around these people. It was a snail’s pace but if they were anything like you hoped they were, he would be granted their patience. God knew, he had earned it. 

“Come on.” Carol urged. “Let’s get you settled.” 

With each step, you whined, feeling less and less like the woman you had been only months before, like she had been left behind somewhere, starved or trampled by a herd. “I hate this. Is it wrong to hate this?” You grimaced at Carol who only chuckled breathily, her hand resting on your cheek.

“It’s not wrong. This is a lot. Our bodies do a lot.” A couple of soft pats and then she bent down to straighten the bedroll and arrange the blankets. 

You were watching, actually finding yourself excited to be off your feet and deciding that a nap wouldn’t be so horrible when there was a strange feeling low in your belly. It started as a gradual tightening but soon turned into an unyielding cramp, your stomach hard beneath your hands as you grabbed for your sweater. You gasped Carol’s name, could hear her clearly calling for Hershel but you couldn’t seem to respond, swallowed up by every fear that had been looming like a dark shadow for the past few weeks. The pain wasn’t even horrible, not like you had imagined at all. But it was terrifying. The only thing you could think of to do was hold the area that housed your little Thumper and whimper out Daryl’s name.

A bed had been cleared, dusted, and made for you in the downstairs room. As you laid there, resting, and stared at the half empty cup of water on the bedside table, you overheard Beth and Carl animatedly re-telling how two walkers had shuffled by the driveway gate. The children had hid and remained quiet, reporting that no others were seen once those two had moved on. You weren’t naive enough to hope that it didn’t mean more were coming. The group would need to pack up and head out likely within the next day or so. 

“Braxton Hicks.” Hershel had stated matter-of-factly. He had expressed that he was actually surprised you hadn’t experienced them before then, added that maybe you had but they were so mild that you just didn’t notice. You had two more instances over the course of three hours but nothing since then, though your body seemed to be in a constant state of dread, waiting for another to happen; for it to be more than what Hershel had said. You were waiting for something to be wrong.

Beyond the dusty, tattered green curtains, you could see the light fading. Daryl would be back soon. Would he blame you for bringing this on by doing a little work? Would he be angry? He’d be beside himself with worry, that much was a given. Hershel had said you could do small chores, that it was good for you to be moving, but what if Daryl didn’t see it that way? The morning had started so perfectly. The conversation had been left unfinished but it didn’t seem to have been heading anywhere bleak. 

“Ugh.” You didn’t know what was more exhausting, your body or your brain. Each time you closed your eyes, your mind ran rampant with each and every wildly negative scenario it could possibly conjure. You groaned and rolled to your other side despite the effort and apprehensiveness of even moving. Letting your eyes close yet again, you fought against the intrusive thoughts, forcing images of what Thumper might look like instead. A little girl with Daryl’s eyes and your smile. A little boy with unruly light hair like Daryl’s had been, a constant scowl. You laughed softly, wetly, shedding a few tears around your smile. No matter the sex of the baby, you hoped for Daryl’s eyes. They were the one thing to always gave him away, no matter what expression he wore. With a baby that couldn’t communicate needs and wants, you would at least have that in your corner.

At some point, you must have dozed off, opening your eyes to the sound of the old truck Daryl was driving. Looking to the window, you could see the faint light of dusk giving way to the moon. He’d kept his promise, albeit barely. You didn’t care as long as he was back. Shifting and struggling, you finally made it upright just as you heard Glenn’s all too cheerful voice, though you couldn’t make out the words. Rick’s few words trailed right after. Then there was Daryl. He spoke but then there was nothing more than hushed tones. Hershel offering the day's events, most likely. A thud was followed by echoing stomps of boots pounding against the hardwood floors.

“Where is she?” Daryl roared, closer to the door.

“She’s fine, son. She’s resting. This is normal. It just caused a bit of a fright. She just—”

“Where. Is. She?!”

The old man must have nodded or pointed because the next thing you knew, the door was swinging open with Daryl’s silhouette backdropped by the soft candlelight in the other room. His shoulders were heaving in what sounded so close to sobs that you squinted your eyes for a chance to catch his expression before he moved, startling you with how quickly he had one knee on the bed and was leaning in to check you over himself. He was filthy, mostly dirt and grime, but spots of walker blood and a cut across his cheek that was no longer bleeding. 

“What happened?” You asked, reaching for his face but letting your hand hover in fear of hurting him.

“Don’t matter. Ya alright? Baby okay?” He was breathless, either from his haste to get to you or maybe just with worry. He was touching you without hesitance, his hands in a mad rush to feel your face, neck, your belly. You watched his eyes go wide and knew exactly what it meant. “Why’s it look diff’rent?” 

“Thumper dropped.” His eyes were dancing back and forth as he flipped through his mental catalog of reading material and Hershel’s words. Relief was evident in his posture when he recalled what he had been searching for, but he was still tense.

“Hershel said ya was crampin’. The fake shit. Does it hurt now?” You shook your head and watched him finally sink onto his hip beside you, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Shouldn’a gone. Ya didn’t need to be alone through that.” 

“Hey.” You leaned as far as you could, to guide his hand away with one hand while the other used his chin to turn his face toward you. “I wasn’t alone and we’re okay. It’s just my body getting ready.” Daryl’s head tilted, his expression displaying his gratitude for your attempts at consolation but also heavy laden with guilt for leaving you there. “Daryl, you had to go.”

“Didn’t hafta do nothin’. Could’a stayed right here where ya need me to be.” 

He hadn’t asked what you had been doing. Maybe it wasn’t that important to him after all. He seemed to be more concerned with what happened and how you currently felt than anything. You truly needed to start trusting him as you wanted so badly for him to trust you. Your palm left his face and wrapped around the back of his neck, not needing much pressure to pull him to you for your lips to press against his. It was gentle and chaste, his hand leaving your belly to cup your jaw.

“We’re okay and you’re here now.” You soothed, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Just—no more runs until Thumper’s here, okay?”

“No more runs.” He agreed, his eyes closed, forehead against yours. “Ain’t leavin’ ya again.” His hand lowered back to your belly, rubbing back and forth. It was always the most tender thing you’d ever seen from him. You didn’t think him the type but he actually seemed to be calmed by the action. “D’ya need anythin’?”

“Just you.” You let him help you lie back, but he didn’t follow. 

“Need to clean up. I’ll be quick.” He made to stand up but you grabbed his forearm and pulled yourself up again, not stopping once you got there. He gave in to your incessant tugging and wrapped his arms around you. “You’re gonna need to change too now.” You sniffled, trying hard not to cry, but you were just so overwhelmed with relief that he was back in one piece, that nothing bad had truly happened, that he was going to stay. “Don’t cry, woman. M’here.”

“I know. I’m just—I’m happy. I have you and Thumper. And—I don’t deserve you, Daryl Dixon.”

Daryl scoffed, rubbing his cheek against the crown of your head. “Ya deserve way better than me, Sunshine.” He took a deep breath that actually shifted you against his chest and then he was tightening his embrace. “But I love ya. An’ m’here unless ya tell me to get lost.” He pulled away before you could say anything, heading quickly for the door with one last look before he walked out. You were stunned frozen, silent. 

He said it.

He said it and you could feel that he meant it. His actions had always conveyed it, but hearing it from his mouth was everything. 

Thumper rolled and kicked before going still, reacting to all the emotions you were feeding to them through your bond. When you laid down again, it wasn’t hard to fall asleep. No wicked images formed behind your eyes. Just those words replaying in your head, a baby’s tiny hand gripping a large finger. A child’s giggle. And then his voice again.

Your eyes didn’t want to obey when you bid them to open, the mattress dipping beside you, the sheets moving. A warm arm pulled you against an even warmer body, enveloping you in a veil of safety.

Everything would be okay.

Because you loved Daryl.

And Daryl loved you.

[ozzgin]

Various Predators x Predator! Reader (IV)

@avaleigh16 asked (a very long time ago, sorry for the wait!!) for a fourth part to the Predator saga, where Reader is brought to Yautja Prime. Therefore I bring a potential sequel that focuses on Predator culture, depending on who you’ve chosen as your partner!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Horror Masterlist]

Feral Predator

As promised, your new home didn’t stray much from your expectations. Feral Predator is from a different hemisphere, of a drier climate. The imposing, sprawling megalopolis of Yautja Prime is but a distant outline, fading before the marvels of raw, unforgiving nature this place has to offer. Tribal architecture and interminable tunnels are the prominent features of these ancient cities. One has no need for advanced technology. In a way, it does remind you of Earth, of your modest countryside roots. Communities are made of small family units, so days are spent hunting or training in the company of your partner. Feral Predator is a patient and caring father, guiding his offspring and showing them the ropes of survival. There will be frequent visits to Earth as he, too, favors its wilderness, especially when it comes to honing one’s skills. While he treats you as an equal, he does hold you in significantly high regards as the mother of his children.

Elite Predator

With great status comes great responsibility. Elite Predator has been eyeing the Elder status for some time now, in order to provide you with one further reason to be grateful for choosing him. That implies, naturally, that he is often on special missions to teach or rescue Young Bloods, or clear out Alien infestations. Your offspring will go through Spartan training as soon as they can crawl their way around: it would be shameful if his own younglings end up weak or devoid of skill. Although he does not worry about such outcome. He hasn’t picked you out of random chance. Only someone of his level could’ve made it as his mate, and he was certain of it from the moment he saw you. Hopefully you, too, can tell that this outcome was fated to happen. You most certainly won’t regret your life with him, he will make sure of that.

Fugitive Bad Blood

If you were hoping for an idyllic, peaceful life in a humble hut with ocean view, I have some bad news for you. Even settling on Yautja Prime is an optimistic stretch when your partner is a criminal on the run. You’ve unwillingly followed in the footsteps of your parents, watching your child grow from within the confinements of a ship, sailing through space with no ultimate goal. Not all is grim, however. Despite his ruthless nature, the Fugitive has kept his word when it comes to being a fitting partner for you. Your wish is his command and he will not allow anything endanger his family. To your great shock, he’s even willing to take risky detours on Earth whenever you feel particularly nostalgic. He will stare at you incredulously; why the hell would he have gone through all the efforts to court you if he didn’t want you as a partner? Have you forgotten who you’re dealing with already? Whatever your heart desires, he will make it possible.

Berserker

The Super Predator cannot wait for his younglings to be old enough to begin their hunt. He lives to kill and one can easily tell from his impressive collection of trophies he has gathered from all across the Universe. Truth be told, you’re somewhat afraid to see the outcome of your copulation. Berserker Yautja are much larger and much more aggressive than your species. You’d assumed his first choice for a mate should’ve been from his own kind, but for reasons unknown he’s preyed on you instead. The Berserker seems to have a fervent attachment towards you and will even growl at his own sucklings if they show any sign of disrespect. There’s not much space for freedom and sometimes you feel like you’re trapped under the suffocating affections of a savage animal ready to defend its territory. From his point of view, you should enjoy the privilege of belonging to the superior Predator. There’s no one out there that could go against him.

[bippot]

Kiss And Make Up

Story Summary -> On the outside, it seems as if Reid and his girlfriend have the perfect relationship. They never fight. She lavishes him with affection whenever he's feeling low. And she gets along with his friends.

But when their first argument finally comes, will they be able to get through it, or will this one bump be too much to handle?

Tags -> Arguing, Body Worship, Sad Spencer Reid, Body insecurity, Self Confidence Issues

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

Previous Chapter -> Magic Hands and Biological Warfare

Throughout his life, Spencer had been called a lot of things, but there was one name that had always stuck in his head: pipe cleaner with eyes. It had been a fairly accurate descriptor, he knew that. He was tall and thin and gangly like a pipe cleaner and, yeah, he had eyes.

Spencer’s lankiness was a mix of genetics and the fact that he wasn't the best at remembering to eat lunch, even though he had an eidetic memory. He'd never been good at looking after himself despite the fact he'd been doing since he was a child.

Maybe that was why. When he was cooking his own meals at 10 years old, that was so advanced for a kid his age, but he never evolved from that. Sure, he went to college and grew - in that order - and got his own place and job, yet he still struggled to juggle all these new life responsibilities and maintain a healthy home life.

Then came Y/N.

Not only did she pamper him and provide a sense of security that he hadn't felt in decades, she taught him to take time for himself. He could take a mental health day off work to just read and relax. That's okay. It's natural to need some time away, especially with his job.

She also gave him whatever sweet treats and pastries whenever he wanted. That paired with this new domestic comfort ensured that he was less of a pipe cleaner these days. He still had the eyes, of course.

But that pipe cleaner was a little less pipey in his older age.

Even Derek had mentioned it. His buddy had exclaimed, "Damn, you fill out his shirt these days, pretty boy. Have you been hitting the gym?" and in typical Derek fashion, he got Spencer in a headlock and poked him in the side. Spencer had tried to take the compliment as his friend had intended.

He couldn't, though.

"Hey, lovely, are you still working?" Y/N opened the door to their home office a smidge and only widened it when she heard him hum.

The fresh coffee she was holding was placed on the empty coaster on his desk, and as soon as her hands were free, they were massaging his shoulders, kneading them until he sighed and his head fell backwards onto her chest. He craned his neck back, his dark curls falling slightly out of place as he sought her gaze, and Y/N knew exactly what he needed. It was as if they shared a language that transcended words.

So, she moved her hand to the back of his head and scratched at the scalp behind his ear, just above where his hairline began. The sound she elicited from him was almost animalistic. Y/N kissed his cheek as he closed his eyes and let himself sink into the touch.

"You've been working too hard," she mumbled against his cheek. "Is this the first break you've taken today?"

"Uh-huh."

"You ate the lunch I left for you in the refrigerator, though?"

He had been so hyper focused on his work that he'd completely forgotten, and his lack of response was an answer in itself. It wasn't his fault. Sometimes when his brain honed in one particular area of something, he didn't notice any other stimuli.

"I'll go get it for you, baby."

With a kiss on the forehead, Y/N disappeared into the kitchen. During her departure, Spencer brought his coffee to his lips and completely misjudged the distance between the cup and his face, spilling hot liquid down his chin and chest.

The shock hit him like a freight train; the scorching coffee seeped through the fabric of his shirt, scalding his skin and sending jolts of heat radiating across his chest. A squeal escaped his lips, all high-pitched, and he leapt from his chair. He hastily began undoing the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling in a frantic attempt to rid himself of the damp fabric that clung to his skin.

In his shirtless state, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror out of the corner of his eye.

The reflection staring back at him wasn't the youthful, lean guy he was accustomed to. He studied the definition of the muscles that had begun to soften, and his brow furrowed as he turned, noticing the way his waist curved slightly more than it used to.

Spencer’s fingers grazed over his stomach and couldn't help but pinch the flesh there, feeling the blubber that had developed over time. The truth settled in the pit of his stomach: he no longer was that gangly boy, untouched by time and its consequences. How could he be? He'd changed so much over the past years, and now...

Now his body looked completely different and he didn't know how to react.

Body insecurity is second nature to women, so when Y/N came back to find her boyfriend scrutinising his appearance, she knew what was happening immediately. Her brows pinched together, an "oh baby" slipped past her lips, and once she'd placed his food on the desk, her hands guided his away from his hips.

"Are you okay?" She placed a delicate kiss on the back of his bare shoulder. "I heard your scream."

"I didn't scream."

"Sure, yea. Okay, baby."

Thanks to her sarcasm, a huff of amusement escaped Spencer’s lips. His eyes returned to his body in the mirror and any trace of levity fled him instantly.

"Are you still attracted to me?"

Y/N froze for a moment. She thought about what to say, it was essential. The only answer was yes, but it was more than that. She wanted to quell his worries and, based on her own insecurities, she knew that a simple yes wasn't an effective balm for them.

"Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?" She said softly, her eyes boring into his own in the mirror. He shook his head but remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "I thought, 'Now I can't get my mail in my pj's anymore, what if the hot guy from next door sees me and thinks I'm a slob?'"

"I love your pj's. They're cute," said Spencer without missing a beat, which made Y/N giggle. "That was back then, though. I don't look like that anymore."

"Do I look exactly like I used to?"

Her question caused his expression to turn thoughtful, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He bit his lip, glanced towards the ceiling, and took a deep breath before answering.

"I guess not."

"We have that in common then," she replied lightly, and her smile softened her voice a little. "And, baby, you're still a stud, and if you wanted to fill out some more, I wouldn't be opposed to it."

"What?" He turned to be chest to chest with her, a sly smile growing on his face. "You'd be into it if I went full dad bod, huh?"

Blush bloomed upon her cheeks and her heart rate sped up a little. "I worship every inch of you, and I think my brain would explode if I had more of you to fantasise about," Y/N admitted, her honesty laid out bare on the table.

There was no point hiding it, and it would help brighten his mood so she let her thoughts flow freely.

"I love your arms, all fleshy and biteable."

She did exactly as she said and playfully sunk her teeth into the flesh of his bicep, causing him to yelp. It didn't hurt at all, but he did gently push her head away with a laugh.

"Ow, you piranha!"

"Let me kiss it better," Y/N said, and this time she pressed her lips firmly against the bite mark she'd just made before he'd even responded. Her kisses travelled to his shoulder. "Love how broad these shoulders are, love just wrapping my arms around them and pulling you close—"

Spencer cut her off by catching her lips with his. He kissed her deeply and lovingly, pouring every ounce of appreciation he had ever felt for her into each press of his lips against hers. Y/N responded by slithering her arms onto his shoulders - just as she'd just mentioned - and she kissed him back with equal intensity.

If she'd said one more compliment, he probably would've melted on the spot, and Y/N was determined to find out how quickly she could get that reaction.

His chest was warm, and the gentle rise and fall of it invited her touch. "Love how soft you feel," Y/N whispered against his skin, trailing her tongue along the line of his collarbone and up his neck, sucking on his pulse point as soon as she reached it. "Your chest is a lot more comfortable to rest my head against with a bit of padding."

Spencer groaned. His knees felt weak as she nuzzled further into his skin, leaving wet marks wherever her mouth touched. "Baby, I need to get back to work…" he warned, although the tone of his voice was anything but threatening.

"You're taking a break," Y/N said in return, her voice low as she spoke against his neck. "I gotta show you how hot you are with a quick make out sesh."

Her words sent chills through his veins, and he tried to control his breathing, to slow it down, to ease his body back so he could return to the rhythm of his tasks. He sat back down in his chair as if that would help get his mind back on track, but Y/N plopped herself onto his lap, straddling his thighs and bringing her knees to either side of his hips.

"I'm gonna kiss every inch of your face. Every freckle, every scar, every wrinkle, every crevice." Her fingertips brushed his stubbled jawline. "Every part of you I can reach. I'm going to kiss it all until you beg me to stop."

Y/N's fingers trailed down to the tip of his chin, and slowly, slowly, she pulled his face up to meet hers, her lips barely brushing against his as she continued to talk. "Until you realise how much restraint I use every day to keep myself from doing this whenever I get the chance."

Then, she did exactly as she said.

Y/N placed an uncountable amount of cute, wet pecks all over his face and neck, and Spencer could do nothing more than succumb to her ministrations, to allow her to do whatever she pleased while she continued to stroke his hair and kiss him senseless. He was bright red within seconds.

And it was almost embarrassing how giggly he became.

"I think I missed a spot," Y/N smiled as she covered a spot on his cheek with her lips, then did it again and again and again and again. The more she peppered kisses over his face, the harder it was for him to keep himself composed.

"Baby..." he breathed, closing his eyes in pleasure as his fingers ran up Y/N's arms and rested gripped onto her biceps. "I think if any more blood rushes to my cheeks, my head will pop."

She giggled into his skin, and Spencer found himself smiling at the sound. That sweet sound filled his ears and spread throughout his whole being, and he sighed. This was far too addicting to quit, and he never had any intention of letting go. His stomach bloomed more and more butterflies with each smooch, and he wanted more. More touches, more kisses, more Y/N all to himself.

"Derek is right. He's always been right. Dr Spencer Reid is a pretty boy," she mumbled against his skin. "So handsome, sexy, and kind. He has a nice ass, too…" she trailed off and chuckled before pressing another few kisses over his jaw.

With a dopey sweet smile, she leant back and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, nudging her nose into his as she added, "And he's all mine," in a voice that was covered in pure adoration.

"All yours?"

"Uh-huh. All mine." She brought a hand up to cup his cheek. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm all yours. Every last inch of me," she said proudly, lowering her gaze. "You're stuck with me. Forever."

For all his intellect, Spencer couldn't work that out. He was overjoyed, obviously, but she'd made it sound so simple. Life this far hadn't been simple, far from it. Was this an impossible puzzle to solve and get his head around, or was the answer just as she said?

Maybe it could be. He hoped it was.

"I really, really like the sound of forever with you," he admitted, placing his palm over top of hers on his cheek. "Obviously, I know you know the limitations of human mortality and that forever is an unquantifiable amount of time that is impossible to grasp with our limited knowledge -"

She silenced him with a kiss because he was going to begin a rant that would send them both spiralling about death and the inevitable passage of time. Spencer's reaction was immediate and enthusiastic, and he kissed her back in earnest, cupping her jaw in both hands and deepening their kiss.

The kiss was slow. It was one that was both lazy and sweet, and they both melted deeper under the influence of it, their lips moving against each other with a sensual, yet tender care, and they were lost in each other. They kissed without a thought or worry or concern for anything else in the world; only focused on kissing each other to the fullest extent of their abilities.

Like always, Spencer kissed as if he wanted to consume her, to devour her utterly. Even when there was no intention of currently going any further than a smooch, he was giving it his all. His hands slid down from her jaw to hold the back of her neck before tangling themselves in her hair, and her arms wound tighter around him, tugging him closer.

It would've gone on for so long if Spencer's phone hadn't buzzed. At first, he ignored it. But Y/N tried her best to move away but he kept chasing her lips, desperate to keep their embrace going. When she finally managed to peel him off of her, she grabbed his phone, held it out to him, and in the 5 seconds it took her to do that, it began vibrating again.

"Penny's calling you."

"Don't care."

He attempted to steal another kiss. All it took was one stern look and he was picking up Garcia's call. As the work call commenced, Y/N cuddled into her boyfriend's side, resting her head in the crook of his neck while his free hand was brushing up and down her spine.

Penelope's usual chirpy tone spilled through the phone and, even though Y/N wasn't really paying attention to the words she heard, there was no doubt that Penny's typical speech patterns were as entertaining as ever to listen to.

From the snippets her brain had comprehended, the FBI was cracking down on Reid's anachronistic ways and was forcing him to modernise. Penelope, in an effort to ease this new transition for him, was offering to give him beginners lessons at using the company's software.

The conversation between the old friends wasn't a long one, and once it was nearing its end Spencer happened to mention, "Y/N's with me right now-" and an ear splitting screech came from the other end of the line.

"Y/N!? Hand the phone over! I haven't spoken to her in years - well, we got drinks last weekend but that's not the case - let me speak to her!"

Spencer winced at how loud she was speaking and did as she said, handing the phone over to Y/N and leaning back in his seat, watching as his girl pressed the phone to the ear that wasn't against his shirt.

"Hiya Pen, how are you doing, lovely?"

"Don't yell at me but I saw this top online that I thought you'd love, and I may have bought it, and it should arrive at your apartment within 2-3 business days," Penelope rattled off without stopping for a breath. She laughed nervously, as if anticipating a negative response, but it never came.

"That's so sweet. Thank you! I'll get Spencer to bring in a box of treats for you tomorrow. What kind do you like?" Y/N replied, her tone becoming excited as she talked to Penelope.

The two women talked about their favourite pastries for a little while longer, with Spencer occasionally chiming in and adding his own opinion and suggestions whenever he wanted to be included. He watched as the women interacted with each other like they'd known each other from birth instead of meeting just a couple months prior.

It made sense though. Both Penelope and Y/N were absolute sweethearts, they both were a little on the weird side, and both had changed Spencer’s life for the better. He was grateful and loved every second of it (even when they began to tease him) so he was a smidge bit disappointed when they said their goodbyes.

"Bye Y/N, love you," he heard Penelope coo and Y/N immediately reciprocated the notion, which was just insane. It took years of Spencer's life for him to gather enough courage to drop the L bomb to Y/N. It was almost a decade.

But, Penelope said it so casually in no time at all.

Obviously, the situation was different. As far as Reid knew, Garcia wasn't 'in love' with Y/N like he was. Their relationship was purely platonic. It wasn't the double sided 'unrequited' love kind of friendship that Spencer had with her back in the days before they were a couple.

Still, a weird sense of jealousy stirred in him at that revelation.

If he had a fraction of the confidence Penelope had, maybe Y/N would've known sooner about their true feelings towards one another. She would've known he worships the ground she walks on a handful of years ago. How different would his life look if he'd been more like Penelope?

Whatever the case, the pair ordered Thai food, Y/N fell asleep cwtched into Spencer’s side halfway through an episode of Doctor Who, and he carried her to bed (and maybe he did knock her head on the doorframe and woke her up) like they did every Saturday evening. It was a routine of pure comfort that he cherished.

It seemed perfect. His team often said that too. Whenever their relationship was brought up in conversation, the team often pointed out that from the outside, it seemed like they never argued, never fought, never had problems, and that was mostly the truth.

Spencer knew couples fight and that's okay. A healthy amount of conflict can be beneficial to understand the other person's perspective more clearly. But, Spencer and Y/N didn't fight. Obviously, they had differing opinions on some things and Spencer knew he had the tendency to snap if he had a headache - even then, he always apologised directly after he'd made that comment - yet they hadn't had an actual argument.

Not even once.

Until...

A case in Nebraska then another straight after that in Birmingham had caused Spencer to be away from home for just under a month and a half. Both of those had been grisly, drawn out, and tiring, but to top it all off, the flight back home arrived at 2am in the morning and Spencer hadn't managed to get a nap in on the plane.

By the time he got home, all he was thinking about was getting into bed, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend, and being completely comatose for far too many hours. The moment he stepped foot into the apartment, however, his plans were cut short.

Y/N was still awake. She was sitting on the sofa with a coffee in one hand, a book in the other, and a blanket across her lap. As soon as she heard his arrival, she greeted, "Hi, lovely, how was your trip?"

As much as he would like to tell her everything that had transpired during his absence, he couldn't. Spencer could barely keep his eyes open. All he managed was, "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I wanted to wait up for you."

"You didn't need to."

He hadn't intended to sound so cold and indifferent, but he didn't have control over his vocal cords right at that moment. He was feeling exhausted - physically, mentally, emotionally, and verbally drained - which meant the last thing he wanted was someone fussing over him.

If Y/N had been in a good mood, that comment would've rolled right off. If he'd said that on a non monthly monster day, she probably wouldn't have replied with a snarky, "No, guess I didn't."

"Can we do this in the morning?"

"Do what?"

"I don’t need you interrogating me right now.”

“Interrogating?” she repeated, eyes narrowing. “I asked how your trip was, Spencer. I’m not shining a light in your face asking for confessions.”

Spencer let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he explained himself, and his angst increased with each syllable he said, "I'm too drained to deal with you annoying me right now! I don't want to tell you how my trip was! People were murdered, Y/N. It wasn't some holiday. That's my job and I have to have the space to handle it. Can't you just let me be?"

When the words left Spencer's mouth, the atmosphere inside the room had gone from a sluggish haze to tense silence. Y/N blinked and her face hardened.

"Let you be?" she repeated, her voice dangerously quiet. "I haven't seen you in over a month, Spencer. I get that your job is horrible sometimes, but I missed you and I thought you’d want someone to come home to talk to."

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His exhaustion had swallowed any rational thoughts, and he was too tired to pick through the mess of emotions boiling inside him. He shook his head.

Then, he said something he really didn't mean to. If he could take it back, he would in a heartbeat.

"This isn’t about you, Y/N. Not everything is about you."

Silence fell between them again, thick and heavy. Spencer could feel the weight of his words sinking in. He wanted to say something, to soothe the wound, but it felt like the damage was done.

"Go to bed, Spencer," she finally said, her voice resigned.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Fine, stand there and glare daggers at me then."

"I'm not glaring."

"Are too."

"Am not."

They stared each other down, neither willing to concede their point. Until, eventually, Spencer broke eye contact with an aggravated huff, threw his bag to the ground, and stomped into their bedroom.

From her place on the couch, Y/N heard through the wall as showered in their en-suite and flopped down on the bed, the springs creaking and groaning as he adjusted herself. She laid on the couch for a few moments, debating with herself whether she ought to follow him into the bedroom or not. The blanket didn’t feel as warm and cosy as it had 10 mins ago, and the coffee tasted far more bitter.

Ultimately, she decided against it. He needed space and sleep, and she could give him that much. Besides, the coffee she'd drunk to stay up for him was still flowing through her veins so going to bed right now was out of the question. So, with a sigh, she got up off the sofa, picked up Spencer's abandoned bag, and stuffed his dirty laundry into the washing machine.

She sat on the floor and read as she waited for the clothes to finish the cycle, and though she tried to keep them at bay, tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, and she quickly wiped at them before they splotched against the page.

Then, when they were finally done and had been moved to the dryer, Y/N prepared herself for bed. Two aspirins and a fully filled heated hot water bottle later, she retreated to Spencer’s office and pulled down the Murphy bed as quietly as she could. It was a little creaky and the mattress wasn't the most comfortable without the topper on it, but she couldn't be bothered to search for it.

The pillow and duvet that was kept in the cupboard beside the bed was enough for the night.

So, she went to bed. Alone, which wasn't unusual since Spencer was always across the country with the BAU, but this was the first night slept by herself while he was home since they got together. It was weird, but she eventually fell asleep.

Spencer, on the other hand, hadn't managed to doze off. His big brain was whirring with everything he thought he should've said instead of being an asshole. He should've answered her initial question with a weary but understanding, "Sorry, baby, but I'm really tired and I just want to use your chest as my pillow. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, okay?"

He didn't say that, though, and now he couldn't sleep.

His socks made a soft shuffling sound as he made his way into the living room in search of his girlfriend, expecting to find her dozing on the couch. Obviously, he didn't find that, yet he did hear the beep of the dryer.

Even during a fight, she'd done his washing for him. That caused him to feel even more guilty about how he'd treated her because, fuck, he knew she loved him. This was empirical proof of that. On any other night, that would've brought a dopey lovesick smile to his face and a fluttering in his stomach; but, as it currently was, it only made him feel nauseous.

Maybe part of that was the sleep deprivation, yet the memory of Y/N's sad little face was enough to send a pang of regret ricocheting around the insides of Spencer's ribcage.

He was a big, gun wielding FBI man who'd put himself in front of serial killers on a weekly basis, but the thought of upsetting his girlfriend scared the hell out of him. What if Y/N wanted nothing to do with him anymore?

No more kisses, no more cuddles, no more mornings spent wrapped tightly in her embrace, no more late night conversations about random topics that would lead nowhere while they were watching TV, no more shared smiles and quiet giggles, no more love.

That thought alone felt as if someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of his pj shirt, and the only way to soothe that was to feel Y/N's warmth pressed against him.

As quietly as he could, Spencer slipped into the spare room and settled under the covers behind Y/N. He tried not to wake her, but as he wrapped an arm around her waist, his palm came upon something unnaturally warm and plastic resting against her lower stomach, and he kept poking it to work out what the hell it was.

"Hot water bottle," she grumbled. "For cramps."

Shit. He was usually aware of her biological schedule, but given the circumstances, he'd completely forgotten that mother nature had decided to damn his lovely girlfriend with cramps and pains and irritability and literal bleeding just because she was a woman. He'd been a dick to her while she was going through that?

"Oh, baby," he cooed, pulling her so she was lying down on her back. He nudged the bottle out of the way so he could tenderly rub circles on her stomach. "I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't mean to -"

"Shhhh... Tomorrow."

"But, I can't if you're mad at me and -"

"Spencer, baby." She pressed a barely awake kiss to his cheek. "I'm not mad at you, I promise. Just tired, is all."

She sounded half asleep, the words slurring slightly, so Spencer nodded in acknowledgement and followed her lead into slumber. He would apologise to her properly in the morning. For now, he was content to drift off listening to her breathing and feeling her heartbeat in time with his own, until sleep took over entirely.

And when he woke in the afternoon, Spencer was ordering them lunch in the hopes it would arrive ready for her as she woke. He was ready to plead and grovel and get down on his knees if necessary to make things go right. It was the least he could do to apologise to the woman he loved.

When Y/N finally did wake up, she was greeted with new but familiar surroundings. She was 100% sure that she'd fallen asleep in the spare room. As she looked around the room with a half hidden lidded gaze, she saw her phone plugged charging on the bedside table, the perfume bottles that she kept on the vanity opposite the bed, and the kangaroo teddy Spencer had gotten her as a gift on the chair beside that.

She was in her room. He must've carried her to their bed when he woke up.

"Stay there, baby!" he urged, sounding as if he was somewhere near the front door. There was some muffled conversation, then Spencer appeared in the bedroom doorway with a paper bag of sweet smelling food.

He shuffled into the room, his steps a little nervous, and held the food towards her.

"Are you trying to bribe me, Spencer Reid?"

"...Maybe."

His smile was sheepish and apologetic and beautiful all at once. He was dressed down in sweats and an old tshirt, hair sticking up every direction, and he sat down at the edge of the bed as if he was waiting for permission to get any closer.

"I'm gonna need one more thing to forgive you."

"Anything."

Y/N urged him closer with one beckoning forefinger and Spencer obediently scooted forward, closing the gap between them.

"Gonna need a kiss."

"That, I can do."

His lips landed softly upon hers in an instant. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she kissed him, and when she was satisfied with his apology smooch, she broke away from it and leaned her forehead against his. They stayed like that for a moment, their breaths mingling and foreheads touching, their noses lightly brushing each other's.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "Talking to you when I get home from work really helps me calm down, but I was so exhausted last night that I couldn't stop myself from snapping at you. And, Y/N, I didn't realise…" His palm made its way back to her stomach. "How bad are your cramps today?"

"They're not so bad. It's okay." That wasn't entirely true, and he knew she was downplaying it for his sake. "Completely devouring whatever treat you ordered would probably help."

Chuckling, he pecked her temple and their feast of pancakes, waffles, and French toast commenced. As the two ate, he watched her carefully, noting the way the corners of her mouth turned upwards at his silly jokes, the way her nose wrinkled adorably, and the way her tongue peeked out from between her lips to lick whipped cream off of her fingers.

The idea of losing this, losing her, losing them, was unthinkable. And in order to prevent that from happening, Spencer knew what he had to do.

He was going to go ring shopping at the earliest convenience.

*Click here for my Spencer Reid masterlist, or here for the entire masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

[todorokies]

Hello! Are your applications still open? If not, then just ignore my post. Can I ask you something sweet with Megumi or Gojo, how would they take care of their s/o when she is not feeling well after a mission. Also do you write for Okkotsu Yuuta and Inumaki Toge?

taking care of their s/o after a mission

including: satoru gojo & megumi fushiguro (separate)

a/n: im so sorry it took a while for me to write this anon, but i hope i delivered to your liking <3 also i write for yuuta but not inumaki but he’s still my baby ^~^

☆ . . . satoru chooses to put you in his high regards. constantly emphasizing your abilities to whomever is within ear length or he’ll always find a way to steer a conversation to make it about you . . . you recently learned and honed a new technique? he will climb the tallest building in japan and announce it to the local citizens. there’s not a single doubt about your capability that lingers in his mind, however, when you come home with a limp, bruises that would take a miracle to heal, and the life drained from your face a harsh reality check slaps him across the face.

you don’t have the same durability as him and not completely invincible to attacks. the thought of you leaving for a mission and possibly not coming back made his throat tighten up like barbwire around the flesh.

he’d offer to run you a hot bath. once you accept, he’ll tenderly wash your hair and carefully massage your back, being mindful of the few knots that cover the corners of your body. kissing those exact spots after each movement of his fingers cascade your figure.

☆ . . . megumi has good intentions but his efforts come off as awkward. he has been in many positions in his life of having to take care of his loved ones, it comes as a second nature to him, however he struggles immensely with romantic vulnerability. 

you make a small appearance at his dorm to greet him after your mission. a pitiful smile plays on your lips as you lean most of your body on the edge of the door. your breathing is jagged while wincing every now and then with a hand resting on your lower abdomen. he immediately invites you, oddly keeping a distance —mainly to observe you— after listening to you retell the details of the mission he offers you painkillers, water, vitamins, and a change of clothes. (his clothes)

although you already visited shoko upon your arrival, he still insists on checking your wounds and bruises; cautiously peeling off the bandage to see if you got properly stitched up. with his callused fingers lightly threading against your fragile skin goosebumps arises met with a shiver going down your spine. the entire act is such an intimate sight to see.

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3 requests are open send em in !

[vinnieswife]

Our bet - JB

Jude Bellingham x fem! reader

words: 1365

warnings: smut! blowjob, male!receiving, bad lenguage. SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

summary: After a party with a few friends, Jude places a small bet on the reader that ends in something else...

"okey that was really fun."

"Damn it was," your boyfriend chuckled, shaking his head at the memories of tonight's events. "Did you see Mason strip on the pool table?" you snorted, "who didn't? He was screaming screaming screaming the lyrics to 'Doja'."

You both laughed at the same time as Jude wrapped his arms around your body, testing it dreamily. Quickly he stole a kiss from you,and lifted his hand to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

"You couldn't seem to keep your hands off me tonight, baby."

you squinted mechanically, feeling offended, "you just implied that I was clingy?"

"Oh, honey, it's not a nasty problem, I absolutely adore it when you're clingy. I used to be just-".

"oi oi im not clingy."

"okay, then i'm gonna bet that you can't go at least 5 minutes without touching me while we're making out," he confidently stated, pursing his lips together in a cocky manner, to which you scoffed at with a shake of your head.

"that's not really fair... you can't expect me to keep my hands to myself during something like that," you huffed out frustratedly. "we both know that you're just setting me up to fail."

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, "for someone who keeps telling me they're not clingy, you don't seem very sure about it."

Jude was starting to irritate you.And as a solution to his annoyance, you crossed your arms across your chest and hastily pressed your lips to his plump lips, just to play nice, Jude's hands disappeared from your neck, tucking them into his pockets. Jude hated the way you were kissing him, your kisses followed a slow but steady rhythm making him melt and crave for more.

You sighed into the kiss and moved a little closer to him, with your arms crossed you could gently brush against his chest, there was no way you could do this without any other physical contact.

Pulling away from him, you looked down at your shoes with an obvious red tint to your cheeks. You didn't even need to look at him to know he had the most arrogant, smug smile on his face.

But you needed to prove something.

So you raised your head again and kept eye contact with him as you leaned in to start kissing him again.

You had surprised him when you went back for more, but he was more surprised when he could feel your tongue running along his bottom lip, begging to enter his mouth, he allowed your tongue to come into contact with his and now you were fighting for dominance. you were so determined to somehow win this bet, it prompted you to push your knee against his, signaling him to start moving, Jude hummed for a millisecond, sending mini vibrations all over your mouth, before he backed up onto the bed.

/////////////////////////////////

Naturally, Jude sat down slowly, which caused you to straddle him with your legs on either side of him, you tilted your head to give him more access, and you could already feel your insides burning with need,you were struggling.

"Don't touch, baby," he murmured into your mouth as he felt your fingers slowly creep under his shirt and brush against his pelvis, he reached down to remove your hands.

"Come on, you know the rules y/n."

You moaned in frustration, but nevertheless kept your lips on his with your hands, more or less, away from his body. God, this was really killing you. You wondered how much longer you would be able to keep this up, because it turned out that he was actually quite right with his earlier statement, you were clingy at times. But only because you are deeply in love with him and he is the sexiest man alive, could anyone blame you?So you gave up on the spot.

"Fuck, Jude, please."

Your boyfriend smirked contentedly against your swollen lips at your plea, and pulled away slightly to maintain tense eye contact with you, "hmm.. what about our bet, honey?"

"Shut up, you know you won," you told him in an irritated tone, rolling your eyes at his smugness. "Because I'll touch whatever I want, whenever I want."

"Do you want to make this bet a little more worthwhile?" he asked you, though it didn't seem like a question to you.

"It depends... Do you have training tomorrow?"

"No. Do you?"

"I don't play football Jude love."

He ran his tongue over his lower lip and stared at yours, suddenly feeling impatient for what was coming, "then we have time" not wanting to waste another second, you pushed your head forward to close the gap between you, taking advantage of the privilege you didn't have during the bet, your hands found their way into his hair so you could deepen the affection. His hands slid playfully upward from your thighs, giving your ass a small squeeze.

After bringing your tongues together, your hands slowly traveled from his hair to his shoulders, his torso, and down his shirt to feel his hips, since you couldn't before.

Jude's moan disappeared into your mouth as you unzipped and unbuttoned his jeans, and voluntarily slipped one of your hands inside to grasp him firmly, pulling him out, you pulled back a little from his lips smiling slightly. Your forehead rested against his as your hand began to stroke him up and down. You made sure to keep eye contact with him, his pupils were almost trembling from the pleasure you were giving him and his lips parted slightly letting out moans of pure pleasure.

You brushed the tip of it with your thumb, which made his breath hitch, "I love touching you, baby."

"And I love it when you touch me Aah~."

"I know you do~" you told him with a small smile, stopping your hand movements. "~ your eyes say it all."

Something between a moan and a groan came out of his mouth and he closed his eyes before clasping his hand over yours that had stopped moving along his cock,he began to move your hand against him at the pace he wanted, and your smile only grew at how desperate he was for your touch. He always wanted you as much as you wanted him.

His hand soon left yours as soon as you kept a steady but faster pace. You urged yourself to bury your face in his neck, leaving wet kisses along his tanned skin. Nothing but heavy breaths fanned over your ear like a hot gust, tickling your skin and giving you goosebumps.

His head lolled back, while his forearms rested on the sheets for balance, endless moans rang throughout your bedroom. For a second, you worried if anyone else in the halls would be able to hear it, but then he started praising you, "Fuck, like this, baby. You're so good." You completely forgot about them.

You could feel a whole load of pre-cum dripping from the tip of his hardened cock and you licked your lips at the sight of it, without giving him warning, you slid your legs off the bed so you could bend over and wrap your mouth around him.

"Holy fucking shit y/n."

You were driving him crazy, and there was no doubt he was about to orgasm at any moment.

Jude's other hand reached down to grasp the base of his cock, while your mouth continued around the tip and your tongue continued to work wonders on him. To double the pleasure, he began to stroke himself at a pace that he knew would help him climax faster.

"I'm going to cum," he managed to mumble, turning his head slightly away, guttural moans bounced off the walls and echoed in your ears as his hips stuttered slightly. He sat up on his elbows with a suggestive smirk.

"You were so loud," you affirmed with a chuckle, returning to straddle his thighs.

Jude chuckled, and was already about to unbutton your jeans so he could lower his hand down to your hotness, "Well, it's about to get a lot louder in here, baby."

[zeebee3]

Dramione Month Day 6: Legilimens

Draco/Hermione

NSFW

Continuation of Day 5.

---

She broke the kiss a moment later.

“You really want this? It’s not just because I’m here and you’re—”

He cut her off with another slanting kiss, putting as much into it as he could. When he drew back, she was panting. 

“I’m only here and hard because of you,” he murmured. “Or did you think I needed a refresher on Interrogative and Defensive Mind Magicks?”

She blinked up at him. “Well…they’re very useful…it’s always good to hone skills.”

“I’m a natural Occlumens,” he reminded her. “And the skill transfers the other way, too.”

Her hands slid from his shoulders down to rest over his chest. Little hands, but strong. His heart pounded below her palms.

“So then…why did you come along?”

“You asked me if I’d be willing to attend the conference. I am.”

It was clear the answer surprised her, but then she huffed an incredulous laugh. 

“You came all the way to Zürich for a conference on a subject you’re naturally adept in just to, what, placate me?”

He shrugged a casual shoulder. “It’s quite a nice city. Incredible architecture. Amazing views.”

He dared to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, fully unobstructing his currently perfect view. When she huffed again, he couldn’t hold his smirk, gazing down at her with open affection. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she accused lightly. “Had you never considered just telling me how you felt?”

Countless times. A nearly unending thread of conversation in his head, scenarios built and summarily dismantled when reality tapped politely against his skull. The concept of confession was not new to him, but it still felt unfamiliar.

“All the time,” he murmured.

When she wet her bottom lip, he wondered if she could taste him still.  

“I’m sorry but I’m finding it a bit hard to believe that. You’ve always been so aloof. I’m a very perceptive person but until tonight, I had no idea you thought of me as anything but a mildly irksome colleague.”

“Mildly? You drive me mad.”

“So you’ve said. But you’ve never once…you’re always so reserved.”

Restrained, he wanted to correct, but she was close enough. 

“I have been, yes.”

The validation settled her slightly, shoulders dropping down. Total relaxation would be even better, so he inhaled deeply and offered himself up.

“I have all the data to back up my claim right here, if you’d like to practice honing your skills?”

“What, you mean…?” Her eyes flicked to his forehead, then back. “Really?”

Blame it on the lingering delirium of her kiss, or the pounding of his heart, or the unrelenting interest straining toward her, but in that moment, inviting her into his head seemed like the most logical solution to a very easy-to-solve problem. Let her see what he felt for her, and then she’d know and he could do something about it.

“Mmhmm.” He stroked the hinge of her jaw with his thumb, then let his fingers slide down the side of her neck to rest on her shoulder. “Get your wand. Have a look.”

It was, evidently, an easy choice for her, too. 

He’d been at the end of her wand tip before, many times, but in this instance, his only concern was for her. What would she think once she knew? He braced himself. 

“Legilimens,” she incanted, eyes locked on his, and then she was inside his head, and he let her see. 

Her striking amber eyes were first, as they always were, featured in flashes of memories: seeing them deep and thoughtful, sparkling with delight, narrowed in annoyance. 

And then her lips — he did his best to skate through those thoughts as quickly as her Legilimency allowed, pulling forward specific examples instead of his increasingly depraved ramblings. 

Across the refectory, sipping tea then shooting him a bemused smile over the rim. Leading a debriefing, commanding the room easily. Hunched over her desk, wand in her curls, exhausted but breathtaking. And all the associated feelings those moment had elicited in him: butterflies, hot arousal, yearning. 

And then he offered her specifics. A glimpse down her blouse, and the fantasies it had fueled for weeks, a rush of images that had never existed but were so clear, so often imagined, that they may as well have. 

And then a very real memory, offered to her as final proof for everything he’d claimed: a view down his abdomen, watching as he pinned the toy to the mattress, thick cock burying into it over and over as his thumb rubbed lazily, soothingly at the silicone clit. Whispered words, low and agonized, heralding the end. “What a good fucking girl, Hermione.”

She left his mind with a shudder. 

He was leaking all over himself, pants damp with his want after having re-lived so many moments he usually parceled out, but his attention was riveted on her. 

“See,” he managed, voice rough. “All the time.”

“I’m…” Her eyes were slightly glazed, cheeks flushed. “Overwhelmed. Oh gods. That’s…so much.”

He grimaced. “I tried to stem some of the images but you kept—”

She barked a laugh, tight and wild. “You, Malfoy. It can’t be—oh gods there’s no way—”

Desire shot through him, mixing potently with pride and affection. Holding her eye, he gently, carefully, gripped her wrist and slid her hand from his chest down his abdomen, stopping the buckle of his belt. 

“Go ahead. Find out.”

A small rotation within his hold, and then her palm was cupping him, eyes widening as she mapped him. 

“Oh…Godric.” Lips parted, eyes dropping — he preened. “Fuck, you’re…”

She found the tip and squeezed it lightly, seeing the pleasure in his face, then stroked him all the way up to the base. He had to bite his lip to stem the pathetic noise burning in his throat at her confident touch. 

“Can I see you?” she asked, the question tinged with wonderment. 

“Fuck. Absolutely.” He went to undo his belt but she got there first, batting his hands away and working the leather through the silver buckle. 

Her eyes only broke from his when the zipper snagged at the bulge, looking down to work over the obstacle begging to be set free. As soon as his fly was undone, she pulled at the waistband of his black briefs and dipped her hand inside. He sucked in a breath when her knuckles skimmed his pelvis and then hissed it out when she found his cock. 

“Oh…” The word faded as her lips parted, eyes rounding, and then she was tugging at the waistband, baring him to the room. “...fuck.”

It was silly to be proud of something he’d had no role in obtaining, but the feeling surged in his chest all the same. 

“You can touch,” he whispered, “if you like.”

She didn’t hesitate, her hand smoothing up his length in a single, devastating glide that made his next blink labored and sluggish. The number of times he’d imagined this very act–

The little crease between her brows was back, hinting at a busy mind. He wanted so desperately to know what she was thinking, except that she was still stroking his cock, and he’d been hard for her for years, and coping with the situation was getting dicey, let alone unpacking it in real-time. 

Maybe she’d get him off and then he’d be able to think fully; he’d make it up to her twenty times over. Or maybe he should pull her hand off and make it up to her first. Yes. That was the better route.

He was about to do just that when she squeezed until her middle finger and thumb touched, eyes flicking up to his when he grunted at the constriction. Oh…fucking hell. 

“This is…” She let go of him to grip her wrist, and a little sound of despair escaped when her fingers touched easily. “Jesus fuck, Draco.”

He wanted her hand back on him; was nearly dizzy with want and from standing for so long on only two of his available legs. 

“I told you. I don’t fit the standard size.”

“No, you most certainly do not.” She reached for him again, squeezing then stroking. “Right. Get on the bed. Straightaway.”

While her enthusiasm was intensely gratifying, he caught her elbow and pulled her to him. “Kiss me again?”

“I’m going to kiss you lots,” she assured him, but went up to press her lips to his obligingly. He leaned into it, turning it long and languid, savoring her. 

“I’m about to be nearly incoherent,” he explained softly, pecking another compulsive kiss to her lips. “Wanted one more to remember.”

She scoffed, amused and pleased. “Ridiculous man.”

“Want back inside my head?” he offered dryly. “I’m pathetically into you. There’s a massive chance this is going to kill me.”

She hummed a warm, alluring sound, and finally succeeded in tugging him to the bed, letting go to climb up and settle onto her back. “It certainly seems so. Trousers off; shirt too.”

From her place on the bed, she watched as he hurriedly undressed, tossing his shirt to the side and then kicking off his trousers, leaving everything in a rumpled mess. When she sat up to pull her own shirt off, he had to wrap his fingers at his base. 

“You should be on top,” he said, trying to keep a level head as she revealed dusky nipples, the well of her navel, a tidy strip of curls. “You’ll…uh, you’ll have more control over the depth and pace.”

She shook her head obstinately, tossing her knickers aside and then bringing her knees up, feet wide. “I don’t want the control — I want to feel you on top of me, breaking me open.”

He had to squeeze his eyes shut against the double-punch of her words and body. “Don’t—Merlin fucking hell, Granger. Fuck.”

“I trust you,” she promised. “You showed me what you want. And I want you to have it. If you don’t believe me, then come have a look for yourself.”

It wasn't an idle invitation, he knew, and so he took it, needing to be sure. A wand wasn’t necessary for him; neither was opening his eyes or his mouth. He just felt for her behind his lids and whispered the word to himself, slow and curling. Legilimens.

She’d been ready for him; had the image front and center for his consumption. He devoured it. 

A view down her abdomen, muscles tensing, legs wide, the toy in her hand glistening with every retreat, every thrust forward met with a burst of pleasure. Thick. Almost as thick as her wrist. 

”It’ll fit,” she whispered, in his mind and out loud. “See? I’m so good at taking it.”

The reality of his present circumstances hit a moment later. He was inside her mind; she’d let him in and wanted him to know—

He was on the bed a moment later, crawling over her, pushing her thighs wider to fit himself between them, scrambling to get out of her mind before he fully lost control. He had just enough coherence left to look down, wanting to memorize the sight of himself resting over her pelvis, when she instantly foiled any plans at retention by dropping a hand and pressing his length solidly against her. He felt the soft heat of her belly, the raw need conveyed in her touch, and groaned, oozing precum into her navel.

“Gods,” he whined, hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Please, can I–?”

She encircled him, pushing him lower. “Absolutely, yes.” 

He took over, as she’d requested, but despite the memory she’d shown him, knew she needed preparation. Lips pressed to her throat, and then her collarbones as he supported himself on a forearm beside her head and sank a finger deep. She rocked up against his wrist, keening again, and grabbed for him, fingers raking into his hair. 

One was easy, two were snug, three were a stretch. 

He panted against her breast then withdrew his fingers to work them over her clit, licking his way up to her mouth, muffling her moans. 

She nipped at his lip, sucked it, then broke off to pant, “Inside.”

It was overwhelming. To stroke himself and feel her arousal coat him; to push against the source of it and be slowly welcomed in. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his back as he eased himself inside, the way made easier once she’d taken the broad head. 

Her breath left her in a gasp as he reached under her lower back to lift, adjusting the angle until he could sink in to the hilt. It was better than even his most careful fantasies, the ones that he sat with for days, stitching together until it felt real enough that when he fucked his toy, it truly felt like her.

It hadn’t though – not even close. Where the silicone gave way, she hugged. Where it dried, she was soaked and getting wetter. And when he reached between them to thumb at her clit, she stuttered out his name.

It was the response to his call that he’d yearned for; he kissed it off her tongue, then called it forth again and again until her nails were biting into his skin and the end was reaching for him with two, tight fists. 

“You feel–” There weren't any words. “You’re so–Is this–?”

“So good,” she panted. “Gods, you feel so much better.”

He didn’t need to ask than what, not when his own toy would now be relegated to second place; to the bin. But despite all his fervent practice with it, it seemed the toy had been insufficient stamina training when he was inundated with her. The barrage of sensation – her scent, her touch, her sounds, her pleasure – was breaking him down until he was careening to the edge, doing whatever he could to pull her over with him. 

“Is it enough?” He worked his thumb over her clit, palm warm and heavy above where he could feel – fuck – feel himself thrusting inside. “What can I do?”

“Just don’t stop,” she moaned.

Well. Then he was about to fail her. 

If only he could get his tongue between her legs without needing to move–

He dropped his forehead to hers and offered her a thought, rich in detail, saturated with desire: the slow, steady suction of a mouth, the wet curl of a tongue strumming; relentless, endless pressure.

“Draco,” she whined. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

Her body closed down around him, arms and legs and inner walls until she was shaking and, blissfully, miraculously, coming. The constriction was like nothing he’d ever felt, the pulses strong and coaxing until he was stammering out her name, orgasm wracking through him and into her, mind and body. 

When coherence slowly returned, he eased out of her mind but let his hips rest heavily against hers, luxuriating in the little aftershocks. Her arms were slack around his shoulders, mouth ajar against his, catching her breath.

“Holy shit,” she panted. “Jesus, that was–holy shit.”

“Should have asked,” he mumbled, giving her a lazy kiss before slipping sideways to nuzzle into the crook of her neck. “The mind thing. And the coming inside thing.”

“Both were…” She huffed a laugh, sliding an arm up his back to card through his hair. “Gods.”

“Good.” He exhaled, exhausted and the most sated of his life. “Good.”

“Better than good.” Her fingers swirled through his hair idly. “You ought to be up there leading the seminar.”

He huffed a laugh against her curls. “Ah, yes. How to Make a Witch Come with Thoughts. Lesson one: be pathetically desperate for her, and uninhibited with letting her see it.” He raised his head to slant a grin down at her. “Think it’d be well attended?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure.” Her responding smile was cheeky, the edge of her lip caught in her teeth. “Should I practice the first lesson, and you can give me pointers?”

She kissed his cheek then encouraged him over onto his back, following him over to sit over his hips. “Okay, Draco. Lesson one. Ready?” 

Mouth dry, he nodded. Her eyes were fond as they held his, the amber as warm and inviting as her soft word.

“Legilimens.”

(fin)

[lya-dustin]

The Last Wolf of Lankiveil

Part 2 of Queen of Light, King of Darkness ft the poll thanks to @jennathearcher @lady-phasma for the idea of the were-feyd fic

Taglist: @avidreader73 @emilykaldwen @cljordan-imperium @beebeechaos @dunefandomhub

Cw: murder, blood, lycanthropy

For all his reputation as a Beast and Count of Lankiveil, Glossu Rabban had not inherited their mother’s true nature thanks to their father’s wretched human blood.

Feyd Rautha had inherited more than just Onir Rautha's name, he had inherited his lycanthropy.

A true Beast, like those who ruled Lankiveil's icy lands before the Harkonnen's hunted them to extinction.

A shame his mother had to die to keep his true nature a mystery from his beloved uncle. As his mother’s son, Feyd will make sure her death wasn’t in vain.

The universe will be ruled by the last Wolf of Lankiveil.

And for that to happen, Paul Atreides and his wife, Feyd’s own sister-in-law had to die. He’d done away with Atreides’ pet and the bastard in her belly, and you deserved a gift as magnificent as the one you gave him that morning in Arrakis.

“We were hoping you could join us for a hunt in my son’s honor.” Feyd gives no indication of what he has planned for the Muad’Dib and the wife he refuses to even touch.

It is not that difficult; his wolf form could not be sensed, and he had received enough training to hone the abilities that would have created the Kwisatz Haderach. He can hide from their visions and escape their control completely.

“I am sure my wife longs to see her sister and our nephew again. We will be there, cousin.” Paul’s eyes hold some suspicion, but their alliance has chipped away at most of it. As far as his cousin knows, Feyd is a simple man with simple pleasures. Give him something to respect in you and a weapon in his hands and he will massacre entire planets in your name.

But the young baron is a father now and his perfect little heir can’t aspire to be his uncle’s heir when his lady mother is far more deserving of the Throne.

You, his Queen of Light, his Nurbanu, deserved the universe.

There is something other about him. Something related to his violent nature and the moon.

You had heard the rumors of the lycanthropy that plagued House Rabban, but one thing was hearing stories about the wolves of Lankiveil and another one was seeing her husband leave for a hunt on a full moon and hear a wolf’s howl unlike aby you’ve ever heard.

Irulan and Paul would be visiting some village across the forest that had myths of the Kwisatz Haderach they wanted to take advantage of.

You weren’t supposed to follow, you were supposed to stay home with Murad who would turn one year old tomorrow. But you wanted to confirm your suspicions.

You arrive at the village to find it in chaos. It had been destroyed as if something ravaged it and its people. Like a one man army.

“The Wolf of Lankiveil!” they shout in fear and adoration. “The Kwisatz Haderach has been destroyed!”

Contrary to popular belief, you didn’t hate your sister. She annoyed you and stood between you and your throne, but you didn’t hate her. And while you knew this day would come, you knew you would feel terrible for murdering her.

Feyd didn’t understand that part, he didn’t have a single positive memory of his brother nor any chance to be a friend to anyone.

You find the wolf at the edge of the village and you smile at the sight of him.

Your guards beg you to keep away, fearing what would happen if the wolf carried you off.

None recognize the blue human eyes in the wolf.

Your Feyd, your husband.

You believed yourself immune to him, that his violence would keep you from ever falling in love with him, but in the end he grew on you. Like mold on rotten fruit.

“So this is where you went off to, dear husband?” you ask the man beast covered in the blood of innocents.

Come with me.

No need to tell you twice. In a fluid movement you’ve gotten on his back and he takes off at breakneck speeds.

It is thrilling, to feel the icy wind around you as you use all your abilities to remain in place. You can hear his laugh echo in yours as you ride through the woods.

Not long after the wolf begins to shift, the fur thinning, the canine body losing its structure in favor of something human like and soon you arrive to his hideout clutching his back. You must look ridiculous piggybacking a bloody and very naked Feyd.

“Did you like your gift, wife?” his black teeth still have blood from where he tore apart his victims and the red staining his snow like skin paints a beautiful picture.

“How could I not, my baron?” you kiss his bloody mouth and show how much you love his gift, how much you love him.

Your daughter ,Asena Rautha, conceived that night, is born a wolf.

Just like her father.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Imagine this for post jttw.

There's a really, really important festival coming up for FFM. Soemthing similar to Qingming, specifically to remember and celebrate those lost to the Great Burning and the War, and it's something that's SUPER stressful for Wukong because, well, he feels that he has to get this right no matter what! It was HIS foolishness that led to the War and the Burning, so the least he can do is try to make sure it's perfect for the monkeya who make a pilgrimage line to participate in the festival. Normally, he has Macaque there to keep him in check and help him out.

But this time, Macaque isn't there! He's still missing!

MK knows this is a very stressful time for his mom, especially since this is the first time he had to go through the ceremony and festival without his dad. He wants to help! He asks Pigsy for vacation time, about a week or two off so he can help his mom with preparations. This is the first time MK has ever asked for time off, he never asks for it off even when he gets hurt doing his Monkie Kid thing! So, of course, Pigsy is concerned and asks.

MK: It's just... there's this important festival going on up on the mountain soon, and it's really stressing Mom out. It's supposed to be a remembrance of those we've lost and the celebration of how our ancestral hone has healed from near destruction. Mom is trying to put it together all by himself since Dad is gone, and I'm worried about him, so I just want to help him out! Do my part as the Prince of Flower Fruit Mountain."

Of course, the group decided to get involved. Both because they don't want Wukong getting stressed out and also because they really wanna see the festival! When they head up the mountain, they find that MK was right to worry. Poor Wukong is a mess as he tries to juggle getting the bonfires ready, getting his ceremonial robes cleaned and refitted, writing a speech that isn't a rehash of what he did the last 100 years, dealing with his anxiety over said speech because of his stage fright, caring for the cubs and making sure they're not gonna cause chaos, figuring out travel routes for those who live away from the mountain, etc.

+a similar ask from @soniclozdplove;

Had to do some thinkings for this one;

Qingming is a Spring festival (April 4th this year), so I can imagine the "Memorial Day" for the Burning taking place between then and New Years.

Wukong has hosted the Memorial Day just fine in the previous years... but then again, Macaque was always at his side in those years. Without his mate beside him, Wukong starts feeling the pressure of organising such an important yearly event (not to mention him missing Mac so much he feels sick, but that could also just be pregnancy nausea).

MK has goofed around a lot in terms of his responsibilities as Prince - it comes with the casual nature of FFM. This year he wants to step up and help his mom with stuff he's worried about. Wukong tells MK he really doesn't have to, but is clearly delighted to have someone step in to help.

MK immediately runs to Mei, breathlessly explaining that he needs help organising the Memorial Festival since he has no idea what he's doing!

With a touch of her phone, Mei organises the crack team of party planners;

Mei: "Ok, what's Monkey King most worried about?" MK, counting off his fingers: "One, the festival tends to have bonfires on the beach that get doused at the end of the night to symbolise the fires on the mountain being quenched (mom really doesn't like fire). There's a lot of music and dancing involved." Mei, points to the line-up: "Red Boy! You're on pyrotechnics! I'll man the tunes! Jin and Yin will organise the dance floor!" Red, grumbling: "Stop calling me Red Boy." Jin & Yin: "Yea!" "We've helped out before!" "Course normally big brother supervised, but we can do it with our eyes closed!" MK: "Two; Transport for monkeys living on the mainland so that they can attend the festival." Sandy: "Oh I can do that! I ferry people across all the time!" MK: "Great! Next is someone to man the food stations. A lot of it is fresh fruit and vegetables, but there's normally a pot luck table with grills and soup pots going. Pigsy, can you pretty please help manage that?" Pigsy, determined look in his eyes: "If you insist." MK: "Fourth; Mom gets super nervous about the yearly speech he does to the subjects, so he'll need someone to help him out with that." Tang, hands shoots up: "OH OH! I can help! I do lectures and presentations all the time at work!" MK: "Ok, phew! That's a lot of the heavy work sorted out. The major one, and this is a doozy cus baba normally does it; someone to keep an eye on the cubs during the festival." Noodle Gang: (*look confusedly between themselves*) DBK, sudden booming voice: "I will be honoured to care for my xiandi's young for the durration of the Festival!" MK: "Wait, really? But aren't you nervous about people still being mad about the whole "Tried to Take Over the City"-thing?" DBK: "Boy, my wife and I tended to you in the years following your birth! Your parents were still busy rebuilding, and you were quite a troublemaker for someone not able to walk yet!" MK, embarrassed: "Guess that answers that question. Thank you guys." (*getting emotional*) Mei: "Aww, come here little monkey man." MK: (*gets group hugged*)

The day comes and... literally, almost everything doesn't go as planned.

Red Son misjudged the amount of fuel needed to start a bonfire and accidentally sets the whole beach alight before the party even starts. PIF (wind powers) and the others (extinguishers) help put it out, but the sand is noticibly scorched. Red insists on spending half the day trying to start bonfires "the old fashioned way" with flint, to avoid similar accidents. Red panics cus he's worried that his magic fire could trigger the monkeys who survived the Burning.

Sandy has to make multiple trips to and from the mainland to FFM, and hits a rough patch of rain as he's coming in. PIF sees the rain clouds ahead and uses her powers to blow them away for now. Hopefully that wont come back to bite them (lie). Each of are the Four Stalwarts arrive on different trips, and try their best to help out.

Mei is used to high-energy dance and rock music, and has no idea how to groove to the more traditional island tunes.

Multiple mishaps with Jin & Yin setting up the eating areas and dance floor. A few benches break cus the twins either got pinched by a crab or their feet stuck in a sand trap.

Pigsy managed to set a beautiful spread of fresh fruits and vegetables, and has the grills and cookers prepared. He is however, currently at war with the ungodly amount of pests attracted to the spread.

Tang is upfront with Wukong in helping him with his speech and the Monkey King is super grateful. Accidentally turns into an improv/therapy session as Wukong rambles to Tang about how he's feeling + the times previous festivals went badly. No actual speech prep ends up taking place.

DBK starts out fine with taking care of the cubs. But he's a complete pushover, especially towards his godcalves; the twins aptly nicknamed Rumble & Savage. The twins quickly have Uncle Bull allowing them to run off and fight eachother with weapons, and take food from Pigsy's table before the party even starts. PIF steps in to corral the misbehavior, but is distracted by little Luzhen running off and making hair clones of himself. Yuebei spends most of the initial drama asleep.

MK is supervising everything and is getting a little control-freaky. Calls up his clones to supervise different sectors of the party (Delivery for Food, Artist for Decor, Porty for music) and keeps running to and from characters to keep an eye on them.

All the guests arrive and things are going ok until- WHOOPS! The rain cloud PIF blew away came back with a vengance and turns into a tropical storm! PIF can't help rn either - Luzhen stole her fan and she's trying to catch him before he knocks over half the island.

The whole party has to be moved inside, much to the dismay of those who prepared it. Red's efforts in making the bonfires were for naught. Pigsy's beloved food spread has to be dismantled and moved inside. Mei's dj equipment nearly gets soaked. Jin & Yin nearly get lost in quicksand. MK's cloned went a bit haywire and have to be wrangled up.

Just as things look like they couldn't get any worse... the rain wakes up Yuebei. As she registers that she's wet and see can't see her Mama or Baba; an ungodly scream and two massive eye lazers shoot from her. DBK takes HP damage. All the babies/cubs attending the festival have to be rushed inside cus there's so much crying.

Wukong exits his office in the Stone Palace to see Water Curtain Cave packed to the gills with his subjects and freezes. He did not expect them all to be here now! Stage fright activated. Tang thankfully manages to encourage Wukong to take his place. The Stalwarts cheer for their little brother as he stammers through his few lines of well wishes and recap of the year. The room gets really quiet when he mentions the missing Warrior... The subjects take a moment to pray, not only for those lost all thoee centuries ago, but also those who could not be there that day.

The subjects then applaud not only their Kibg for his guidence, but MK and his friends for their effort! They all did wonderfully! To bring the decendants of the Pilgrims, and dear Brother Bull and Sister Iron Fan to them was an amazing feat! The praise is unprompted and MK, the Noodle gang, Jin & Yin, and the Bull family can't help but smile.

Rumble and Savage cut Uncle Bull and Auntie Iron Fab a break, and show that they used their portals to finally catch little Luzhen (fan included). The bull couple are immensely grateful and tired.

As the party officialy begins, within the walls of the caves rather tan the open beaches, Wukong brings his son aside to talk. Tipped off by four certain Stalwarts about the Prince and his friends' troubles organising everything;

Wukong: "Wait, you got all your friends, including my older siblings involved just to make sure I wasn't worried about the Festival?" MK, sheepish: "Yeah..." (*Wukong pulls MK in to a tight hug*) Wukong: "Thanks kiddo. But it's not the Festival itself I was worried about. I was just..." MK: "You really miss dad." Wukong, sadly: "I do. I really, really do. I haven't spent a holiday without him since before you were born. It's just with the Memorial Festival, I just kept thinking back to him. How he'd help me proofread my speech. How he'd direct plays for the subjects. How he'd keep your or your siblings in line so you wouldn't cause Havoc..." (*turns head away and sniffs*) Wukong, crying lightly: "You're so much like me and your dad, bud. I bet he would have loved to see your first planned Festival." MK: "Thanks mama." (*hugs back more*) Wukong, wiping his tears: "OK! Enough weeping! There's a whole festival to celebrate out there! Plus, we have to make sure the cubs haven't broken your Aunt and Uncle." MK: "I doubt it." (*Meanwhile with the Bull couple and the cubs*) DBK & PIF: (*covered in laser burns and bits of fruit as the four younger cubs + MK's clones sleep in a baby pile*) PIF, whispering: "And I thought our little firelily was a handful." DBK, happy but exhausted: "They are certainly Brother Wukong's children." PIF: "The playfulness, yes. But using shadow portals to toss fruit at each other from multiple dimensions? Using hair clones to steal my fan? That's Macaque."

Realms away; Macaque allows tears to fall to as his ears pick up what joyfull celebration he's missing. But he needs to ensure there's a way LBD doesn't make this Memorial Festival their last...

[chikaras-garden]

Pretty Angel

The only thing Chigiri takes his time with is (eating) you (out).

Pairing: Chigiri x fem!reader

Words: 1.1k

Contains: oooey gooey gentle sex, implied first time with oral sex (f!receiving), body worship (briefly m! but mostly f!receiving), vaginal fingering, breast play, reader-focused insecurities but Chigiri is here to love and encourage you, C calls R “angel,” “pretty,” and “beautiful”

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked. Welcome to my Blue Lock era.

When the way you admire him solidifies into words, they leave your lips softly, like a stone dropped into a calm lake. “You’re so pretty, Hoyma.”

With a shaky breath, he stirs like a river brought to life. Long fingers wrap around your wrists, but they can’t stop the gentle flow of your hands down his chest. You touch every muscle, committing their peaks and valleys to memory while you can—before he has to leave you for another game abroad.

His skin feels impossibly soft for a man who spends his time drenched in sweat and baking under the afternoon sun. The layer of dust atop the moisturizer you bought him tells you everything you need to know: He’s a natural beauty who you feel like a shadow of.

Quickly, in the way only he can, he wraps his arms around you and flips you over. Now, with your back pressed into his bed, you’re surrounded by a curtain of mauve hair.

“So pretty,” he breathlessly echoes, moving one hand to drag his thumb across your lower lip. 

“Hyoma, I don’t—I’m not—”

“Hm?” he teases you with a hum. His eyes remain steady on yours while he lowers his head, lips parted, tongue poking out. He hovers above your chest, so close that you can feel his cool breath fan over one of your nipples; then, he dips lower and presses his open mouth to the side of your breast.

He shifts onto his elbow so one hand can pinch and squeeze at your other breast. You wriggle underneath him, treading between the welcome comfort of a massage and the insatiable whisper of your desire for him. Your hands reach for his hair and tangle in its softness, pulling his locks back so you can better enjoy the angle of his pretty face attached to your chest.

You feel every bruise as it rises to your skin, be it from his fingers, lips, or teeth. Every twist, suck, and bite decorates your skin with shades of red, purple, and gold until your flesh looks like a watercolor painting. Gently, he pulls away from your nipple with a near-silent pop and glistening lips. Lidded eyes find yours and linger for a beat before Hyoma grabs you by the waist to hold you still while he trails kisses down your stomach.

“You’ll look so pretty—” His hips stutter, rutting into the soft sheets. “—when you come for me.”

Your stomach twists while you gasp his name. You don’t like to hide from him, and you honest-to-goodness try not to, but there are whispers in the back of your mind. He’s an athlete, a professional with a honed physique, and you’re just you. You see nothing special about yourself, so you can’t fathom what someone like him would see in you.

And yet, he kisses your belly button, your hip, the inside of your thigh. Though he watches you with blazing violet eyes, he can’t keep his lips off you for more than a second. Shouldering under your legs, he lays on his belly with a low hum: a curious sound that acknowledges your hesitation and gives you space to speak if you want it.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. Your voice doesn’t sound like your own; instead, it sounds meek and afraid, nervous that what he’s about to do will somehow change what you already have with him. “I could—you know—for you instead, if you wanted.”

He shushes you with a kiss against your slick folds. He lingers, and you feel the dizzying sensation of him taking his time to taste you, forcing slowness when his body wants to go fast. Every muscle in your body tenses, knees locking around his shoulders, stomach spasming, clit throbbing. You want him. You want him. You need him.

“I want this.” While he assures you, you notice a soft flush coloring his face, as if he’s just as nervous as you are. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he grins. “And I think you do, too.”

“Hold me here.” Hyoma takes you by the wrist and moves your hand back to his hair. You’re unsure when you lost your hold on him, but you instinctively wind your fingers through his layers. 

He presses just one kiss to the inside of your knee before leaning back down, settling into the mattress until he’s comfortable, and trailing testing licks up your folds. With a flat tongue, he traces your shape from your entrance to your clit, puckering his lips and swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud before licking back down to tease your weeping hole again.

Your legs begin to shake once he starts lapping at you, dipping his tongue in and out, in and out. He devours you slow and wet, meandering like a lazy river to make sure you can feel every sensation. The softness of his lips, the intentional curve of his tongue, the slick of your arousal meeting his saliva.

You rise to meet him like a gentle wave reaching for the shore, but it’s not you who controls how you move. Your desire takes over, silencing your worries and replacing them with pleasure that warms you like the sun. Gooseflesh rises on your thighs, and your back arches, angling your hips to beckon his tongue back into your depths.

He answers with two fingers that plunge into you agonizingly slow. Fingers and tongue move in tandem until you see stars; his ministrations are so smooth and precise that, by the time you feel your orgasm building, it’s already begun to wash over you. 

“Hyoma—ohmygod,” you gasp, shuddering, convulsing. You pull on his hair with both hands, which makes him moan right against your clit, starting a domino effect of you crying his name into the silent air. Syllable after ragged syllable, the only thing on your white-hot mind is Hyoma, Hyoma, Hyoma.

He rushes to his knees so he can lean over you and capture you in a kiss. Fingers still drowning in your sopping folds, his tongue finds its way past your lips so you can taste your own essence on him. Your hands drift down, through his hair, and across his back, desperately pulling him closer; your hips bob in an uneven rhythm, rocking into his palm as you crash down from your high.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, tilting his head to pepper kisses all over your face. “You looked so pretty for me, angel, coming all over my face. ’S just the first one, okay? ‘M gonna make you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world.”