#i finally drew dark bloom

[devilheartsblog]

Dark Bloom 🔥💜

This is a month old drawing since I went back on even older art and decided I like using polka dots instead of hatching (hence you can see the dots on her). Anyway I think the more muted colors on this still pop well. Dunno what took me so long to draw her too lmao

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Guilty Pleasures

Pairing: Halsin x GN!Reader Rating: Mature/Explicit (NSFW) Warnings: Male masturbation, sexual fantasies, angst with no real resolution, mutual pining, Halsin not being able to relax and take a break for once in his life. Absolutely NSFW. Maybe kinda sort Sub Halsin? Summary: With the shadow curse and the threat of Ketheric Thorm looming over him, Halsin manages to find a bit of solitude in his tent and indulge in his inner most fantasies. Word Count: 9.7K A/N: I’ve always loved Halsin’s line of “that was something I had dreamed about for some time” after spending his first night with him. So, naturally, you can’t tell me this man absolutely didn’t fantasize about the player while alone in his tent at night.  I also want to apologize in advance because I know parts of this feel rushed, but admittedly I've been working this piece for a few months here and there and I'm ready to see it off. I am still pleased with how this turned out, but admittedly isn't my best work out there. I've also developed a cold at the time of proofreading, so I apologize for any errors but I *think* I've gotten them all. Read on AO3 here!

The sharpened steel of a heavy sword clanged to the cobblestones below, the sound resonating through the area, deafening everything to an eerie silence. Halsin stood stone still, his breath coming in heaves as he downed the final foe on the battle field. The shadow-infested husk of a Harper collapsed to the ground at his feet, smoking tendrils dissipating into the air as the essence of what was once a person faded into the darkened sky. Halsin's eyes darted across the landscape, a sudden wave of guilt washing over him as he stared into the never-ending darkness ahead. Bodies, both old and new, littered the streets ahead, having succumbed to the curse that held the land in an ironclad vice for a century.

The feeling of guilt wasn’t new, considering he’d dealt with the pain from the moment the curse was born, but there was something more sinister about seeing the curse firsthand again after so many years away. It seemed hungrier, more vicious even, than he had previously remembered and for the time being, the curse was not ready to be lifted. Thaniel had been plucked from the depths of the Shadowfell and after a fair amount of convincing, Oliver had reunited with his other half. Both were resting safely back at camp, progressing well with healing and mending after being apart for so long, but the threat was certainly far from over. 

Halsin stared into the distance, looking past the bodies in the streets and the twisted, knotted roots of corrupted nature that broke through the stones and into buildings, and set his attention on Moonrise Towers. Ketheric Thorm still drew breath and if what Thaniel had said was true, as long as he remained on this mortal plane, the shadow curse would as well. There was some hope that had started blooming within the mind of the druid, knowing that Thaniel was safe and so much progress had been made towards lifting the curse, but admittedly there was still enough darkness in the world that kept him from becoming too hopeful. Ketheric was a formidable foe and defeating him would be no simple task.

He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles almost turning white from the pressure. Knowing that a seemingly invulnerable man lived once again and had power while so many had died in the past century because of his corruption filled Halsin with a burning rage; one that settled in his bones and set his skin ablaze. Ketheric must be stopped, at any costs, and Halsin knew he couldn’t truly rest until Ketheric lay dead at his feet and she sun shined down upon the land once more. Halsin’s gaze lingered on the towers in the distance, looming over the land like a beacon ablaze with pixie-fueled light all while shadows licked at his perimeters. 

“Halsin?” A gentle voice pierced through the darkness clouding his thoughts, pulling the veil from his eyes so he could see clearly for the time being. A soft, warm touch to his arm soon followed, cutting through the icy cold that had begun to settle on his skin from the air of the shadow curse. The voice had caught him by surprising, causing the druid to jolt slightly at the touch before regaining composure. He finally tore his eyes from the evil of Moonrise, shifting his eyes downward until your concerned look met his gaze.

“Are you all right?” You asked quietly, your hand still gripping his arm. You scanned over his large frame quickly, scanning for any obvious signs of injury or something life threatening and, much to your joy, found nothing immediately wrong. He fidgeted slightly under your touch, his skin tingling at the contact.

“I am,” he said after clearing this throat, “thank you, my friend.” You nodded slightly, your thumb stroking along the crest of his bicep. Halsin was visibly exhausted, dark circles settling beneath his normally bright eyes, which had dulled the past few days. His mind was elsewhere, distracting him from the battles at hand. Despite having your hand upon him, he felt miles away and untouchable.

Since entering the cursed lands, Halsin had been running double time. He wasted no time in leaving camp to sit by Art Cullagh in Last Light and immediately dove headfirst through a portal to the Shadowfell to find Thaniel. You took note of how he refused to sleep the night after Thaniel had been saved, instead electing to remain up for hours to keep a watchful eye on the boy. He only agreed to leave his side once you had suggested he come with you to find Thaniel’s missing half. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you saw Halsin rest and, considering he was seemingly more on edge the closer you came to confronting Ketheric, you were worried for you companion.

“Come on,” you said after a moment, “let’s head back to camp. I think we could all do with a rest.” You motioned to your companions, who were more than ready to retire for the evening.

Halsin’s gaze shifted towards Moonrise once again, look on his face making it clear he wanted to press forward. You were convinced that he’d march straight into the inner sanctum of the tower right then and there if you let him. Your grip on his arm tightened, your fingers slipping underneath one of the bands that was pulled taught around his bicep before giving it a gentle tug to recapture his attention. You stood on the tips of your toes, your lips hovering closely to his ear as he leaned slightly to accommodate for the difference in height.

“I’m afraid that if we keep going in this state,” you whispered softly, “one of us might actually be carrying Astarion back to camp and I, for one, do not intend to be that pack mule.” Halsin’s lips spread into a smile as he glanced towards the vampire in question, who had seated himself on a fallen piece of stone until the party was ready to move forward once more.

“I fear you may be right.” He replied after a moments thought. Halsin returned his sword to its holster resting on his back, sliding it in place with a soft click. You pulled your fingers from his bracers, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and began the journey back to camp. 

As he typically did, Halsin followed in the rear, ensuring that everyone stayed together and did not stray too deeply into the shadows. Despite having the blessing of both the moon goddess and a pixie, he wanted to take no changes in losing those closest to him to the curse; not again. You fell behind slightly, allowing Astarion and Karlach to spearhead the journey home as you took the time to speak with the druid.

“Is something on your mind?” You asked as you walked together, doing your best to match his long strides.

“Ketheric is no ordinary enemy,” he said bluntly, deciding to skip small talk and get to the heart of what was bothering him, “he will not be easily defeated.”

“Nothing with us is ever easy,” you said simply, “but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. I promised you that we’d break the curse. And if defeating Ketheric Thorm is how we do so, then that’s just what we’ll do.” You offered Halsin a gentle smile, which was returned with partial enthusiasm. You knew he was worried, and rightfully so, but you were also confident that at Ketheric would be defeated soon enough. But nothing could be done until everyone, including Halsin, were able to rest. 

You and your companions walked the rest of the way to camp in silence and in relative safety, the battles from the day beginning to settle in your bones as your steps eventually slowed the closer you came to camp. By the time you crested the hill that lead to your camp, the sound of children’s laughter filled the air, cutting through the horrific sounds of the shadow curse like a sharpened knife. A smile came to Halsins lips as he watched both Thaniel and Oliver darting around camp, chasing after an excited Scratch with an equally enthusiastic owl bear cub at their heels. Despite their time apart and in the deepest parts of the shadow curse, both boys seemed to be faring well. Seeing them regaining strength brought a sense of happiness to the camp, something that had been sorely missed since entering the shadows.

Halsin stood at the entrance to the camp, simply watching as the boys and animals played in tandem. It was a small sign, but a sign nonetheless that nature had started to heal and had begun lifting the veil of the shadows. You walked to this side quietly, stopping beside him to watch the boys play and laugh with the camp animals as the rest of your companions stopped by their respective tents to unwind for the evening. You glanced up to Halsin, your neck craning to get his face in full view. You slipped your hand around the edge of his, giving him a soft squeeze. After a moment, Halsin pulled his eyes from the scene before him, finally looking down to meet your gaze once more. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, yet the sheer determination to stay awake.

“Why don’t you get some rest? And I mean actual rest, not just a trance.” You asked softly, not wanting to come across as demanding, but firm enough to know you were more than merely suggesting. 

Halsin gave a half hearted smile, exhaustion evident on his face as he placed his hand above yours, sandwiching your touch between his battle weary hands. His thumb stroked your knuckle softly, his gaze settling along your slender digits that had wrapped themselves around his hand and gave another reassuring squeeze. His heart fluttered in his chest at your contact, radiating the same calming warmth that had started when you first brushed against his arm. He’d be lying if he said a long nights rest wasn’t calling for him, but he had a duty to uphold before he could indulge his own comfort.

“I must keep watch over Thaniel and Oliver.” He said as he released your hand and pulled his own from your grasp. You scoffed at his reply, almost finding it ridiculous.

“There are seven people in this camp, myself included, that can keep an eye on two children. We can take turns, rotate out if needed.” You offered, hoping he would take your advice and take a night off for once. Instead, he simply shook his head.

“They are my responsibility. They’ve suffered for too long already while I sat back and did nothing. I cannot and I will not fail them now that they are safe.” Halsin was determined to carry on his camp duties as normal, but you were not ready to back down so easily.

“And how do you plan on protecting them if you’re too tired to stand? Just now on the battlefield someone could have come up behind you because you were distracted. Hells, I managed to startle you with a touch.” Your voice was low, but firm. Gods be damned the man before you could be stubborn. His heart was always in the right place, wanting to protect and serve, but his head certainly wasn’t. “Get a bit of sleep. I’ll bring you a fresh bowl of whatever Gale’s managed to make from a couple of fish heads and a few questionable carrots when it’s ready.”

“You don’t have to coddle,” Halsin said firmly, “I will be fine.”

“It’s not coddling if the attention is required.” You shot back quickly, a lick of frustration to your voice, “Would you not do the same for me if the roles were reversed?” Halsin paused at your question, unable to argue your point. Halsin would do anything you asked of him without question. He’d bring you whatever you wanted and offer aid in any way possible. 

“When was the last time you allowed someone to take care of you?” Your voice had softened by now, eyes scanning his face as he searched for an answer. Your eyes locked onto his cheek, which had been streaked with blood.

Halsin remained silent, trying to come up with an answer for your inquiry, but continually ending up without a decent answer. It had been quite some time since he’d allowed himself a chance to relax and unwind, let alone be cared for by others. His service was always demanded by others, yet very rarely offered in return. The residents of the Grove always turned to him for strength, to lead them in Silvanus’ path while keeping tempers at bay, more often than not never managing to appease everyone who resided there and often led to resentment in some form. Or those same people were coming to him day and night, asking for healing of wounds that ranged from the smallest of scrapes to the precipice of death, despite having multiple healers in the inner chambers. 

He genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he gave up control and let someone else take the reigns. He was an Archdruid, a leader, a beacon of light in the darkest of times, but he was also just tired. He admitted to himself that perhaps it would be nice to take a long rest, only awakening when he was ready, and to have you by his side when his slumber ended. To have you seated beside him, a bowl of steaming food in your hands as you offered it to him would be quite the sight. You’d have your usual warm smile across your pretty lips as you sat with him, letting him relax and unwind in your presence. It was a pretty dream indeed.

“You’ll have to let me dote on you one of these days.” You said after a long silence as Halsin had yet to answer your question. You brought your thumb to your lips, swiping your tongue across the pad of the digit quickly until it was lightly damp. Reaching forward, you pressed your palm to Halsin’s cheek and used your now wet thumb to wipe the streak of blood from his skin. You were thankful to not find an injury beneath the blood, but found yourself lingering against his skin, your thumb stroking over his cheekbone. You cared for him, deeply, despite Halsin always finding a way to weave out of your advances. Perhaps you were too forward or perhaps he was simply that consumed with his duties, but either way you craved his attention more and more with each day that passed.

Halsin fought the urge to lean into your embrace, having rejected your advances in the weeks prior during the celebration with the tieflings and not wanting to give mixed signals, but the longer your gentle hand caressed his cheek, the urge became more and more difficult to suppress. Gods how he missed the caring touch of others. It had been too long since the last time he allowed himself the pleasure of sharing company with another, the issue of the curse and the stress of the Grove had made any sort of companionship less than a priority and something he easily could push to the side. However, since being in your company, the ease that he previously had at keeping others at arm length was becoming harder and harder to allow. 

It would be an understatement to say he enjoyed your company. Instead, you were someone he had craved. Every moment he spent in your presence was exhilarating, refreshing and addicting at the same time. The sound of your voice was symphonic, the way you managed to find joy even in the bleak lands of late and managed to keep a genuine smile on your face, given the worst of times, was inspiring. He craved your attention and longed for more than just your friendship for quite some time. It was an ache that tunneled deeper in his chest each night when his head went down to rest and the ability to continually push you away was becoming unbearable. The feeling of your skin against his always sent his heart into a whirlwind, fluttering in his chest like a butterfly tumbling in the wind. Halsin wanted so much more with you than mere companionship, but knew that now was not the time nor the place. Too much was at stake to allow himself distractions of the flesh, no matter how desirable they may be. So, as much as it pained him to do so, he walled himself off and pushed you away once more. 

“Perhaps another time.” He said simply, almost ready to pull away from your touch. His demeanor was stiff and cold, far from the welcoming aura he normally emitted.

You felt your heart drop, falling heavily into the pit of your stomach. Having realized that perhaps you had been lingering a bit too long, you pulled your hand from his cheek and returned them to yourself, awkwardly picking at your nails as silence between the two of you grew. You desperately tried to hide the feelings in you that were bubbling to the surface; hurt mixed with some sort frustration. Halsin was a tricky one to figure out. He was kind, caring, and truly wonderful company to have, but any sort of affection on your part was always met with the same rejection. Always gentle in nature, of course, but certainly there. You were fond of Halsin, more than just a casual friendship, but you were beginning to realize that maybe your feelings were one sided.

Halsin felt his heart stop upon seeing your reaction. You were quick to try and hide your disappointment, but it still managed to slip through for the briefest of moments. He knew you were fond of him, perhaps in more ways than one, and he would be a fool to deny he felt the same. You were precious to him, more so than any other he’d previously had the privilege of calling friend and confidant, and knowing that he had caused you even the quickest moments of sadness made him feel terrible. He wanted to reach up and take your hands in his and press his lips to your fingers, but you had swatted him away before he had the chance.

“Go on,” you said quietly, motioning in the direction of his distant tent with a few waves of your hand, “get some rest. I’ll keep an eye out for Thaniel and Oliver.” You took a step back, inching back as slowly as you could, waiting for Halsin to do the same. As much as you wanted to break through his exterior and get to the heart of whatever was causing him trouble, you respected his need to be alone, as much as it pained you to be kept at arms length.

With a slight nod of his head, Halsin made his leave, not wishing to turn this into a more serious argument. In his heart, he knew you meant well and also knew that both halves of the land spirit would be safe under your watch. He turned to return to his tent after you had also made your leave, walking to the opposite end of camp with a disheartened sigh. He made the agonizingly long walk from the center of camp to his secluded corner of the area in silence, tugging open the flap to his tent in a fluid motion. 

Halsin’s little plot of land in camp was quiet and tucked away from the other tents, offering as much tranquility as the shadow lands would offer, but was admittedly lonely. Despite choosing the spot himself, Halsin had recently begun to regret setting his tent so far from the others. Duty and responsibility came first, so jovial nights around the campfire passing bottles of wine were nothing if not a distraction. Secluding himself would keep him focused on the task at hand and, for now, thankfully keep him out of your sullied gaze.

Halsin stripped himself of his bands and bracers, tossing them into his bed space with a frustrated flick of his wrist. His boots and weapons were left by the entrance, out of the way but close by if they were needed in a hurry. He was frustrated with himself for just how desperately he wanted to be with you but not having the opportunity to do so. It would be a fools dream to think you would still be interested in him once the curse was lifted, considering just how long it would actually take, and now combined with the knowledge that he had wounded your feelings once more. His heart ached at the thought of knowing your delicate heart had been shattered so easily.

He cursed himself as he stepped inside, making sure to close the tent behind him. Halsin stripped himself of his armor, tossing the garments to the side so he could change into his usual night clothes. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, you were correct. Sleep was sorely needed and any sort of apology or resolution to this new problem would need to wait until morning. Halsin was having trouble concentration, not being able to focus on the task at hand. He ran his hands across his face and into his hair, lightly tugging at his scalp in the process.

With a soft sigh, Halsin laid himself on the ground, nestling his frame against the fabric of his bedroll as he settled for the evening. He shifted as he tried to find a comfortable spot, his shoulders rustling against the ground in an attempt to dislodge any loose pebbles or larger rocks that may be in the way. Eventually, he settled into a position that was comfortable enough for the evening, his hands and arms taking their place at his sides and his eyes closed so he could begin drifting off into a trace or, if he was lucky, a few hours of actual sleep. The rhythmic sound of wind rustling in the tree limbs and leave hanging above his tent and the low hum of sounds from the center of the camp should have been enough to lull him into the beginning phases of a trance, yet he found himself awake and unable to sleep. 

The usual intrusive thoughts were ever present, of course. The imminent dangers of the shadow curse, making sure Thaniel,  and now Oliver, were well and safe, even the mistakes of his past wove their way into his thoughts and sat heavily on his conscious. But tonight they were quieted and offered nothing more than a faint echo in his mind. Instead, his usual thoughts were being drowned out by something much more prominent and enticing to the forefront of his mind; you. Halsin couldn’t deny the impact you had on his thoughts, which had only grown increasingly more frequent and intense as each day passed in your company. Your kindness and eagerness to help others weighed heavily in his mind, but even more so on his heart. To say you were a delight would be doing you a disservice. 

And more than anything, Halsin wanted you completely. He wanted to be by your side in the upcoming fight against Ketheric and the Absolute, but he wanted everything else that came with that. He wanted to enjoy your company in a more intimate way; to be the one that kept your bed warm at night, to feel the brush of your lips against his, and the feeling of his body sinking deliciously into yours. He could imagine the tightness you would offer, the loving and welcoming warmth that would take him completely, even the sweet noises he could elect from you with the correct moments. He ached for you and that was a feeling that was growing with each passing second.

His eyes remained open, scanning the canvas ceiling of his simple tent as he allowed his mind to unwind in an attempt to drift off into a peaceful meditation, soon finding that his wandering thoughts found no purchase in their usual subject matter. Lingering regrets concerning Emerald Grove, the dangers ever present in the shadow curse, and now the problem of the growing illithid infection festering deep within Moonrise Towers were long forgotten as he focused on something much more pressing and mind consuming. Halsin was suddenly overtaken with the memory of your hands running along his skin earlier in the evening. He longed to feel your touch again, if even for a just passing second. 

Halsin focused his thoughts, doing his best to push you from his mind as he tried to settle for the night. You were right when you said he needed sleep and he tried his best to oblige in your request, but the image of you continued to gnaw on his psyche. You were infectious in that sense; able to burrow into his thoughts just as the tadpole had buried itself in your brain. He couldn’t think normally with you flitting around his thoughts like this, but could only imagine the sweetest and most sinful thoughts he’d had in long while.

Halsin’s eyes closed as he allowed himself to indulge in his fantasy, unable to shake the image of you from his mind. He imagined himself elsewhere. Far away from the shadows, away from the ever pressing darkness and chill the curse offered; a place that was warm and bright, nestled somewhere in a heavily wooded forest. Not the Grove, of course, for it was far too political and too demanding with little care going towards what actually mattered. But instead, he imagined a place where the shadows of the present ceased to exist and land could flourish in harmony and tranquility. Perhaps he was dreaming of a world of fantasy and indulgence, but it was a place that brought him inner peace. A gentle calmness washed over his racing mind, bringing the thrum of his heart to a slow, steady pace as he imagined his own back settling against the form of your body in this fantasy world he had created. 

He could almost feel the softness of your body against his back as he reclined against you, his large frame seated perfectly between your legs, his back resting along your chest while his head fit perfectly under your chin. From here, he could imagine himself getting lost in your gentle touches and soft voice. He found himself leaning against you like a drowsy cat in the mid afternoon sun, simply enjoying the warmth of your caresses as your fingers played with his hair, twisting and braiding locks between your fingers with ease. Your cheek rested along the crown of his head, all while soothing his worries with the delightfully gentle sound of your voice. Halsin smiled to himself within the confines of his tent, the image of you being the balm to soothe his restlessness. Instead of sleeping, he simply allowed himself to sink further into his imagination, bringing one of his arms from his side to rest underneath his head, his eyes happily closing as he relaxed into his bedroll once more.

Halsin then imagined your hands cupping his cheeks, mimicking your caress from earlier, your thumbs lightly stroking along his cheek bones with your fingers tracing along his lower lip and chin. You would whisper sweet things against his ear, smiling against the outer shell as your warm breath tickled against his sensitive tips and caused the skin along his neck to prickle. Your plush lips would lightly pepper his cheek with the most tender of kisses, tracing along the shape of his twisting tattoos at a leisurely pace.

The simple thought of having your lips dancing across his skin made his heart flutter in his chest and a light blush to begin forming along his cheeks. He turned his head on his pillow, as if actually giving you access to the tattoo along his neck would somehow manifest you beside him in the tent, but he had gotten too lost in his fantasy to try and rationalize his movements. With his face now turned from the opening of his tent, Halsin’s imagination continued on with his visions, his mind quickly imagining your lips traveling form his cheek to the bright red swirls adorning his neck as the tips of your fingers toyed with the scar that sliced into his lower lip. 

As time inched along at a deliciously slow pace, your demeanor changed. Your kisses were more firm now, making proper, lingering contact with his skin with each passing moment. A shudder rippled down the druid’s spine as he imagined your teeth lightly grazing the skin of his throat, quickly soothing it over with a swipe of your tongue. It wasn’t long before your hands left his face, bypassing his neck and resting near the height of his chest, your nails lightly grazing and stroking along his collar bones.

From the darkness of his tent, Halsin’s hand came up to rest atop his chest, faintly feeling his own steady heartbeat underneath his camp shirt as his thumb absentmindedly ran along the ridges of his attire and took note of the stitching and changes in texture, replaying the feelings that had begun to rise in his chest as you lavished his skin with your touch. Kisses soon trailed back up his neck and cheek, until the flat of your front teeth nibbled lightly against his earlobe. Halsin released a soft a gasp at the imagined contact, his shoulders briefly rising from the ground in excitement, only to settle back down once again.

“When was the last time you allowed someone to take care of you?” Your question from earlier in the evening echoed in his mind.

“Far too long.” He whispered on exhale, his voice low and deep as his tongue flicked across his suddenly dry lips. 

His hand slid across his chest slowly, feeling his way across his body with no sense of urgency or frenzy, simply savoring the feeling of contact against his body that was now beginning to burn with desire. Although these were typically feelings he would suppress when his mind was muddled with duty and responsibility, he allowed himself a quiet moment to bask in his thoughts. Halsin imagined it was your hand that was roaming along his sternum, trying his best to mimic the softness of your touch and mirror your prior movements. Even though his large, calloused hands were nothing like your much smaller and softer ones, the lust beginning to cloud his senses allowed the illusion in his mind to be enough to satisfy his meandering touch. A shuddered breath escaped his lips as the tips of his fingers lightly ran over one of his now hardened nipples, the bud pressing firmly against the interior of his night shirt. 

The sensations cascading over his body were almost electric, given just how long it had been since he’d indulged in a moment of self pleasure, and each touch and swipe of his fingers across his chest sent sharp bolts down his back and the heat that had formed along his cheeks to spread across his throat. Halsin’s hand traveled lower across his torso, pressing more firmly with each movement as he explored the expanse of his pectorals, still fantasizing that it was your hands worshiping his body in such a way; touching and caressing with a gentleness only you possessed, easily undoing his hardened resolve with the faintest tease from your fingertips.

“You’ll have to let me dote on you one of these days.” Your phantom voice whispered against his ear, almost shaking with your own desire as your hands continued to explore his clothed chest.

“Please.” His voice was almost a whine, the long suppressed desperation finally beginning to crack Halsin’s all too serious exterior. He answered honestly, finally letting what he’d wanted to tell you out into the open, even if he was the only one to hear.

Halsin envisioned both of your hands running down the length of his chest, your palms pressed firmly against his camp shirt as you made your teasingly slow descent across his torso. Your hands stopped midway, parting at his middle and moving to his sides before sliding up towards his neck once again. Halsin’s own hands followed suit, mimicking his vision as accurately as possible as the path you had created in his mind continued over and over again, each time reaching just a bit lower than before. 

By now, Halsin had gotten lost in his fantasy. His face and neck were now properly flushed, burning with a bright red instead of the light flush just moments prior. His ears burned with excitement and a light layer of sweat had formed along his upper lip, which was occasionally licked away whenever the druid tried to swallow his excitement. A flutter appeared in his chest each time he visualized your form above him, smiling down at him sweetly as your hands continued their exploration of his body. The flutter would skip on occasion if he ever indulged himself enough to imagine you leaning down over once in a while to peck his lips with your own.

Halsin’s thoughts broke momentarily as his fingers brushed along the upper seam of his trousers, making his lower body twitch and buck into the air at the contact. His eyes finally opened as he explored his lower half, glancing down to see that the whole of his now hardened and throbbing cock pressing uncomfortably against the confines of the leather pants. He tentatively ran his palm along the outline of his bulge, feeling how his aching length traveled along his mid thigh and twitched at his touch, stifling a moan at the contact. Halsin’s hand quickly moved to his opposite thigh, squeezing and stroking at the leg of his trousers while taking deep, slow breaths in a quickly failing attempt to take his mind off the intense need to touch himself more. As the throbbing in his cock turned into a much harder pounding, each exhale was met with a low rumble in his chest. His stiffened length strained against his camp clothes, making the sensation borderline painful as he continued his ministrations along his thigh and back towards his lower abdomen. 

A wetness began to coat his thigh where the tip of his cock rested, the head weeping early traces of his spend as it ached and begged for another touch. Halsin succumbed to his desires once again, slowly running his hand along his arousal in attempt to soothe the throbbing. This, of course, only encouraged the lust and desire to bloom more, making his trousers more and more uncomfortable the longer he palmed himself. Eventually the sensation was too much to handle, the desire and intense need for friction had grown too strong and there would be no chance of getting a second of rest until Halsin came to a release. 

It wasn’t long before Halsin began unlacing the ties that lay at the front of his trousers, his fingers shaking with need and fumbling with the tassels. With a frustrated grunt, he finally managed to roughly pull the opening to his trousers apart, almost ripping the eyelets from the fabric with the force behind the tug. His chest heaved with excitement as the cool air that seeped into his tent made contact with his now fully exposed length, which had already begun dripping his spend in anticipation for a touch.

Pretending it was indeed your hand instead of his, Halsin tentatively reached out and brushed his fingers across his hardened cock, electing a soft groan from the contact. His fingertips danced in the slick that had weeped from his tip and begun dripping down the length of his shaft, coating his fingers until they were well lubricated. He gasped softly at the touches, the feeling almost foreign to him considering just how long it had been since he’d touched himself. His hand eventually wrapped around the base, giving himself a light squeeze and squirming at the wonderfully prickly sensation that settled in his spine.

Your imagined figure hummed softly against his the crown of his head as your cheek settled there once again, nuzzling against him gently while you hand began to slowly stroke along his length. Halsin’s eyes closed again as his hand soon fell into a steady rhythm, pumping leisurely with his hand all while the opposite continued to run along various parts of his body. 

“Rest now,” you spoke sweetly to him, your voice soft and low, “I’ll take care of you.” Your thumb circled the tip of his cock, making him squirm against your phantom frame as well as against his bedroll. Halsin fully submitted to his fantasy and desires, his stoic nature dissolving more and more with each passing stroke of his hand. 

He felt wonderful, more than he had in quite some time. Stress and duty had weighed so heavily on him for many years, allowing guilt and an untold amount of pent up frustrations to build with no way of release. But now, simply lying alone in his tent and imagining your company in such a way was almost euphoric. The only thing that could have topped the experience would be to actually have you pressed against him. He not only wanted to hear your voice and feel your touch, but he wanted to smell your scent and feel the heat within your own body begin to build. Sharing a bed with you seemed like a distant dream, especially with how he had seemingly hurt you earlier, so dreaming of you seated behind him while stroking his cock would be the closest thing he could have to your companionship for now, if ever. 

His thoughts were broken as Halsin could almost feel your lips against his neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses against his skin. He fantasized that you would even latch onto him every once in a while, biting softly and suckling against the flesh of his broad shoulder until haphazardly placed purple bruises began to form. He wanted to feel your arm draped across his opposite shoulder, letting your fingers toy with the hair on his chest that was beginning to crest over with sweat before pressing the whole of your palm flat against him and pull his frame into yours tightly. Perhaps you would even drag those teasingly deft fingertips of yours up his throat and against the bottom of his chin, tilting his head to face yours so you could plant sloppy kisses against his mouth. Your tongue darting across his lips, slipping skillfully into his mouth to lick across his teeth before tangling with his own. All of this happening in tandem with the strokes coming from your opposite hand, which would glide effortlessly and skillfully against his throbbing cock.

You would take your time in his fantasy, having nowhere to be and no mind flayer invasion to stop, giving you plenty of time to explore whatever your tender grasp could reach. Halsin tried to mimic the low, thoughtful pulls of your hand against his cock as best he could, trying to immerse himself as best he could in his thoughts. Pleasant tingles ran across his lower abdomen the further Halsin reached into the opening of his trousers. He continued until a significant portion of his forearm had slipped beneath the fabric, the flaps on the opening of his trousers brushing against his elbow as his hand loosely gripped the base of his cock. His grip tightened as he drug his hand along his length, cupping the head with an almost painful grasp before releasing back down as he returned down again.

Halsin’s legs began to bend at the knee, having previously been laid flat from his attempt to trance, and he placed his feet flat against the ground. The muscles in his thighs began to tighten the longer he stroked his hand along his length, his hips starting to writhe under his ministrations. Halsin ran his thumb over the slicked, weeping tip of his cock, his head arching against the pillow of his bedroll as a desperate groan formed in his chest. The sound caught in his throat, dying down before it could escape his lips, for which he was thankful. In this moment, Halsin didn’t want to be found. Instead, he wanted this moment to last as long as possible, where he could exist in his sinful fantasy until his duties pulled him into the realm of reality once more. He couldn’t afford for a stray cry or moan to slip through the opening of his tent and bring forth the whole of camp to his abode.

It was a selfish thought, but one that the elf embraced with all his might. He wanted, if not needed, this moment of self pleasure. To bring himself to a blissful release with you in the center of his minds eye. There were parts of him that protested and urged himself to stop now, but he carried on, stroking his cock at an increase paced with each moment that passed. Just one moment; one precious, well deserved moment is all he needed to release many weeks worth of pent up frustrations and desires and set his mind right once more.

Halsin’s nails roughly scratched along his chest, digging into the thick fabric of his camp shirt as a wave of ecstasy washed over his belly, making his stroking stutter briefly. His hips lifted from the hard ground, bucking upwards to meet his hand and the mental image of your own. He dreamed of your legs swinging over his hips only to press firmly against his own squirming legs, keeping the thick walls of muscles in place to allow you to continue your stroking and pleasing at your own pace without him interfering, which had significantly increased since his visions first began. It wouldn’t take much to over power you and reverse the roles, given his size. To pin you beneath him and take you properly would be an easy feat, but one he did not want to act on. Instead, deep within the confines of his fantasies, Halsin wanted you to take control and dote on his aching body as you had suggested earlier in the evening.

His heart ached at how badly he wanted you to lead him to orgasm by being the one in power. He had spent the better part of a century leading others and having to be the one to bear the crushing weight of responsibility, even when he didn’t want to. But now, lying on the cold floor of his tent, he relinquished control and let you have your way, even if it was only in his mind. 

Your hand had begun to pick up speed, not quite frantic, but much more than the easy pace you had previously set. Although not knowing much about your previous experience with partners in such a situation, simply seeing how skilled you were in battle with a sword as well as how nimble you were in combat told Halsin all he needed to know about how wonderful you were feel. You would be firm in your grasp, yet gentle enough to not cause harm. Your wrist would flick in just the right way so you would tug gently along his cock while allowing him to feel every bit of your fingers and palm as you continued in long, fluid strokes. You were compassionate enough to listen to worries and fears in camp, so there was no doubt that you would listen to his moans and gasps and adjust your pace or grip accordingly; slowing down with a looser grip if he came too close to completion or speeding up with a tighter grasp if he bucked against your hand for more contact. Generous with his pleasure, yet fully in control and taking the weight of responsibly away from him so Halsin could simply enjoy the feelings festering in his body.

His free hand quickly left his chest and clamped into the fabric of his bedroll, his grip hardened and his knuckles white as the string of pleasure that had been woven in his belly was pulled taught, teetering on the precipice of snapping. Halsin’s hips bucked wildly into his hand, taking his pleasure based more on touch than the actual imagine of you in his mind, although that did not deter him from thinking of you. You were there, holding his large frame against yours, pressing his back into your chest firmly as your hand pumped along his throbbing, aching cock as a fevered pace. Your voice was in his ear, panting white hot breaths against his skin as your voice dripped with your own ecstasy. You begged him to release, to spill his seed against your hand and take his pleasure how he wanted. His incredibly hazy mind imagined you coaxing him along, telling him just how desperately you wanted to see and feel his orgasm ripple through this body. How you wanted to feel his tired muscles twitch and shake as he finally released himself for you.

Sweat dripped quickly from his temples, running along his neck where you could so easily lick it up for him if you were actually there in his tent, stroking his cock from behind as you whimpered and whined sweet promises in his ear. You would offer to clean the mess that was made before laying him down and letting him find pleasure within your body. Halsin could practically feel the heat radiating from your body while his mind burned with desire, imagining your own expression to be blissed out and hazy in anticipation of finding your own orgasm simply from witnessing his. He desperately wanted to watch as you unravelled for him, brought to the brink just from how you touched along his body and whispered in his ear. 

You would seat yourself nicely atop him, fingers gently clawing down his chest as you sunk down on his cock, your own breath heaving as toyed and teased him. From here, his hands could roam your body as he pleased, touching and caressing every bit of your body. Halsin wanted to run his hand along your stomach and chest, inching upwards until his thumb reached your lips, dampening the digit with a swipe of your tongue in a similar matter to how you had earlier in the evening. He could see your hips rolling against his, head thrown back as you gasped for air, teetering on the edge of being in completely control to losing every bit of sense you had while riding out an orgasm.

The disciplined portion of Halsin’s mind that had yet to be fogged over with desire argued with the fire burning in his belly, causing a battle in his mind over what was morally right and what was physically wrong. He wanted you more than anything he’d wanted in so very long, yet Halsin did feel a twinge of guilt in his self pleasure in knowing it was your image that was bringing him so close to release despite the sadness in your expression only moments prior. What would your reaction be if you could see him now sprawled on his back in the solitude of his tent, arm buried deep in his trousers, palming his strained cock at a fevered pace all while imagining you? He would like to think you were be flattered, but deep down he knew you were would be disappointed, disgusted even. To have the courage to turn you down repeatedly, sending you away from him time and time again, yet thrusting into his hand to your image like an animal in rut would be a slap in the face. 

He could feel his pleasure mounting, his cock twitching and throbbing against his hand as his body prepared to spill his seed along his hand and stomach while whimpering your name. A few more strokes would be all he needed to finish, to finally release the built up feelings he’d harbored for so, so long. His legs shook, hips thrusting wildly into the air as his free hand trembled in excitement and small moans slipped into the air. However, the more rational portion of Halsin’s mind finally took control, stopping him before he could finish. 

He flipped over quickly, pressing his stomach firmly into the ground beneath him, trapping his violently twitching cock between his body and the fabric of his bedroll, still wrapped tightly by his hand. Halsin’s hips stilled, his head coming to rest atop his free arm as he caught his breath, the closeness to orgasm slowly ebbing away the longer he stilled. Ragged breaths tore from his lungs, panting into his pillow as he released a frustrated shout, letting the fabric beneath him muffle the majority of it. He was frustrated, angry even. He wanted, if not needed, to complete his task and feel an orgasm finally tear through his body, but he couldn’t allow himself to continue. 

It would be wrong, he decided, to finish the deed. The urge was only natural, but not like this. He had allowed himself to be distracted enough as it is as well as causing you harm, so he deemed himself unworthy of a wonderful release. It needed to wait until after the curse had been lifted and he had gotten in your good graces again, if possible. As much as he wanted it now, he knew that waiting until things were right would be kinder to his conscious and even more blissful once he could finally release.

Halsin remained in his spot, his breath slowly regaining a normal speed as he allowed his orgasm to ebb away. He could feel the more frequent feelings of frustration begin to fester in his mind once again, his still throbbing cock sitting in his hand certainly didn’t help matters. Neither did the sudden sound of your laughter breaking through the silence of camp, making its way to Halsin’s secluded tent off in the distance. The melodious sound of you enjoying yourself made Halsin grind his hips into his hand, causing him to moan loudly at the feeling. Your laughter had spurred him on once more, the idea that you had found joy once again this evening and possibly not sitting somewhere upset due to his actions brought back the feelings of lust. 

Each little snippet of sound he could hear from the far off center of camp made him thrust into his hand even more, particularly if your voice seemed closer than before. Halsin’s breaths had become deeper and heavier with each downward thrust of his hips, the occasional muffled cry coming from his throat if his hips came down at just the right angle. His fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his pillow, his nails threatening to rip the material apart the closer he came to his release. His muscles were wound tightly, rippling across his back with each roll of his body against his own hand and into his bedroll. By now the fabric of his camp shirt had been soaked with sweat, the material clinging to his body and creating new sensations across his skin as the friction increased. 

Halsin’s fogged mind imagined it was you clinging to him instead, your hands sliding against and caressing his arms and back as you were pressed firmly beneath him. The sweat that rolled lazily down his neck was your tongue lapping at the tender parts of skin and the feeling of his ragged breaths beating against his pillow and recoiling to touch his face instead your own sweet breath panting into his mouth. With eyes shut tightly, Halsin’s hips increased their speed and began audibly slapping against the slick that had coated his hand, letting anyone who came close to his living quarters acutely aware of what his was doing from within the confines of his tent. His moans had become more audible, his senses having long been lost.

Your name tumbled from his lips as his release drew closer, saying it over and over again as if he were begging you to let him finish. Each time he said your name he imagined his own name coming from you, being panted in his ear as he trust into you, your bodies colliding into each other at a fevered pace. He could feel your fingers intertwining with his hair, tugging at his scalp as you moaned and cooed in his ear. Your voice wavered as you whispered for him to release, Halsin imagined you growing closer to your very own peak as you encouraged and begged him to finish for you. And much to his happiness, it was long before he obliged your request.

With a final heavy thrust and one more warbled cry of pleasure, Halsin’s orgasm washed over his body in searing hot waves of pleasure. Halsin’s body stiffened with his orgasm, curling in on himself as his spend finally shot from the tip of his pulsing cock. His grip tightened around his length, feeling each spurt that erupted from his tip land across his hand onto the bedroll beneath him, the occasional rope landing somewhere along his abdomen if his cock twitched at the right time. He let out a gasping breath with each passing release, each one decreasing in intensity as he rode out the last remaining moments of his orgasm.

After the last ropes of his spend were spilled onto the ground beneath him, Halsin took in a final sucking breath, utterly spent and exhausted. The ironclad grip he’d previously had on his pillow finally released, the same hand pushing up his weight so he could sit up and rest on his knees. His opposite hand released his length, now quickly softening as he came down from the high of his orgasm. The druid still struggled to catch his breath, his chest slightly heaving as he wiped his hand clean with the edge of his blanket before resting both hands on his still trembling thighs. He took another deep breath in, his head falling back against his shoulders as his eyes closed until he was facing the ceiling of his tent. 

By now, the illusion he had created for himself had faded. Halsin was no longer seated happily in a tender patch of grass nestled between your thighs, but was instead alone and hovering over his bedroll that rested on a rather hard bit of earth. The warmth of the sun kissing his face had been replaced with the coldness of the shadow curse and the darkness of the inside of his tent. The tender caress of your wonderful hands along his body was now nothing more than his own guilt and shame clawing at his heart once again. He heard nothing but howls and screams in the distant shadows instead of the soft, intoxicating sound of your voice against his ear. The heat from his skin was beginning to dissipate as well, allowing the coolness of the night air to lick at his exposed skin. 

With a soft sigh, Halsin opened his eyes, disappointed to not be greeted with the image of your face, although not entirely surprised to only be greeted with the tattered fabric of his makeshift home. Despite being still sensitive to the touch, Halsin tucked himself back into the confines of his trousers, lacing the ties on the front with a slight hiss at the contact. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand as he looked at the mess now waiting before him. Not wanting to deal with the aftermath of his self pleasure, Halsin simply rolled his heavily soiled bedroll into a tight bundle, tossing it to the back end of his tent and decided to either clean or dispose of in the morning. 

He pulled open the flap of his tent, letting in the last remnants of light from the campfire into his abode as he prepared to finally rest for the evening, the exertion from his orgasm having finally worn him out enough to indulge in a bit of sleep. He shivered at the abrupt feeling of the cool night against the warmth he had created in his tent. The camp had gone quiet, the rest of his companions having seemingly turned in for the night, and the earlier sounds of children laughing and animals barking seemed to be silenced as well. Halsin brushed the straw bits of strained that coated the floor of his tent into a smooth layer so he would have a bit of cushion against his tired bones. He had finished smoothing down the outer edge when something small caught his eye. 

Sitting neatly beside his discarded camp gear was a small bowl of stew, still billowing steam from the surface. Halsin simply stared at the bowl, which had been placed on a small saucer with an accompanying spoon and a hearty chunk of bread. It didn’t take much thinking on his part to know you had been the one to leave the bit of supper by his tent, although he couldn’t be quite sure when you had dropped it off. He had admittedly been too caught up in his fantasy to begin to hear you shuffling about outside, which made him question just how much of his guilty pleasure you had heard. 

Perhaps you had herd nothing and merely wanted to leave his undisturbed under the pretense he was asleep. However, the much more likely scenario considering just how hot the stew was, was that you had walked up right as he was chanting your name while at the height of his pleasure. He felt an all too familiar heat creep up his neck as he eyed the bowl. He sat back on his knees once more, a light chuckle leaving his lips as he imagined a dozen scenarios he’d be having with you come morning. But for now, Halsin simply took the bowl of stew in hand and ate it quickly, ready to finish his meal and finally take a bit of well deserved rest.

Tag list: @thoughts-of-bear @mothermoth92

[elsa-fogen]

Meet the hyperfixations 1 - Winx Club - Bloom

Okay so, i decided to make few fanarts dedicated to all of my past hyperfixations, so you could know me better i think?

and my first hyperfixation, suddenly, Bloom. You don't know, but Winx was my first fandom, my first hyperfixation and the longest one in general (from the second to the seventh grade, FIVE fucking YEARS) Well, it's clear that Winx greatly influenced my drawing style, I think this can be seen even after so many years by the way, I drew Believix from memory without references. except some small details, but otherwise I remember everything… should I be sad or proud?… By the way, Believix is ​​my favorite transformation for some reason. I don't know, Enchantix is ​​of course beautiful and dramatic, but!!!!! I don't vibe with the designs. Believix was more my thing. and Dark Bloom is a whole other story, I saw her without any context for the first time and was like WHAT IS THIS GIVE ME MORE!!!!! and at the time when I was a fan of Winx, I didn't have regular access to the Internet, I had to catch the episodes on TV, so basically… I never watched Winx normally? almost… I think that at some point I finally got a DVD to watch them, because I remember how I started the second season and, recognizing the places, I kept waiting for Bloom to go crazy and become dark ahaha

[honestsycrets]

enfócate | tutor!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader, fake boyfriend!peter x reader

❛ type | explicit

❛ summary | jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.

❛ tags | spanish tutor!miguel, bratty reader, a kiss with Peter, Miguel's jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.

❛ reqs fulfilled | see here.

❛ sy's notes | the pov on this piece bothers me, it jumps between reader and Miguel. however, i did write two separate pieces for this request (a combined 25 pages vs my usual 11/12). so, i decided to meld them together to create this piece. anywho, if it bothers you, i understand! ❤️ I yoinked a lot of the Spanish from my Spanish learners textbook, hopefully, it's acceptable.

He knew he wanted you from the first day he saw you in the tea cafe. 

Jess and he rarely visited the tea shop. It was settled on the edge of campus. Close to the social sciences and arts, but far from the work he did in the Genetics department. As a Ph.D. student, however, not all the work was done in the lab. Jess liked to see the different types of people that came to this tea cafe, where the chair cushions were fluffy emerald pillows and plants hovered overhead.

“Miguel? What's---” 

You stood apart from the other students with their sloppy, half-cropped, or frumpy appearances, there was a particular care you took to dressing. It was the embroidered bow in your hair that drew his attention. When you left to fetch a refill of chai, he noticed the soft, frilled socks in tiny ankle boots. He just knew you would taste sweet, leering as he watched you at the drink bar. Jess glanced in your direction, the way you adorably bowed your head after the tea artist gave you your drink, and just knew. Jess looked over her shoulder. 

“Not her.”

Jess’s voice was a drawn-out sigh of your name, punctuated by her fist beating the table. Miguel perked at the mention of your name. Oh, so she knew you. She was probably sick of his shit. Good, he was also sick of being used as a vibe check for the lesbians she wanted to pick up.

“Don’t you have enough side pieces?” 

Miguel didn’t respond. 

“She probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Look who she's with.” 

That finally got a response. 

“You don’t know that,” he kept his eyes straight ahead. You caught him staring, wiggling your little fingers in a hello as you sat at a table. "I want her."

You sat with an incredibly frumpy, annoying photography student who once took his picture for the lab website. Could he be… his attention wavered when you pulled out a book: Español para el siglo. His lips quivered into a wildly sardonic grin. Oh no, no no. It was too easy. 

“You’ll ruin her. She’s too innocent.” 

He leaned in. 

“Are you going to help me or not?” 

“Buenas tardes,” 

Two chairs and a thin desk. The small study room was more of a glorified broom closet for its students. You were lucky that there was a large window that looked out over the student union, flowers blooming up its brick siding. Bits of lush dark green ivy poked into the window’s view from the library’s tall wall. As the sun set on campus, rich orange and pink settled over the sunset on that warm Friday afternoon. At least the sight was pretty for how overwhelmingly small the space was.

It wasn’t the space that bothered you. It was your tutor.

He was big-- big big. Not just a little big, but really big. The kind of big that was on bodybuilding competitions. It made his long, blue-grey muscle shirt and grey sweats look tiny, sucked to his well-pumped muscle. The room felt a lot smaller as you looked at him, his long brown hair whipped back over his neck. His eyebrows raised on his dark forehead, arms turning one over another, a bundle of muscle.

“Ah... you're him? The man from the tea shop.” 

He pulled free his sunglasses and set them down. His warm chocolate eyes glanced from the edge of your now too-short skirt to the glint of a dagger necklace that beat between your breasts. He’s staring. Why is he staring-- you finger the dagger between your thumb and index fingers, soothing yourself with the manipulation.

“Miguel.” He warmed, pulling the seat out beside him. His voice was buttery and smooth, almost like rich caramel. The lilt in his voice lightened, inviting you to take a seat by him. You should. You thought. Sit down. “Siéntate." 

You stared.

"I said sit down.” 

That was a bad idea. You paused, slipping the bag down from under your shoulder and onto the beige tile by the door. Miguel watched every slight movement. That’s fine. It’s natural to do that. You tugged the bottom of your skirt and took a seat beside him. Miguel pushed the chair back in, pushing your chest to the edge of the desk space. Oh-- oh boy, he was strong. Of course, he was, he was built like a-- 

“Bueno. Now you're settled. How can I help you?” 

Do that again.

“Me? Oh! I... Jess said you could help me need to pass a test,” you murmured. The four semesters of Spanish seemed relatively easy compared to being stuffed next to this Adonis in this tiny study room. Your legs settled over your skirt, hands working over one another to will down the pulse of your wily excitement. What was wrong with you? “To pass my language requirement.” 

You should have been able to do that alone but-- let’s say you weren’t the most applied to the language in your childhood. A tutor was a great alternative to embarrassment and thousands of dollars in classes. If only he didn’t look like… this. His large hand left the pasty back of your chair.

“Hm,” he paused. “¿Puedes hablar español?” 

“Sí,” you murmured. “My mami was-- well, I should have listened to her.” 

Hm. 

You want to know what Hm means. Your leg tremored on its own accord. He swept a leather bag by his side up and pulled out a thick folder, running across several tabs. Lab notes, diet plans, pruebas. 

“It happens,” he notes, sliding a page free. “Let’s see how much you know, princesa.” 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to know more, to hear the hum of Spanish bouncing off his lips. It was a world apart from your mother’s shrill screams on Saturday mornings to clean an already clean house. It held its own beauty and mystery when he spoke it. You took the page from him, setting it down on the bland tablespace by your phone, lighting up with a notification.

Jess When you meet Miguel, don’t do it.

"¿Princesa?" you asked.

"You dress like one. Don’t worry if you fail,” you plucked out a pink mechanical pencil, complete with little animated characters tightened around the wrapping. You perked at his words, choking a small smile. “I expect you to.” 

Why was he like this? You took another unfortunate look at him, his large forearm plastered over the desk, making the book he had to look like peanuts in comparison. God, he was hot-- you felt comparatively hideous, drooling over a man that was out of your league. Maybe he could be your piece of eye candy this year. Your phone buzzed along the table again. Miguel’s eyes shot to it, a frown pulling at his lips. 

Jess Don’t fuck him. He can’t keep his dick to himself.

He reaches over, flipping your phone down with an overworked smile sundering his expression. It’s almost fake. 

“Are you…” you turned your eyes to the questions on the page. “A student?” 

“Grad student,” Miguel answered. So, older than you then. “I graduated with a BA in Spanish and a BS in Genetics.” 

“Oh! A dual degree?” The man couldn’t be normal. He had to do both. “Did it… take a while?”

“No, it was accelerated.” 

He was unreal. There was no way this man was ordinary. It was physically impossible for the man to be that hot and successful. You scribbled across the page, nipping the back of your pencil at particularly hard questions.

“So you just do this for… a living?” you asked him. 

“I teach and train clients, yes.”

“Train?” 

“Gym,” Miguel set his cheek on his fist.

“I do cardio with Jess. No strength training for me.” Jess-- who suggested Miguel to you. You had some shit to bitch at her about the next time you saw her. Namely, why she didn’t warn you about Miguel. He was a boon for chaos in your life.

“I’d waste your time. I’m all marshmallow,” you pat your soft belly. “All pan dulce and burros.” 

He chuckled. 

“You have a beautiful body.” 

And that was that. You set the pencil down on a page half full of answers, glancing toward his full lips. They were quirked into an arrogant smirk. He knew the effect he had on women. He glanced to the page, then to you, his lips growing into a smile laden with arrogance. 

“Your hips--” he glanced down, “My girls couldn’t pay to get them.” 

He noticed. You supposed that the miniskirt wasn’t the best choice for meeting a new man.

“Do you talk to everyone like this?”

“No. Only the ones that look at me like you did." 

Oh. 

 If it were a game of whom ate whom up first, you had to be honest-- it may have been you. You couldn’t shoot anything back at that, angling your head down at the page guiltily. A sigh fell from his chest. His large hand came to the back of your head, cupping the thick bow on the back of your head. His fingers ran across the silk, teasing it between his fingers.

“Calm down, you’re not the first one to do it. You won't be the last,” he turned your head to look at him, large fingers combing through the strands of your hair. He chased the panic in your wide eyes, doe eyes blown wide. Your heartbeat soared into your chest, choking you there, looking for an outlet from your shame. 

“Breathe for me,” he leaned in, his warm breath tingling your ear. His cologne was clean, like the lapse of the waves on the shore back home where the tropical heat was a second skin. You listened, taking a weary, deep breath in, then out again. Again. 

“Go on.” His knuckles rapped on the sheet. Miguel’s hand fell away. You found yourself longing for it again. 

“He’s gorgeous.” 

“I told you not to fuck him," your superior, Jess said, her feet bouncing off the stairstepper effortlessly.

“I didn't-- I just, he called me beautiful.” 

“He would call anyone beautiful if it meant fucking them. Don’t fall for it.” 

You knew Jess wouldn’t say it unless she were serious. She always knew what you needed help with, where to locate a good solution, and had the right words to calm you down.

“How?” you said, louder than you intended. You were suddenly thankful for the pounding music that beat down on your ears in your school’s gym and the rush of people that came and went. “Jess, you’re a lesbian. You don’t understand-- he’s thick. Like, he’s luchador status big. Big, big.” 

“I’ve dated some thick women.” 

“And he likes me,” you said pointedly, rushing to the topmost step, remembering his words. The way he calmed you down from your embarrassment, seeming without concern for his own body. It was… sweet. “Men usually don’t like me, Jess. I’m too… soft.” 

“Okay, girl, whatever,” you were pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Unless you’re going to be another one of his fuck toys, just ignore him.”  

“How?”

Her stare trained on the floors lapsed. Thirty and she was still going. “If you don’t want him, just fire him. What’s going to do? Come find you?” 

You stopped for the entirety of five… or ten seconds. Enough to consider her words. Enough to quite literally get plop off the stair stepper and onto the cold floor. Jess exhaled a stale breath, reaching over to jam the STOP button on your machine. Ow.

“Good job.” 

Miguel likes to tutor you. Not because you’re good at Spanish, no, for a girl that grew up with a Spanish mother, your skills are quite poor. But he likes the opportunity to have you in a room all by yourself, late at night. Wednesdays are great days for that. 

Your soft buttercup yellow dress is short today, exposing your thick thighs that take up so much of the chair. He pretends that he’s listening as you go over a list of irregular verbs, your lip pouting in response to the irregular verbs. Some were simple in their familiarity like poder with endings such as pudiste; but the plurals and other irregular verbs, you pouted at. It was cute. 

“Miggy, it’s not funny, ” Oh, nicknames now. Miguel throws a glance at your glossy lips, undoubtedly sticky but oh so soft looking. 

“I never said it was.” 

“You’re smirking.” 

“Then don’t whine,” he said. “It’s cute.” 

“Oh--” As to be expected, you shifted your hands between your legs, drawing your skirt in between your legs. He faltered and took a glance, coasting his eye over its edges and memorizing the way it fell over your skin. You’ll ruin her, he remembers Jess saying. She wasn’t wrong, he sensed the bit of it now, how close you sat-- 

“Take a break, princesa. Vocabulary-- ascendencia.” 

Rather than take a break, you turned and caught the corner of his lips in what was a terrible, cherry-red kiss that would stain his skin. But the connection of your lips, puckered in a pouting kiss on his skin, caught him off guard. 

“Descent,” you took his red pen out of his loose grip, scribbling descent by the word. Fuck. Miguel took a sip of now cold coffee. A smile kept pulling at his cheeks, looking out of the window and catching the slight reflection of your lipstick smeared across his lip and cheek, he bobs his head into a nod.

“Correcto.” 

You’re with Peter the first time you see Miguel with another woman. 

It’s at lunch. Tuesdays and Thursdays are regularly spent running to the College of Arts, waiting for Peter to get out, and a picnic. Today, you forgot to bring lunch, running off to the union hand wrapped around his elbow as he talked to you about a bright new camera lens filter.

“These new pictures are going to come out perfect! Thanks for lending me the money,” he beamed. You loved the way he talked about his art-- stopping to show you his newest pictures of the camera that hung around his neck. Peter was always good with a camera, catching you in all the prettiest angles in your trade of photos for… sponsoring a lens or whatever. Or, at least, bringing down the cost. “Look at this one. Look how pretty you look in that dress, kinda like a pin-up! We should do some’a those next.” 

Feet thumping over the pavement, you failed to sense Miguel's presence until you smelled his peppery cologne carried on the air. There, on a bench, he sat next to a girl. She was pretty, with long dark hair and soft skin. Her hand was on his thigh and his arm around her shoulder, eating the last bit of a flaky empanada-- your eyes burned, the closeness of her head on his shoulder, clearly done and finished, waiting for whatever next plan he had. You don’t want to know what that could be.

“Huh? Oh. hi Miguel!” Peter waved to your dismay. You held onto him a little tighter, wringing circles around his sleeve. Miguel spares you two a glance, his eyebrows pushing together. But he waves, lazy and short. You stifle the hot prick of tears at the corner of your eyes and yank Peter away. “Wha-- I’m coming, I’m coming!"

Days later, Peter has a plan.

“I’ve got it-- the solution to your tea guy problem! You should have told me sooner that it was Miguel.” 

Peter was very excited. Why, you weren’t sure. He liked to feel helpful. That’s why he was a photographer. Photography lets others feel beautiful and seen. He picked at your lunch, his head flopped on your thigh as he worked through his camera. 

“I’ll be your boyfriend!”

“You want to be my boyfriend?” you offered him a grape. He opened his mouth with an adorable ‘ah’ of his his lips. You slipped the grape between his lips. He chewed appreciatively. “I don’t know, Peter. Isn’t it lying?” 

“C’mon, I know Miguel. He’s macho. The kind of guy you have to make jealous. And I can do it! I’m boyfriend material. Aren’t I?”

“Sí. But I don’t think I can make him jealous.” 

It was a sunshiney day, sprawled out at lunch on a cool picnic blanket, tracing the clouds when you heard his voice. Soft, smooth, inviting. Your head spun around, this time with a lean blonde-haired girl-- her legs were long, tummy nice and flat, blue eyes shining like little sapphires set in her pale face. She swooned on his arm. The perfect sorority princess. What if he called her princesa, too?

“--close lab with me--” 

“I can do it myself.” 

Miguel’s eyes caught yours, raising his hand lazily to greet you as he walked down the sidewalk, undoubtedly back to his genetics lab on the other side of campus. Over where brilliant boys and girls and theys were, rushing through accelerated scientific programs while you figured out how to fix broken artifacts. He lived in another impossible world. A realm far away from Peter and you: photography and the maintenance of culture and art.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter's eyes were glossy with concern. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-- did I say something wrong?” 

You shook your head. Peter sat up, his eyes bounced up-- from Miguel over his shoulder to your sudden sad eyes. Peter set his hand on your cheek, the fibers of his soft pink cardigan tickling your jaw. Your eyes tore from Miguel, whose pace became sluggish as if steps along took immense effort. Peter’s nose bumped against yours, clumsy and oh so Peterish-- his hand on the middle of your back, his warm but cracked lips swallowing the gasp that tumbled from your lips. He tasted of sweet fruit, the sloppy lunch you shared, and a silly comfort. 

He watching? Peter murmured against your lips. 

You nearly forgot to return the kiss, captured in the way Miguel stared-- something in his warm brown eyes was almost wounded. Peter shoved you onto the picnic blanket, a soft sorry murmured under his breath as his thin frame fell between your legs. Miguel stomped away, his bumbling blonde rushing to keep up. 

“Oh yeah,” Peter rolled over onto his back, crossing his legs one over another. You watched Miguel stomp past the tall hedges, out of your line of sight. “He’s gonna be mad at you.” 

“Peter!” 

Miguel was still in a bad mood hours later. 

“¡Qué surpresa!” he murmured, offering you your paper blotted with red circles. “You did remarkably shit on this test. Do you focus on anything? Or just Peter?” 

“Perdona me.” Your focus was shot with his consistent presence in your life. Not that he could appreciate that. 

“How long are you going to keep wasting my time?” 

“Are you talking about the Spanish or--”

Miguel set the red pen down, a sharp slam snapping the pen under his force. The fragile plastic snapped into shards of plastic. He flicked it away, paper and pen both, his large hand flexing in and out of a closed fist. You traced the tracks of his veins along his forearm.

“Are you mad that I kissed you?” 

“Stop.”

“Or are you angry that Peter did?” 

 “Don’t touch me.” 

Though he said that, you didn’t listen. You slid out of the chair and in between his spread legs, your hands trailing his handsome jawline. He jerked back when your lips caught his, the legs of his chair hitting the wall. Though he said no, his mouth opened to your kiss, and his palms flushed against your soft cheeks. You pinned him between your body and the wall-- and though you were sure he’d quickly whirl you off if he really wanted to, he didn’t. His tongue pushed into your mouth, owning yours. His hands skimmed your back, trailing lower and lower down your deep red dress until he connected with your ass. 

“You need to stop.” Miguel broke from his kiss. Though he said that, he brought you onto his lap. You felt little in his large arms, his hands guiding your hips over his crotch. “Before I do something you’ll regret.”

You listened to the sounds of the library’s floor. The scrunch of take out into the trash, the sing of a door opening and closing. It was dinner time. Most everyone had gone to get their snacks— and here you were, looking down at Miguel with rapt eyes. 

“Peter is just a friend.” 

“A friend who happens to jam his tongue down your throat,” he turned the word over on his tongue and found offense in it. “Now why do I doubt that?” 

“He only wanted to help.”

“By kissing you?” 

Your fingers trailed his jaw, dipping back down for another kiss if only to say you could. That Miguel couldn’t tell you what to do. A sound of frustration ripped up his throat. You felt him, his dick twitching to life behind those sweatpants. He felt big. You bit your lower lip— a movement that didn’t escape his attentive eyes. 

“By making you as jealous,” You slid off his lap and onto the dirty floor. But as you lifted a hand, cupping his dick through the heavy fabric, he couldn’t bear to stop you. 

His lips pulled in a wicked grin, your soft palm stroking along his length. He hooked his thumbs into his sweats, yanking them down over his knees and onto the floor. His cock kissed his belly, straining with droplets of moisture at the tip. Miguel set his hand on your shoulder and forced you to heel on the floor. His temperament evened out. “You were jealous.” 

“Yes--” you murmured. “Are.. those girls, are they special?” 

“Special? No, none of them are.” 

“I want to be.” 

“That so?” Your soft hands trailed along the dark hair on his calves, up his thighs, settling your nose where his muscular hand tightened around the root. He wrenched his swarthy hand along his length, drawing along his veiny cock shamelessly. "Let's see how much you do, princesa."

“Please.”

“Aquí se habla español.” Miguel teased. Your fingers dipped down, small tickles of your fingertips as his heavy balls. He watched you massage them with half-lidded eyes, his lips pursing in a pleased hum. 

“Por favor.” 

“Abre,” you did, sliding your soft mouth open, a well of saliva on your tongue. Miguel slid himself into your warm mouth, a ruptured groan fizzing in his chest. You didn’t want to be too loud— someone might look into the small window on the door, and see you on your knees between Miguel’s thick legs, sucking his cock down when you should be going over that test you just failed. 

You caught the salty beads at Miguel’s top on your tongue, sliding sloppily around his thick head, and lapping at his slit for more. Your soft hands stroked along his length, clumsy and shy. He hummed in approval, a sound you were more than thankful to elicit. Miguel took a fist full of your hair and drove himself into your mouth, your tongue stroking the underside of his length. 

“Pero mira esto,” Miguel wrenched his head in your hair, grabbing handfuls of it in his palm. “You can focus on something. Sucking my dick.”

Even if you wanted to look up, Miguel drove your head down onto his dick, the dark, trimmed tuft of his pubic hair tickling your nose. He drew his hips back. You nearly pulled off him, if not for his hand assuring that you wouldn’t move off of it. Drool coursed down from your lips, soaking your chin and neck, connecting to his cock as if it were a spiderweb. Your cheeks flushed with blood— you must have looked a mess. 

“Coño," Miguel tutted with his tongue, grasping his phone. Your lips pursed around his tip, eyes flickering up to catch the lens of his phone camera on your ruined face. A picture or a video, you weren’t entirely sure. Only that it sent thumps of pleasure down your core to know he wanted to record it, keep it close. You suckled along his sensitive head, working his moans free. He set his phone aside. 

Miguel stood and dragged your head along with him to pin you between the ledge of the desk space and his wonderful hips. His hands slipped behind your head, keeping you still and steady, driving himself deep into your mouth. Past your tongue, down your throat, it felt like he hit parts of you that you could only dream of. You struggled with his size, choking the urge to swallow him when he forced you to hold him there. As if your throat was just a hole for his pleasure. Your sad attempt to suckle him down was tempered by the rocking of his hips, his needy face fucking. Your eyes screwed shut, bits of color dancing behind your eyes, the easiest way to deal with this was to focus— on the way he tasted, the scent of his fresh body wash, the light judder of his hips as he came close. 

"Hah-- ay, qué rico," his nails scraped the back of your neck, sloppy and undefined thrusts filling your throat. He spurts thick ropes of his cum down your throat and mouth, withdrawing to jerk the last bursts of his cum over your lips. Miguel’s breath fell from his lips in heavy gulps, meeting yours down on your aching knees. Strings of coughed-up cum connected your sodden lips to his cock, globs of his seed slipping between your breasts. You ached. 

“Tate quieta.” 

You don’t know where you’d go, your palms catching yourself on the floor. He snapped another photo, humming appreciatively. Miguel reached into his gym bag, pulling a sweaty shirt free. Your fingers dipped into his warm cum that spattered across your warm chest, drawing it to your lips. He tasted salty, tangy, and just right.

"You look so-- so beautiful, princesa, just perfect," Miguel bent down, wiping the rest of his mess from your chest and face, gently stroking away all evidence of your face fucking before cleaning his cock and tucking himself away into his sweatpants. He chucked the t-shirt back into his bag, glazing his eyes over your hazy, exhausted eyes. He crouched down. 

“Rule one, I never share my women,” he settled his knuckle under your chin, urging you to look him in the eyes. Something told him you wouldn't be as easy as the others, but for some reason, he shrugged the thought aside. “As long as I'm fucking you, you date no one but me. If I find out you are, we're done. Am I clear?”

He was a walking red flag. But for once, in your good girl life, you wanted that. You wanted to fuck in the library-- against the genetics building late at night-- to kiss him during a sunny picnic. More than you wanted a lot of things. His eyes went soft with your answer. 

“Claro que sí, Miggy.”

He loves it when he gets what he wants.

[syndrossi]

Reverberate AU Concept #2

Part 1 here. We're growing a plot because I am not capable of not doing so, apparently. Takes place roughly 3 months after the last, as we near the twins' first name day.

Aka "what if Resonant!Daemon woke up in the Stepstones shortly after the twins' conception, resolved the first Stepstones conflict in record time, and flew back to Runestone to convince Rhea to announce the pregnancy as her own?"

x~x~x

“Mooaw!” the voice on his left shoulder demanded. It was soon echoed by the one on his right. “Moooaw!”

Fighting back a grin, Daemon angled Caraxes upward for one more loop around Runestone and its northern coast. Spring had ushered itself in with great haste, quickly melting the remaining snow, until it had retreated back to only the very peaks of the mountains to the far west. The air was colder up high, but it lacked the bite of winter, and the very first wildflower blooms were visible in the grasslands.

As they neared the coast, Caraxes descended lower, passing over the occasional ship in the small bay. Most of the time, ships sailed past Runestone, their destination either Gulltown and eventually the Saltpans to ferry goods inland, or south to King’s Landing. One larger ship that they had passed last time heading northward had turned east, Daemon noted with interest, toward Runestone. It was difficult to make out details from their current height, but its giant mast seemed to be carved into the shape of a dragon’s head.

He ignored the demanding chant for more on their final descent, and Caraxes landed just outside the enclosure. As they neared their first name day, the twins were dangerously close to outgrowing Daemon’s own saddle-sling. He would need adjustments made soon.

He set them both down carefully, and they clung to a leg apiece to balance themselves before taking off as one toward Caraxes, whose contentment flowed easily through their bond as they grabbed for the smaller horns on his great head—though even those were far too large for such tiny hands to grasp.

It should not surprise him that they had already mastered the art of walking. Their first wobbling steps had come at nine moons, within a day of one another. They were yet too slow for their newfound mobility to greatly worry Daemon, but he feared when the day came that they could disappear of their own accord.

That was what Ser Willam was for, however. The dark-haired knight had stood in vigil at the enclosure during their ride, and watched the boys with alert eyes as they babbled to Caraxes. Their speech was growing more intelligible by the day, and Daemon took care to speak High Valyrian exclusively when alone with them, determined that neither would be forced to rely upon tutors to speak the tongue of their ancestors.

Free of his own saddle, Daemon came up behind the twins, mimicking the roar of a dragon as he swooped to pick them up in either arm, to delighted shrieks. “Let us bid Caraxes farewell,” he said to them. “And I shall fly you back to the castle.”

And fly they did, Daemon sprinting to the best of his ability with each tucked in one arm, growing heavier by the month. It no longer drew the same stares as it had the first few moons, though it was a struggle to maintain the breakneck speed for the full distance.

“You must not grow anymore,” Daemon informed them between pants once they’d reached the castle gates. He glanced behind to find Ser Willam trotting more leisurely to catch up. And ahead of them, Rhea had emerged from the castle to greet their return. Doubtless she had been watching from her solar.

“My brave dragonriders,” she said with a smile, kissing the boys on the cheek, and then Daemon. “We shall see if your father is so amicable when I take you out hawking.”

Daemon clutched the boys tighter, uncertain how he felt about them setting out on horse. “There are outlaws and hill tribesmen.”

To say nothing of the Craynes of the world who might be lurking for the opportunity to ambush and steal his children. His sons were safe up on Caraxes’s back. The same was not true of the roads and wilds of the Vale, which had seen them kidnapped before.

“Then we shall need brave knights to protect us,” Rhea said, nodding at Ser Willam.

Allard Stone—Willam’s squire this time, rather than legitimized and installed as keeper of the Gates of the Moon to further the plot to keep his sons hidden from him—slunk out of the shadows to stand at the knight’s side, shoulders tense in Daemon’s presence.

Rhea had intended for him to be yet another of the twins’ protectors, until Daemon had voiced his vehement objection through gritted teeth. His excuse had been that having a bastard guard the twins might call their own legitimacy into question, and that he was yet too green.

Rhea had been adamant, however, insisting that he be allowed to prove himself as Ser Willam’s squire. Perhaps the knight might make something of him, but Daemon would be damned before he let that cold-blooded snake near his children.

“They are yet too young,” Daemon said finally.

Rhea took Jon from him, bouncing him lightly in her arms. “What do you say, Jon?” She angled him toward the stables. “Would you like to ride with your mama on horseback sometime?” At his silence, she pointed at one that was out in the yard. “Can you say horsie?”

“Awazhee,” Jon said, with a stubborn loyalty that made Daemon smile.

“You ride Caraxes every day,” she said with a sigh. Rhea turned to Rhaegar, smiling at him with encouragement. “How about you, Rhaegar? Horsie with mama?”

His other son regarded her with uncertain purple eyes that looked to Daemon first, then back at her, then back at Daemon. Then he burst into tears. Daemon bounced him gently, and Jon began fussing, as he often did when his brother was upset, so he reclaimed him from Rhea.

“I fear you cannot compete with a dragon,” Daemon said, without the smugness he might ordinarily feel, because Rhea looked genuinely defeated by their reaction. “Perhaps some horse toys for their name day might change their minds?”

“Perhaps,” she said.

Rhaegar’s crying had subsided to sniffles, at which point Ser Willam drew his sword with a dramatic flourish, drawing the eyes of both babes. They quieted, staring as the knight angled the Valyrian steel blade back and forth to catch the sun. Jon reached out a hand, his chubby fist clenching and unclenching as though he wanted to hold it.

“That blade weighs half as much as you,” Daemon said, planting a kiss on the short locks of hair that had started growing in for both twins two moons ago.

Jon’s was lighter than he recalled, a brown almost like Rhea’s. He wondered if, like his and Rhaegar’s eyes, it would darken over time. Rhaegar’s own hair was almost completely silver currently, earning him the nickname of “old man” from Ser Willam, which both children found hilarious. Its final shade had been very near to Daemon’s own, but it was more than a little disconcerting just how similar in coloring Rhaegar was to his uncle Aemon in his first year.

Emotional turmoil averted, he dismissed Ser Willam to supervise Allard in the yard so that he would not have to contend with the sullen teenager lurking outside the solar. Rhea joined them for mealtime, which had progressed to the twins stubbornly trying to feed themselves and making an absolute mess in the process.

Daemon had a standing order in the kitchens for carrots and blueberries, but Rhea ensured there was always something new for them to try in addition to their staples. Today, it was a boiled cabbage that Rhea said had been a favorite of her mother’s. Jon chewed enthusiastically on his, once Daemon had cut it down to appropriate size, while Rhaegar seemed less convinced of its merits.

Maester Forsethe then poked his head in to summon Rhea to attend to lordly matters, leaving Daemon alone to clean up the mess afterward. He made ample use of the warmed water in the washing basin, then settled with both of them into a chair by the fire to read from an old collection of legends from the long history of House Royce, written for children.

Each tale had a full-page illustration that he let the twins study before moving on to the words themselves, but they seemed to derive their greatest enjoyment from his approximations of a wolf’s howl or the impact of a hurled boulder against the walls of a keep or even the chirping of birds.

There are no collections of tales for children of our own house, he thought with regret. And certainly none in High Valyrian. Perhaps I can find a suitable writer to commission such a work in King’s Landing, and translate into Valyrian.

“Woaf,” Jon demanded, head turning up to look at him.

Daemon pointed to the word on the page, then spoke its High Valyrian equivalent. “Zokla.”

Jon’s face scrunched up in determination. “Zogaa.” And when Daemon glanced at Rhaegar, his other son repeated it. “Zogaa.”

Daemon howled then, to squeals of amusement before his sons joined in, attempting to mimic him.

“Has a pack of wolves invaded my solar?” Rhea had returned, and though there was a smile on her face, it was a distracted one.

Daemon ceased his howling, feeling a stir of unease. “What is it?”

“I just received a delegation from Volantis that arrived in our port this afternoon. They seek an audience with you.”

His arms tightened around the twins, stomach twisting with equal parts fear and fury. “What do they want?”

It was a pointless question. He held what they wanted in his arms, in his very heart. Daemon glanced past Rhea, through the open doorway, his concern only partly allayed by Ser Willam’s presence outside it.

“They bear gifts for the twins, and a message from the triarchs for you and you alone. I was not permitted to receive it,” Rhea said, eyes narrowing as she noted his reaction. “One of them claims to be your cousin, by your aunt Saera.”

Daemon stared at her for a moment, thrown. He had assumed that his bastard cousins by his aunt Saera in Essos had either proved useless for Volantis’s plans before, or been killed by a warlock’s test. He had not thought he would ever meet one, let alone acting on behalf of the triarchs.

She had claimed to have carved out a kingdom of her own in Volantis, he recalled, spurning the opportunity to send any of her bastard sons to the Great Council to press their own claims. One of them had been the son of a triarch, if memory served. Whoever had been sent, presumably.

The twins had gone quiet, as though sensing his mood, and he kissed the top of their heads, mind still racing. Gifts. A message. He did not think they would be brazen enough to send a delegation, only to openly kidnap his sons. Did they think to try diplomacy instead?

“Where are they now?” he asked, already steeling himself for at least one sleepless night.

“Your cousin is acting as official envoy for Volantis. I had chambers set aside for his delegation.” Her lip curled in distaste. “He is ferried by two slaves on a golden litter. Only the lowly move about on their own feet, apparently.” She tilted her head at Daemon. “Their presence worries you. Why? Volantis is an enemy of the Triarchy, is it not?”

That was the excuse he had chosen, to convince Rhea that the twins needed protection. Triarchy retaliation. Daemon had no logical explanation for why they should fear Volantis.

“I do not know why they have come here, to me, rather than my brother,” Daemon said.

“Perhaps your victory in the Stepstones earned you the favor of their triarchs—a victory that was yours, not your brother’s.” Spoken by anyone else, that might have been flattery. From Rhea, it was a simple statement of fact. “They may seek to court your favor in return.”

The notion felt preposterous. Under no circumstances would he agree to part with his children, for whatever promised price. “What did you tell them?”

“Your cousin and his advisors have been invited to sup with us in the great hall.” She shut the door behind her and crossed the room, pulling the other chair over to sit facing Daemon. “Is there a threat that I should know of, Daemon?”

“I do not know,” Daemon said tightly. “I—” He flailed for anything that would not sound like utter madness. “What do you know of my family’s history? Do you know of Daenys the Dreamer?”

“She was…a seer, yes?” Rhea said with a look of faint recognition.

“Yes,” Daemon said, relieved she was familiar with the tales. House Royce believed in its own magic, after all. “She foresaw Valyria’s Doom, and urged our family to flee. Some members of my family have had this gift. We call them dragon dreams.”

Rhea studied him with something that was not quite skepticism. “Do you mean to say that you have had these dragon dreams?”

“Did you never wonder how I knew to return from the Stepstones? Or how I knew that we would have twin sons? I have seen it before, in something like a dream.” Daemon took a deep breath. “Just as I have seen a threat in the east, one that seeks to steal our children. At first I thought that it must be the Triarchy, but my dreams of late have been of Volantis.”

Rhea’s gaze went to the children, lips compressing into a tight line. “You think they will attempt such a thing here, in Runestone?”

“I do not know.” That was the problem. Before, Volantis had worked from the shadows. This was as open a confrontation as possible, and Daemon could not deny that he desired to see the face of his enemy, to take their measure. “I do not intend to let them out of my sight for a moment.”

“Nor out of Ser Willam’s,” Rhea said. “He must be informed to be at his most vigilant.”

She extended a hand, stroking Jon’s cheek and then Rhaegar’s, both twins still unnaturally quiet. When Daemon glanced down at them, their eyes were wide and solemn, and he kissed them each with a reassurance he did not feel. They are so very small. It was something he thought a dozen times a day, usually with glee, grateful for this second chance with them. But now it came with an undercurrent of fear.

An eight-year-old could fight, shout, run. An infant was utterly helpless, his only recourse to wail in fear. Someone could pick them up in either arm as easily as he held them now, could sprint as he had from the enclosure—

“Daemon.” Rhea’s hand found his cheek next, and his gaze locked on hers, her brown eyes calm and steady. “I will not let anything happen to them. I can send the delegation away, if you fear the danger is too great.”

“No,” Daemon said, once he had gathered himself. “It is better to know what they want.” Or were openly willing to state that they wanted. Sending them away would alert them to the fact that they knew of the danger. “Perhaps I am wrong.”

He desperately hoped to be wrong. But he could think of no other explanation for Volantis to send men directly to Runestone to approach him. His brother was king, not Daemon. The only thing he could offer that his brother couldn’t was his dragonriding ability—and his children.

Jon’s hand grabbed for Daemon’s hair, closing around a fistful to tug for his attention, grey eyes peering into him as though he held the secrets of the world. Would that I did, Daemon thought with regret, kissing his tiny fist.

“My apologies, Jon.” At Rhea’s questioning look, he explained, “We have not yet finished storytime.”

It was another three hours until supper. Time enough to read, put the twins down for their nap, and ponder whatever awaited from his cousin and the rest of the delegation. Rhea stayed for the next two stories, coaxed to join in on the animal noises, but the twins’ joy was muted. They have always been so sensitive to our moods.

Even Jon seemed upset when Rhea left to make the appropriate preparations for supper, and Daemon had to sing the sniffles away, bouncing them both on his lap as he did so. They were equally clingy as he set them in their cradle, a chorus of heartbroken kepas summoning him back within seconds.

“I will be no further than the desk,” he assured them, following words with kisses for good measure.

Daemon sang again, one gentle lullaby after another, until they both finally fell asleep—Rhaegar, as ever, the stubborn straggler. Rather than return to the desk, he lingered in his chair by their cradle, visions of their cradle—bare, empty—tormenting him.

He did not care how he managed it, they were not leaving his arms until the Volantenes were gone.

[dreamscribee]

💎A Night of Forever💎

︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿ ︵ ‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵︵‿

ღ Anthony Bridgerton x female reader (18+ sligth smut part at the end)

ღ Here's Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. To fully immerse yourself in this enchanting love story, I encourage you to start from the beginning. Enjoy the journey!

ღ Sumarry: Y/N and Anthony's wedding day is a joyous celebration of their love. After heartfelt vows and a lively reception, they share a deeply intimate and passionate first night together as a married couple, marking the beginning of their life of happiness and love.

ღ word count: 661 (words), 3,736 (chacters)

ღ Thank you so much for all the love on this series! This will be the conclusion, but I wanted to give you a little something before Season 3 comes out tomorrow. I hope you've enjoyed reading and escaping reality for a bit. I can't wait to create more short stories like this one for you. Just a small heads-up: since this final chapter is romantic, it’s rated 18+ for the slight smut part at the end. Enjoy!

︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿ ︵ ‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵︵‿

The day of Y/N and Anthony's wedding dawned bright and clear, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the grand estate. The gardens were in full bloom, their vibrant colors mirrored in the smiles and laughter of the guests who had gathered to witness the union of two hearts bound by love.

Y/N stood in her dressing room, surrounded by her closest friends and family. Her wedding gown, a masterpiece of delicate lace and satin, hugged her figure gracefully, the train flowing behind her like a river of moonlight. She took a deep breath, her heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation.

As the ceremony began, Y/N felt a calm wash over her. The chapel was adorned with fragrant blooms, the air filled with the soft hum of anticipation. When the doors opened, and she began her walk down the aisle, her eyes immediately locked with Anthony's. He stood at the altar, looking more handsome than ever in his tailored suit, his eyes brimming with love and awe.

The vows they exchanged were heartfelt and sincere, each word a promise of eternal devotion. When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, Anthony's kiss was tender yet passionate, a seal of their love that drew cheers and applause from their guests.

The reception was a joyous celebration, filled with dancing, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. But as the night wore on, Y/N and Anthony found themselves stealing glances at each other, their hearts longing for the moment they would be alone.

As the last guests departed, the newlyweds made their way to the bridal suite, their hands entwined. The room was a haven of romance, lit by the soft glow of candlelight and adorned with rose petals scattered across the bed.

Anthony turned to Y/N, his eyes dark with desire. "You are a vision, my love," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. "I've dreamed of this moment for so long."

Y/N's breath hitched as she looked up at him, her heart racing. "And I, you," she replied softly, her voice trembling with anticipation.

With a gentle touch, Anthony began to undress her, his fingers moving with reverence and care. Each piece of clothing that fell away brought them closer, the air between them charged with an electric tension.

When Y/N stood before him, clad only in her delicate undergarments, Anthony paused, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. "You are breathtaking," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

He closed the distance between them, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. As their tongues intertwined, Y/N felt a heat ignite within her, a longing that had been building since the moment they first met.

Anthony's hands roamed her body, mapping every curve and hollow, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When he finally lifted her and laid her on the bed, Y/N's body was aflame with desire.

Their lovemaking was a dance of passion and tenderness, each touch, each kiss a testament to the love they shared. Anthony's movements were slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving Y/N's as he brought her to the peak of pleasure again and again.

In the quiet aftermath, they lay entwined, their bodies glistening with the sweat of their shared passion. Anthony brushed a strand of hair from Y/N's face, his eyes filled with a love so deep it took her breath away.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "More than words can ever express."

Y/N smiled, her heart overflowing with happiness. "And I love you, Anthony," she replied, her voice a soft melody. "Forever and always."

As they drifted into a peaceful slumber, their bodies still intertwined, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of their love and the promise of a lifetime of happiness together.

[belphegorey]

⌜tutelage, satan⌟ all he could teach you was rage ships ⎯⎯ satan x afab!reader tropes ⎯⎯ fingering, rivalry, biting, slight blood mentions

His touch set fire to your skin. Energy pulsed in your veins with his every glance. Throbbing in your head turned to harsh pounding with every passing second. The throbbing ache in your head returned without fail each day you saw him.

“Are all humans stupid or are you simply a special case?”

“Go fuck yourself,”

Satan. He was an incubus for your rage. Constantly probing at your problems, your intellect, your demeanour — your species too, of course — before feasting on your soul. A shark, watching the newest swimmer dangle their delicious body in the water.

Even for the personification of wrath, he was infuriating. Your fingernails had left permanent indents in your palm from the fists you always held. Lines had formed along your face from your constant glares. Your voice grew hoarse each day from the shouting.

And yet, whenever his lips made works of art along your thighs, you craved more. The fire he created on your skin was an aphrodisiac. The wicked grin he wore made your mind burn red and your cunt drip sweet honey. The poetry he spilled, even when they insulted you, unlocked the passage to your body’s inferno.

And only Satan had the key. An infuriating ouroboros cycle.

“There is a reason I was asked to teach you, kitten. You’re just too dumb on your own.”

“And yet I managed to get results just as good as yours without your tutelage.”

The ache in your back was a spark of delicious agony. Countless books indented your spine. Your actions held zero hesitation despite your words. His actions showed nothing but eagerness and his words agreed. You’d grown used to his rage-inducing contradictions.

The cold air on your body felt like burning fires. His fingers drew the art of Van Gogh on your skin. Dark runes and symbols, a beautiful night sky, his touch turned your body to canvas. Torn fabric were your petals as you bloomed along the oak table.

“It’s a waste. I know what you truly are. Look how you went along with what I command. You should simply serve as my pet.”

“We both know that is what you want. You wouldn’t get any of your work done if I was there calling you… what, exactly? Master?”

His teeth brought blood to the surface of your skin, hot and burning as it pooled on your collarbone. Your fingers found their place in his hair. Passion fumed in your loins and you pulled on his head. His quick grunt made you smile in victory.

The intrusion of his fingers inside of you halted your mind. The honey that Satan teased you over each day dripped down his knuckles. Squelching echoed in the library, your hushed moans joining in harmony. The ammunition loaded into his arsenal, you could feel the smugness in his lack of words.

If not for the bulge against your thigh, you would think it was nothing more than fuel for his already throbbing ego. His fingers curled and you contorted to his will. Whimpers broke through the seal of your teeth in your lips. The books in your spine turned blissful pain into an erotic pleasure.

“So loud tonight, kitten. Could it be you want everyone to finally know who it is you crave?”

“No one is going to find out about this.”

The hateful grip on your waist tightened in strength. Your eyes fluttered shut in the throws of the pleasure. All your senses — it all echoed him. Even without seeing him, his image was burning behind your eyelids. His cologne, a warmth of familiarity tied with dusty books, had your heart thumping.

All you could feel was him. His touch. His hair. His lips. His teeth. The fingers within your walls thrusted deep within. Slow. His torture was evil. You desired more, you desired the fire that only Satan could offer. He knew it. He could sense it. He ate at it like the proper demon he was.

“Say it. Relinquish your illusions and beg.”

“Please Master, I need you.”

The smirk he wore burned the skin of your neck. Your eyes dressed in tears as his fingers graced you with what you needed. He reached the places your fingers could never graze. Your thighs parted further for his approval, and he returned to the area where he stood each night. A horrific cycle that you adored repeating.

You felt his erection between your legs, pressed against his magic hand. Panting tangled with whimpers left you, your walls tight around his fingers keeping them warm. Kitten. He repeated it. You were no one’s pet, especially his. Yet, when the name was whispered you couldn’t help the mewl that played. A good pet. A good toy.

“Do it again. Do it for your master.”

“Nngh,”

Your high was near. He must sense it building in your desperation. The fingers creating your lust moved faster, deeper. The intent was delicious. You grasped at his soft hair, tugging and moaning in need.

A puppet. You were his puppet and he tugged perfectly on your strings.

When it came, your crescendo bounded between the library walls as slick desire pooled down his fingers. The touch of his hand on your hip, still burning red, was gentle as your body shuddered beneath him. That was the part that confused you most. Wrath, pure rage personified, being protective and almost soft. It never lasted long. Not long enough to properly change your mind.

“Now get up and write your essay, neither of us want to be here any longer than we have to.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Satan.”

© belphegorey 2024 ⌜18+ banner from @/cafekitsune thank you <3⌟

[strawberry-whorecake]

Good Girl | K.R.

pairing: Kylo Ren x fem!reader

summary: Kylo had something you needed… just like he always did. So you found yourself sneaking around Starkiller Base for the satisfaction of your urges.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: swearing, dirty talk, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), PinV sex, praise

a/n: holy shit- can i just say thank you for all the interaction i’ve been getting on my fics-?? i’m genuinely floored, i was just writing and posting these for my own self-indulgence but it means literally so much that you guys have been enjoying them omg. since you enjoyed kylo so much last time heres a small lil smut in means of my appreciation <3

What the fuck were you doing?! 

You rushed down the halls ducking around corners, peering for a sign of any wanderers on Starkiller Base. You were terrified of being caught, but your impulse to sneak out of your quarters and into the Commander’s came strong and suddenly. 

Metallic footprints drew closer in front of you, eliciting a gasp from your throat which you quickly entrapped with the clasp of your hand as you ducked into an unseen corner. The footsteps neared– then faded, finally vanishing as you watched the Stormtrooper disappear from sight. 

That was fucking close… so why were you doing this again?

Your urges got the best of you, and now you were creeping around the base because it was well into the late hours of the night– or arguably the early hours of the morning, and Kylo had something you needed… just like he always did.

You waited around the corner for another couple seconds to make sure no one else would come around, and to your relief the halls were void, so you continued on your journey to the Commander’s chambers.

As you walked you scrutinized yourself, questioning how you’d fallen into the face of this predicament in the first place. You were a meer engineer, assigned to working on ships that flew in and out of the base. 

You recalled your first meeting with Kylo Ren, and how he immediately captivated and terrified you– and he of course knew, and played into. Somehow this thing had bloomed between you two, and you weren’t particularly interested in snuffing out its flame any time soon. 

After a while of stalking around with your guard up to not be caught, you reached his door. 

Glancing over your shoulders for any wanderers, you cursed yourself– no one was permitted in Kylo’s quarters without his direct permission, of course the halls would be void. 

You shook your head and quickly inputted the code to his lock system, listening to the metal doors reluctantly squeal open only seconds later. 

Dipping inside you peered around, his neat and orderly chambers were dark, and your eyes found his bed– found him, sleeping on one side. 

You watched the doors close behind you as you slipped off your shoes, leaving them in the doorway. Slowly you crept through his room, approaching his bed. As you drew nearer you pulled your top over your head before crawling in next to him. 

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. Kylo was unpredictable– you had no way of knowing if he would be pleased with your appearance, or if he’d Force-throw you out of his chambers. Sure, he’d granted you permission to his quarters, under the premise he was in them, but how would he react to you waking him up?

Swallowing down your nerves, you gently caressed his cheek with your finger, which made him inhale deeply and stir despite still being asleep. 

Taking hold of his cheek you led his lips to yours, kissing him. When his lips met your own his eyes fluttered open slowly. At first his kiss was confused but it rather quickly grew hot and rough. 

Without tearing your mouth from his you gently pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him. He pulled away only for a moment, just to take you in– and he smirked before pulling your face into his and kissing you hungrily. 

His tongue twisted fervidly with yours, hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses and soft sounds of already growing pleasure leaked from your lips. When he pulled back again, his plush pink lips glistened with the mix of your saliva.

“I missed this.” he growled and warmth developed as you felt him grow hard beneath you. 

His kisses trailed from your lips down your jawline before they landed on your neck, sucking and nibbling at your skin. 

A moan escaped from your throat despite trying to suppress it by clenching your teeth to your lip. You pulled away from him and lowered yourself to his abdomen, kissing his exposed stomach and upper pelvis. 

Your eyes looked up pleadingly as you pulled down his boxers, and he only hummed in response. 

You licked your lips, building up wetness in your mouth as you took him in your hand, gently placing a kiss to his tip. 

Despite barely touching him, you knew how much he missed you by the bead of precum already dripping from him. 

Running your tongue along his base, you then placed him in your mouth, drawing in your cheeks and sucking at his length until you pulled a groan from his throat. 

He instinctively grabbed the back of your head, pushing himself deeper into your mouth, and making you gag lightly on his cock. 

You looked up, watching as he smirked. “Good girl.” he cooed. 

You caressed his skin as you swallowed him. “Fuck…” he let his dark waves crash against his pillow as he threw his head back. His brow furrowed lightly as his eyes fluttered shut. One of his hands still gripped your head while the other folded behind his own head. 

He looked incredible like this, the blinking stars gently illuminating him in a soft glow from the window positioned behind his bed. The muscles in his arms rippling as he let himself enjoy what you had to offer him, the sight of him quickly reminded you of why you risked coming to his quarters in the first place. 

His pleasure made you eager to keep going, and the arousal flooding between your own legs was increasingly difficult to ignore. You couldn’t wait any longer to have him as you slipped off of him and stripped yourself of the rest of your clothing, leaving yourself bare for him. 

You ignored the warmth that flooded to your cheeks as he looked you over, his stature relaxed with his arm still casually placed behind his head. 

You pulled at his boxers, removing them from his legs before disregarding them to the floor with your clothes. Crawling back on top of him you took him once more in your hand as you led him inside you.

Although this was farthest from your first time with Kylo, you would never be prepared for his size. 

Your mouth gaped as he entered you, squirming atop him as you worked to adjust to his size as he split you to the seam. He only chuckled as he watched you, but after a few moments you began riding him, dragging your hips against his. 

He moaned as you lowered yourself further onto him, his cock delving deeper into you. His arms wrapped around your frame and flipped you onto your back. 

He leveled himself up by placing one hand on the bed beside your head as the other gripped harshly at your throat. A soft gasp managed to escape from your slack lips and he loosened his grip– just slightly.

His own impatience took over as he pushed into you, not holding back. You whimpered at the sudden force and reached up for his arm clamped around your neck for something to hold onto. 

He smirked, shaking your hands off of him as he quickly caught them with both of his own and pinned them above your head before kissing you deeply and with need. 

He withdrew himself only to thrust back in, creating a pattern as he did so. His pace quickened as he swapped your pinned wrists to one hand, letting his now free hand find your chest, kneading and toying with your breasts. His thumb flicked at your bud making you mewl out again. 

You wiggled out of his grip, which he let you, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling his body closer to you.

He pounded into you faster, then slower, then harder– all rather quickly. His cock stroked your walls, cockhead prodding against that sweet spot that made your stomach churn in the best possible way. 

“Fuck... Ah- Kylo-” you groaned as you felt him pummeling against your core, tangling your legs around his waist. Your moans only continued to please him, proud of himself at how easily he could make you moan for him. He seized a handful of your hair into his fist and tugged slightly. 

Wrapping your arms around his broad back you pulled him deeper into you, and he didn’t hold back. He rocked his body back and forth with yours, you both synced in sin. 

The only sounds that filled the room were Kylo’s stuttered breaths, your moans, and the obscene sounds of skin slapping skin. 

He grabbed for your throat and pulled you into a steamy kiss, his tongue pushing past your teeth before dancing with yours. 

With every thrust inside you, you could feel yourself growing tighter as your walls clenched together, holding back euphoria. “Sh-shit- Kylo…” you mewled rather pathetically. 

In a hushed tone he growled, “Beg.” 

He fucked deeper into you than you thought was possible by now. “Kylo please I-” your words were cut off by a moan that was pulled from your throat at a particularly hasty thrust. You didn’t know how much longer you could take. 

“I said beg, slut.” he growled again.

He could feel you drawing you in, your walls growing claustrophobic around him, and he knew you were close, so he kept going. 

Quickening his pace, he placed your chin in his hand making you look at him while you pleaded. 

He glared into your eyes, then let his gaze drift to your perfectly parted lips as he mouthed the word “Beg” once more. 

Giving out you finally cried, “Please! Let me cum, Kylo-!” your mouth gaped, words straining out. Your eyes were barely open but remained locked on his. 

Kylo let his tongue dart past his own slightly parted lips, wetting them as he stared down at you, desperate and begging. 

He knew you didn’t have long before you had reached your limit, whether he wanted to deprive you of that or not, so he let you have it. 

“Good girl.” He hunched over so his lips just barely touched your ear as he whispered, “Now cum for me.” 

He himself didn’t have much longer with the way your velveteen walls stroked him with every buck of his hips. His pace was frantic as he slammed into you, watching the way your brows knit and you panted and moaned past your lips. 

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving bites and kisses as he made his way to your collarbone– the cherry on top. You clung to him as you tightened around him, reaching your high in a pathetic array of moans. 

Your vision faded out and shockwaves of electricity bolted through your nerves as you came around him, your walls milking him deliciously. He let out a groan of his own as his head lolled forward and he gripped your hips, pulling you down onto his cock. 

With a final groan you felt your cunt flood with warmth as he came inside you, still driving his hips into yours. 

His movements slowed, then stilled, and he pulled out of you with a grunt before laying down beside you. He pulled you close and coddled you through your finish. Your knees were lightly trembling which brought a smile to his face.

You buried your face into his chest as he let his fingers caress your skin before planting a kiss on your forehead, making your heart thump against your ribcage.

“Such a good girl.” he purred before placing a gentle kiss on your lips, “My good girl.” 

Your face grew hot. The tone of his voice and his words alone made your heart skip a beat. 

You were Commander Ren’s good girl.

[steddie-there]

It Sure Felt Nice When He Was Holding My Hand

Steve had finally managed to escape.

His mom was holding one of her parties again, a "summer soiree" as she called it, so she'd dressed him in pressed khakis and a butter yellow button-down shirt and "Oh the cutest little blue bow tie, Steven, don't you just look darling? Now come say hi to mommy's friends."

He hated bow ties. He always felt like he was suffocating with one around his neck.

He hated his mom's parties. They made him feel like he was suffocating, too.

So the second he saw a chance to leave, he took it. One of their neighbors had walked in with her new baby and his mother made a big production of cooing over the little girl; Steve rolled his eyes - she hated babies, Steve knew, because she always told him how messy babies were and how much she'd hated cleaning the messes he made as a baby. But, not one to waste an opportunity, the moment she looked the other way, he had raced out the back door into the woods, running as fast as his little eight year old legs could go. He ripped the bow tie off and dropped it in the yard behind him as he crossed into the line of trees.

Which brought him to now. Wandering in the woods, farther than he ever had before. He could hear the burble of a creek ahead, and it drew him on like a moth to a flame. He wanted to splash around in the water and mud, splatter it all over his pristine clothes, even though he would get in trouble for it later. He would already be in trouble for running off, what was a few more minutes added to the lecture?

But at the edge of the trees, he stopped short. Someone was already there, kneeling next to a little rowboat bobbing in the water.

Steve couldn't see their face, just that they were wearing faded jeans and big boots with the laces undone and an old two-sizes too big blue flannel shirt and they had dark brown curls just grazing the edges of their shoulders. He watched for a moment as they seemed to lay something into the boat. Tilted his head, trying to see what it was.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked, breaking the quiet murmur of the woods.

The person whirled around, hands coming up defensively, flowers scattering over the ground, and now Steve could see it was a boy, probably about his age. He had the biggest brown eyes Steve had ever seen. Right now, they were opened wide, startled at Steve's sudden appearance.

"Sorry!" he apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

The other boy's shoulders dropped as he relaxed. "It's okay, just didn't think anyone else was out here," he told Steve, sending him a quick smile. Something about it made Steve want to smile back.

For a moment they just looked at each other.

"So, what are you doing?" Steve asked again, trying to peer around the other boy to the boat.

The boy glanced behind him, then turned back to Steve and his grin turned mischievous. "I'm having my funeral," he announced.

Steve just blinked at him. "Your... your funeral?" he asked, baffled. "But you're -"

"Dead," the boy assured him with a solemn nod.

Steve giggled and the other boy looked pleased at his reaction.

"Wanna help me pick more flowers?" he asked and Steve nodded, dropping to his knees, not caring about the grass stains he would surely now have on his pants, and gathering the little yellow blooms into his hands.

They worked in silence for awhile, until Steve asked, "So why are you having your funeral in a boat instead of being buried?" He was pretty sure most funerals involved graves and dirt, not boats and flowers.

"For the symbolism!" the boy declared, throwing his arms wide. Steve scrunched his nose, not sure what he meant by that. The boy peered at him from the corner of his eye, then whispered, "I don't really know what that means, but it sounded important."

Steve giggled again. "You're weird," he said.

Despite the fondness in his tone, those big brown eyes seemed to shutter and grow dim, the other boy shrinking into himself at Steve's words. Hastily, he assured him, "Not, like, bad weird. Good weird. Like, cool weird. Fun weird."

That earned him a wide grin and a shoulder bump.

"So how did you die?" Steve asked, leaning back on his hands and watching as the boy artfully placed both their bunches of flowers around the pillow already inside the boat.

"Carrots," the boy said seriously.

"Carrots???"

"Carrots," he nodded. "They're evil. And my wicked uncle made me eat them for lunch. So I died." He shrugged, as if dying from carrot ingestion was just a casual, every day experience.

Steve bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing again, mimicking the other boy's solemnity. "Ah, I see."

They both glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, bursting into snickers when their eyes met.

"Okay," the boy said, standing and dusting off his knees, not that it did much for the grass and mud clinging to the denim. "Hold the boat while I get in."

Steve moved to kneel on the muddy creek bank, grabbing the side of the rowboat and keeping it steady while his new friend stepped in and settled down with his head on the pillow. The boat rocked a little as he did, water splashing up onto Steve's shirt, but he ignored it, not letting go until the other boy had stopped moving. He sat back and brushed his hands off.

"Now what?" he whispered after a moment of silence.

"Now... I guess we sit and be sad?" the boy answered, sounding unsure and giggling quietly. He flung a hand up to his forehead dramatically, declaring, "Alas, poor me, we knew me well!" Then he wrapped his hands around a flower and laid them on his chest with his eyes closed.

Steve laughed at the dramatics, then pulled his knees up to his chest and, also closing his eyes, sat quietly for a while. He listened to the wind in the trees, to the birds chirping around them, to the bubble and splash of the water flowing around the boat.

Steve opened his eyes and stared down at the boy in the boat. His curls were spread over the flowers, eyes closed, hands clasped on his chest, and Steve sighed faux-mournfully. "I wish you weren't dead. You're funny."

The boy pursed his lips, considering. "I could, maybe, be brought back to life. If I got a kiss from a handsome prince." He cracked an eyelid open, peering at Steve. "That's you, by the way," he whispered loudly.

Steve giggled yet again. "Me? A handsome prince?"

The boy nodded, some of the flowers tangling in his curls as he jostled them. "The handsomest," he said, before closing his eyes again.

Steve considered him for a moment. He looked at the creek at his feet, then down at his not-so-clean-anymore clothes, then shrugged and stepped into the water to stand next to the boat, feeling it rise to about his waist. Resting his hands on the side of the boat, he leaned over, bringing his face very close to the other boy's. For a second, he just stopped there, feeling the other boy's breath hit his cheek.

Then he kissed him on the nose.

The other boy laughed aloud, a ringing, joyful sound that Steve thought might just be the best thing he'd ever heard. His eyes popped open and he stared at Steve, eyes sparkling, dimples framing his grin.

Steve grinned back. "So. Did it work? Are you alive again?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," his friend answered, "Definitely." He bit his lip and seemed to be thinking about something.

Steve waited.

"You wanna get in the boat, too?" the boy finally asked and Steve was clambering inside before he even finished his question. His movements rocked the boat from side to side and they both laughed as they held on and settled next to each other, staring up at the clouds.

Steve tried to concentrate on the cloudy pictures the boy next to him was pointing out in the sky. But he could feel a hand brushing against his own and he wondered what it would feel like to hold it. He had only ever held his mom's hand to cross the street and Carol's while they ran away from Tommy when they played tag at school. Maybe it would be different, holding a boy's hand. There was only one way to find out.

He wrapped his fingers around the other boy's.

The boy paused his detailed description of a dragon he could see in the clouds, turning his head to look at Steve. Then he smiled, a small, secret smile that felt like it was just for Steve. Steve smiled back. Tangling their fingers more tightly together, they both looked back up at the sky.

Steve wasn't sure how long they lay there, talking about the clouds and the trees and their favorite places in Hawkins, but when the sun started to set, he sighed.

"I have to go home now."

The other boy nodded. "Yeah, I should go, too. My uncle is probably worried about me."

Steve grinned at him. "Not such a wicked uncle, after all?"

The boy rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Nah, he's pretty great, actually. Aside from making me eat carrots."

He said the last word so viciously that Steve couldn't help his laughter.

"He even said he'd start teaching me to play guitar tonight!"

"That's so cool!" Steve said. Decided not to say that all he'd get when he got home was a lecture.

The boy climbed out of the boat first, then turned to help Steve. For a moment, they just stood silently, smiling at each other. "Well, I'll see you around!" the boy says brightly, starting to walk down the creek, pulling the boat along with a rope.

"Yeah, see you," Steve answered, turning to his path home. He got a few steps away before he realized something and ran back to the clearing by the creek. "Hey, wait, what's your na - " he started to ask, but the boy had already disappeared into the trees. Steve sighed and walked away with his hands shoved into his pockets.

That night, Steve lay in bed, ears still ringing from the very loud thirty minute lecture his dad had given him when he showed up, muddy and grass stained and an hour late for dinner. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if that afternoon had maybe been a dream. But in his mind's eye, he could see the clouds drifting past and he swore he could still feel the other boy's fingers tangled with his own. He closed his eyes and smiled. He knew he'd spend the rest of the summer locked indoors, his dad had promised that; knew if he even so much as glanced at the woods, he'd get another lecture. But it was all worth it, he decided, as he carefully tucked the memory of that afternoon and the boy with the big brown eyes and curly hair away into a safe corner of his mind.

In the fall, he looked for his friend at school, but only succeeded in meeting a girl a year younger than him, Nancy, when he mistook her brown curls for the ones he was looking for.

By the time middle school rolled around, that afternoon at the creek had been shoved so far to the back of his memory that he didn't even look twice at the strange new kid with the buzz cut, no matter how familiar his brown eyes looked from across the cafeteria.

And then high school and the Upside Down and new friends and new terrors and a morning at work interrupted by two of his munchkins desperate to prove a friend's innocence.

Which is how he found himself staring into the biggest brown eyes he'd ever seen for the first time in over a decade.

"Carrots!" Steve all but shouted as the shock of recognition began to wear off, heedless of the sharp glass at his throat. Eddie flinched back as the others stared in confused silence.

"What?" Eddie asked, baffled.

"You died because your uncle made you eat carrots. You had a funeral in a rowboat and - "

Eddie's wide brown eyes went impossibly wider at Steve's words. He cut Steve off, lowering the bottle as a shy grin crept over his face, warring with the terror still present in his stance. "And a handsome prince brought me back to life."

"It is you!" Steve beamed. Eddie beamed back, his shoulders relaxing, and Steve felt the insane urge to kiss the tip of his nose just as he had all those years ago.

The moment was interrupted by Dustin clearing his throat. "Um... what the fuck, Steve?"

Steve and Eddie laughed. "It's a long story," Steve said. Then he sobered. "And we have more pressing problems." He looked at Eddie, saw the way he curled back in on himself. Put a hand on his shoulder and guided him to sit down. "Eddie, what's going on?"

Eddie looked up at him with a gaze so haunted Steve just wanted to pull him into his arms. Settled for soothingly rubbing his shoulder.

"You won't believe me," Eddie said brokenly.

"Try us," Max told him. Steve squeezed his shoulder, and Eddie took a deep breath and started talking.

--..--..--..--..--

Later, after bats and battle, blood and bandages, after mouth-to-mouth and "I swear to God, Munson, if you die on me I will resurrect you and kill you again myself, don't think I won't," they're in a hospital room. It's just them, the others having gone home to sleep an hour ago. But Steve can't bring himself to leave. Can't quite bring himself to tangle his fingers with Eddie's where they rest on the hospital bed, either, although he desperately wants to.

"You know, that's the second time you've kissed me back to life, Stevie. Gonna make a habit of it?" Eddie jokes.

Steve looks up at him, breath catching when their eyes meet. Despite the lighthearted tone, Eddie's gaze is serious. Warm. Those wide, wide eyes locked on Steve intently.

It makes Steve feel brave. He laughs a little. "Actually," he says, "I was kinda hoping I could kiss you sometime when you're not dead."

Eddie's eyes widen even further before he ducks his head shyly, looks up at Steve from under his lashes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Steve says, finally tangling their fingers together.

And there's that secret smile Eddie has, the one that seems like it's only for Steve. "I think I'd like that," he says.

"Good," Steve whispers and leans in.

--..--..--..--..--

also on ao3!

[nackrosor]

Gale Dekarios x Tav

1,1 k. - Gale comforts you after an emotional breakdown | hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship

a.n: I wrote this solely because I needed to give myself a hug. But then I thought there could be someone else struggling with depression/anxiety/ecc who needs to feel loved and would like Gale to comfort them, so I'm sharing this for you ♡

You trembled against him, your hands desperately clutching onto his robe as he drew you into his lap and embraced you.

"I'm exhausted." you admitted with a weary sigh. "I can't take this anymore."

Everything was catching up to you; the storm outside, the terrible memories flooding back into your mind, the exhaustion of having to fight off those dark thoughts for so long. And it was all beginning to drain you. Keeping your troubles hidden from your lover had also been particurarly grueling. You wished you hadn't but you were scared he would abandon you.

Gale gently pressed his lips against your forehead as he held you close to his chest, his warmth enveloping you whole.

"I know, my sweet," he whispered in a soft voice, one that despite his attempts was full of concern, "just let me hold you for now, alright...? Try to quiet your mind for awhile. I'll help you through this."

"Why?" you simply asked him, your voice so vulnerable and earnest as it was subdued. You took a deep breath, soaking in his scent as you unconsciously nuzzled closer into him, clinging onto his robe with both your hands, holding on so tight that your fingertips turned white.

"Why would you stay by my side? Especially after everything I've just told you..."

That simple question was enough to take his breath away. He knew it was reasonable of you to wonder about that, since the emotional breakdown you had just gone through had left you in a poor mental state, and mostly in need of reassurance. He was more than ready to give you just that. However, it didn't make your question nor his answer any less powerful.

His fingers ran through your hair, his warm breath brushing the shell of your ear as he snuggled you closer.

"Because you are a sweet, compassionate, and bright soul who deserves someone to hold you when life's storms hit. Because your pain becomes mine when yours is as deep as it is and our bond is as profound. Because you ought to be happy, and I want to be a part of your life to assist you and ensure that you reach such happiness. Ideally, even be the source of your joy."

His words caused your heart to swell with pure affection. You raised your head from his chest, your touched gaze meeting his. Your hand reached out to tenderly graze his jaw as a faint smile finally bloomed on your face.

He melted at the sight of it, and his eyes lit up with some relief. He'd had enough of your tear-stained face, more so after learning the cause of your weeping. You were always a vision in his eyes, yes... But your stunning smiling face held his heart in a vice. He would gladly allow you to maintain such control over it if it meant he could always see you happy. Tears of joy may flow, but not of anguish.

"You like... Broken things, don't you?" you asked him softly, a hint of amusement in your otherwise genuine tone.

Gale gently took your hand in his and pressed it against his lips, placing a tender peck on the center of your palm.

"The only broken thing about you is your heart, my sweet," he replied softly. "And who wouldn't want to mend one of the most valuable things in this world? I am lucky to have found such a rare jewel, even if its shine isn't at its brightest right now." His eyes twinkled with a hint of playfulness as he added, "Little bit of elbow grease and you'll shine brighter than the sun, just like you were meant to."

His answer genuinely moved you, warming your heart and eliciting a soft chuckle out of your lips. The more time you spent with him, cocooned in his arms, heartened by his words of praise and reassurance and unconditional affection, the more convinced you were that he could, in fact, heal your heart if you allowed him. The way he had been listening to you, comforting you and reaffirming his place by your side when you were at your lowest had only reinforced such thoughts... along with your feelings towards him.

"Oh, Gale..." you cooed softly, placing your hand on his cheek yet again to gently cradle it. As you gazed up at him, your eyes shone with admiration, hope, and gratitude. "You're truly one of a kind."

The playfulness in his look vanished in an instant, his eyes softening at the praise. He felt the warmth of your palm on his cheek, and he leaned into your touch. A tender smile grazed his lips as he took a moment to study your fond gaze. You looked just as taken with him as he was with you; the realization made his heart full.

"And you're nothing short of a miracle, my little sunbeam." His smile grew even wider and warmer as he beamed at you. He brushed his fingers against your spine in a soothing circular pattern, pressing you even closer to him, while looking down into your eyes as if you were the only thing in the universe besides him. The only thing that truly mattered, anyway.

"The world is a better place because you're in it, and I mean that more than anything else."

Your jaw tensed as his words pierced your heart, causing your eyes to well up with fresh tears. Your hand on his cheek stilled, your chest felt tight, swelling with devotion.

You didn't know what to say. No one had ever spoken such lovely words to you, or made you feel so loved, valued, and treasured. This was truly foreign to you. You could only stare up at him in awe, your heart racing, your stomach turned into a nestle for a swarm of butterflies.

"Gale..."

The wizard felt his throat tighten with emotion. The moment was so beautiful, so pure, that it nearly left him breathless. Every fiber of his being vibrated with pure raw affection for you.

His touch was gentle as he brushed his thumb against your cheek to wipe away a stray tear. Then he leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead while his arms securely wrapped around your frame, encircling your waist.

He took a deep breath and smiled.

"I love you, my dearest. I'll always love you."

You could feel your heart nearly burst in your chest. A faint sob escaped your trembling lips as you leaned in to rest your forehead against his, your palm on his chest, right above his heart.

"I love you too." you managed to whisper despite the rasp within your voice. "So much..."

Every ounce of emotion that had been threatening to overwhelm him erupted in that very moment, and he found himself clutching you harder against him, kissing the crown of your head over and over again.

There were no words. No poems or sonnets that could adequately capture that moment, the connection he felt to you.

His voice was thick and breathy when he spoke again. 

"We'll face every storm together, and our love will always see us through to the other side.... I promise."

MORE STORIES 🥀

[Also, please consider BUYING ME A ☕, if you particularly like what you read. Thank you! 🥀]

[ash-asteroid]

So I finally got around to watching the newest Unicorn of War commentary for season 3. I quite literally closed off Minecraft and started drawing a possible Dark Sky design.

I might make another version. But I wanted to do one as similar to Dark Bloom's design change. Sharper points and a darker color pallette.

Also never really shipped Bloom and Sky. But man I thought of dynamics for Dark Bloom and Dark Sky and that's a ship I can get behind.

@tvaccaro I hope the mention is okay since I drew this because of your video. And the fact were mutals. If that's not cool I'll won't do it anymore.

[youandmedead]

𝕽𝖊𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝕬𝖙 𝕷𝖆𝖘𝖙 -𝕷𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙 𝖝 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

Warnings: Swearing, blood, angst, basic vampire shit, rushed ending, Potentially ooc (been a while since I’ve watched QOTD)

Synopsis: (Y/n) finally reunites with their creator after so many years of deep slumber.

Notes: (!GN READER!) This'll be based off of Movie Queen of the Damned Lestat.

Some could claim that this Oneshot is a massive cliché…they would be right by that but I had an idea and rolled with it 🤷

The darkness that the night brought engulfed the sky making it bleak and misery induced. However despite the time, the streets of the vast city were still bustling and the kaleidoscopic street lights shun down to the Earth below and illuminated everything that was within a close proximity of them.

As (y/n) sat upon one of the tallest billboards and watched all of those wretched souls below, they couldn’t help but ponder over the idea about what life would have been like if they had not met him…if they had not been turned to the creature that they were today. (Y/n) drew their knees up to their chest and let out a deep sigh, they were always so conflicted over the emotions that they held for the now not so mysterious stranger that yearned so much for companionship.

At first Lestat had scared them, at that time it was either become a vampire and be his companion for years to come or die right on the spot and as fear coiled around their very being and held them in its vice like grip (y/n) panicked and accepted the vampire’s offer. Throughout those few couple of years, fear was the only drive in the relationship between the two…(Y/n)'s constant worry over displeasing their creator grew and grew as he became more powerful. However, not so long after that their views changed, he asked (y/n) about their life before he turned them and soon in turn, he opened up about his life both before he met you and before he also became a vampire....he became more thoughtful and a strange sense of twisted sweetness seemed to have possessed him. Love and fondness was beginning to bloom in their chest….perhaps they were crazy and perhaps they were not. They had constantly yearned for him, until one day the emotions that (y/n) held for Lestat were strangely reciprocated. They spent their days hunting, playing music together, and exploring the world.

Yet soon after Lestat disappeared and entered his great slumber the vampire (y/n) grew lonesome and eventually they too took to rest for many, many years up until the early 2000s.

~

Now it has been 3 years since they have awoken and they still have not seen the man who they held conflicted emotions for, in person. Whenever they had explored the ‘new’ world since their awaken (y/n) has saw his face along with a group of others plastered upon every biggest city’s billboards, much like the very one they were sitting on (one of which held a platform that ran against it).

They adjusted themselves and lay down with an arm propping up their head and an arm covering their eyes all whilst humming a song that had became increasingly popular since their great slumber came to an end. They felt themselves drift off into thought about the old days until they heard a startling creak and a vast rock of the ledge, which balanced on the billboard.

"Well, well, well…it seems that it was far less difficult to track you down. How are you…my little (Y/n)?”

(Y/n) bolted up and looked in the direction where that oh so familiar voice came from. Their eyes were blurry due to the adjustment but they knew almost automatically that it was him.

Lestat.

“Holy shit…” (Y/n) hauled themselves up and rubbed their eyes once again to get rid of the blur, “Is it really you?”

A slight chuckled escapes his lips, “Why of course…who else could it possibly be? You don’t see many who have as charming looks as I.”

They smirk and shrug, “Meh, you could be some poser.”

They walk towards Lestat’s towering figure and look up gazing into his eyes, “I think I may need some evidence that it is really the man you claim to be.”

Lestat gives a deep chuckled and hooks a finger underneath (Y/n)’s chin, it seemed as if he was staring straight into their soul…looking for something in particular.

“You gonna do something or not?” (Y/n) whispers, anticipation coursing through them.

He teasingly leans in further, his breath tickling their skin.

“Patience little one,” he replies.

He pulls them in further until both their lips are just barely touching, believing he would make the move (Y/n) closed their eyes and waited patiently, until he backed off suddenly. After they opened their eyes they were met with a sly smirk by Lestat.

They rolled their eyes tutting and whispered, “Asshole.”

There relief was almost instantly replaced by a sense of rage leaking venomously from the cavern, in which they tried to lock these thoughts and emotions away.

“Now, now…is that any way to greet me after so many years?”

Rage coursed through their being and they pushed Lestat out of the way, “It is considering you abandoned me…and then as soon as you awoke you replaced me,” (Y/n) then maliciously grinned and raised their hands up mockingly, “But then again that is on me, I should have knew that would’ve happened considering the way you went on back then.”

Lestat stayed quiet for a moment his smirk now faded away.

“Despite you complaining about betrayal and abandonment from those you loved and cared you still did it to the person who stuck by your side the longest….fucking rat bastard, after everything I’ve done for you?!”

(Y/n) paced closer towards him, fangs now being bared and a hand prepared to strike. Their right hand was prepared to slash his face until he caught it almost instantly, his grip growing tighter by the second.

They growled, “Fuck you, Lestat…”

They sighed and eventually the male vampire loosened his grip on their wrist, “The thing that pisses me off the most is that I can’t bring myself to hate you, even after all of the shit you’ve pulled.”

He placed a finger under (Y/n)’s chin again and forced them to look him in the eyes, “I am so sorry Mon Cher,” he rested his forehead upon the other vampire’s, “It was wrong of me to have just left you there.”

“Damn right it was,” they whispered, emotion overwhelming them.

Lestat leaned in and kissed them, an exchange of emotion flowing between the two. Lestat did not feel regret, that feeling was no longer as much of a role in his newly found and attained nature, however he must admit that he felt some form relief when he came across (y/n) after so many years. In addition to this (Y/n) felt a range of emotions coursing through them also; ones of which they knew would cause harm and they craved to act upon them however they also craved companionship once again…they knew that the man that stood before them and kissed them with such passion had them wrapped around his finger.

One of the main things that Lestat was talented at, was reeling his play things back in when he felt was necessary and on his own accord.

(Y/n) quickly reeled themselves back and gripped onto the collar of Lestat’s leather trench coat and looked down, “I just…”

Lestat took (Y/n)’s chin in his index finger and thumb and tilted their head up, making sure they looked him directly in the eyes, “I know it’s been a long time and I’m prepared to make up for all of that lost time mon Cher…nothing can excuse what I have done to you, I don’t expect you to forgive me right away…” he broke eye contact and look at the floor for a moment, “But if you do eventually find it within your heart, I will be eternally grateful and vow to never leave your side again.”

(Y/n) rested their forehead upon Lestat’s chest and they sighed in defeat. “I’m pissed you know? You randomly show up after all these years, famous and all the arm candy you could yearn for…” they slowly raise their head up a grit their teeth, “But what hurts even more is that you awoke much earlier than I thought and never bothered to come look for me! You didn’t even care if I was alive or not…you just never fucking cared in general.” Ripping their hands away from the man that had abandoned them so long ago, (y/n) took a step back and ran a hand through their hair, taking a deep breath they tried their utmost best to remain composed. Unfortunately, tears were brimming in their eyes and the sensation of weakness began to settle in - they hated it. Being vulnerable in front of someone was not in their nature, however within these circumstances their carefully crafted mask began to slip.

Lestat levitated towards (Y/n) and spoke quietly into their ear, “It’s okay to let your mask slip you know?”

(Y/n) whipped around and glared at him, "Are you also aware of that?"

He stays silent for a moment, “I know that you hold conflicted opinions mon Cher,” they grew closer and closer to them and tilted their chin up once more using his index finger, “Just please…”

They looked into his eyes and sighed heavily, “It’ll take time,”

Lestat’s eyes widened slightly at that statement.

“But don’t you dare be taking this lightly Lestat,” Y/n warned, “The things you’ve done would be irreparable to some, so be lucky that I’m giving you this opportunity to earn my forgiveness.”

They gave Lestat a stern glare, “Understand?”

The male vampire nods and takes one of their hands in his, he brushed the back of it with his thumb and speaks, “

[glorismorningstar]

THE LION CHRONICLES

Pairings: fatherfigure!Alastor x f!reader, Charlie x bodyguard!reader, Vaggie x reader, situationship!Carmilla Carmine x reader

Summary: The group is hesitant when a certain serpent-like threat returns to the Hotel for the third time to ask for redemption. Y/N begins to accept that Carmilla is the one she's with and grows more comfortable in the relationship.

Warnings: WLW, mentions of sex, aftercare, nostalgia, canon-typical violence, Alastor being Alastor, betrayal

A/N: damn this part sucks so bad in comparison to the others, but I have to keep it going, and the next few parts are gonna get so much saucier >:))

| PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 |

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“What was up with you last night, corazòn?” Carmilla purred from beside me, soft lips skimming over my shoulder with appreciative pecks. “You didn't want to come over, I got a little worried.”

“It's no big deal, I just had a lot on my mind.” I sighed softly, carding my fingers through her white and black strands of hair. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked.

“Not really,” I replied, guilty about keeping her in the dark. As much as our relationship was casual and mainly carnal, I did care about Carmilla, and I wanted to tell her everything about my sisters, my status and Lute, but I always ended up deciding against it. Alastor said it was better for my safety to keep it a secret. “Now's not the time to think about it. Tell me about your day.”

“Ugh, Vox canceled on me today again.” She groaned in frustration, which drew an eye roll from me. Nepotism ran rampant among the Overlords, that was how I'd met Carmilla and all the other Overlords. Months before Alastor's sabbatical, he had asked me to attend meetings with him enough times to get me used to going there. Gradually, he began to skip meetings more often, which resulted in me filling in for him for the last seven years. His one-sided homoerotic rivalry with that bonehead Vox, and incidentally the other Vees, had also been passed on to me. Well, not so much the rivalry itself as the general distaste and animosity for them.

“Again?” I huffed, shifting on my side to face her. I brushed my fingertips along her bare arm, tracing imaginary patterns on her skin.

The gesture made her relax, the annoyance with Vox melting away. “Yeah. But it's just as well, at least we got to make up for last night.”

“Mhm, you're right.” I chuckled, brushing her hair away from her neck to expose the fresh love bites littering her gray skin. The way they bloomed so easily on her pale complexion reminded me of-

No. Enough. I hadn't seen Lute in twenty-seven years, and she either thought me dead, a deserter or a traitor. Even if I could get a chance to see her again, the odds of her wanting me back were far too slim.

Get out of my head, I groan internally. You're in bed naked with another woman. Stop it.

“So, how are the girls?” I cleared my throat, shaking the previous thoughts out of my head.

“Actually, they've been asking about you.” She hummed. 

“They have?” Her daughters knew about our little affair, as they had seen me sneaking out multiple times before. Before becoming involved with Carmilla, I'd met Clara and Odette at the meetings, they'd accompany her just as I did Alastor. They seemed quite fond of me, and I found it adorable that Carmilla named them after ballet characters. I wanted to protect all three of them, it finally felt like having a family again, but seeing Lute again…

Ugh, what's the point? I'd never get back to Heaven again. I needed to care about the family I had to protect now, situationship or not.

“Yeah. They said they'll keep you if I will.” She chuckled, gazing at me with something beyond simple care in her eyes. Damn it.

“They really said that?” I laughed softly, endeared. 

“Yeah.” She said, nuzzling her nose into my neck. My hand buried itself in her hair, stroking through the silky white and black locks that flopped over her forehead. Carmilla was a single mother and extremely busy. Even if Clara and Odette weren't children, they needed to be maintained. It's not like they had money problems, but if either of them ever wanted to go on their own path, they'd need support in any way they could. The way they had so much faith in me made me feel responsible for them. 

I made up my mind. If Carmilla decided to ask me out on a proper date, I'd say yes.

“In fact, I've been thinking-” My ringtone cut her off, which made me curse under my breath and peer over my shoulder to see who was calling. Vaggie. Fuck. She hung up and a message appeared on the screen:

SOS, Pentious is back at the hotel

18:37

“Son of a bitch.” I mumbled, running a hand through the single tuft of golden mane atop my head. 

“What- what's going on?” She stuttered, sitting up on her elbows to gaze at me with a little nervousness in her gaze.

“Some buffoon who attacked this morning is back at the hotel. I have to deal with this,” I huffed and sat up, gathering my clothes from the insane spots they had ended up in. “I'll make this up to you, I promise.”

I pulled my purple striped jacket on and buttoned it up, then bent down to plant a long, passionate kiss on her lips, thumb rubbing her cheekbone with care. I smiled at her and pressed another kiss to her forehead, which drew another smile from her. “Bye, cielo.” 

“Bye, corazòn. Text me when you're safe.”

I nodded at her and ran a hand through my mane to fix it, then blew her another kiss and walked out the door, running down the stairs and towards the hotel as fast as possible.

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

I reached the hotel and spotted a flash of gray and yellow walking inside, recognizing it as Pentious, which drew a low growl from my throat. My claws protracted with a small shink noise and I stalked after him without a sound, tail swaying side to side for balance as I prepared to pounce- “Change of plans, he's staying.”

“I'm sorry, what?”

“He says he wants to try redemption.” Vaggie explained with a look of dismay.

“But he attacked us just this morning, how is that not a trick?” I gritted, ears perking up at  each of his hisses with great irritation. 

“It is, but the point here is to give people second chances,” she sighed, looking at Charlie as she showed him around the hotel. “Just keep your eyes open. Don't leave her side, especially not when he's around.”

“Alright.” I mumbled and followed after them, eyes already supervising his each and every move like a hawk. I let out a silent huff. I couldn't believe that I had to leave Carmilla alone after sex to put up with a nutbag and a golden retriever’s poor judgment.

“What are you booing about? Taco booty call got cut off?” Angel asked sleazily, elbowing me in the side with two arms.

“How many minorities can you offend in a single breath?” I replied with a roll of my eyes, crossing my arms as I followed after Charlie, not drawing my gaze from her and Pentious.

“If that pisses you off, you should watch the Olympics with me.”

I sighed in exasperation and trailed after them, ears twitching atop my head as I listened to their conversation, “-and this is the new wall after you broke the last one, heh, and- oh! This, this is-”

“Babe, you don’t have to show him every detail.”

“Sorry, I’m just so excited to have our first real guest!”

Right. A hissy man child who destroyed one of our walls and came back six hours later to request sanctuary. There’s no way this could end badly.

“What the hell am I then?” Angel asked, offended.

“A spider that lives here rent free.” I replied promptly, tail curling around my leg as I moved my gaze back to Pentious, as ordered.

“Well, you’re an important part of our family here, Angel, but you, um…”

“Constantly make us look bad, sexually harass the staff and have literally never once tried to improve?”

“Correct.” I affirmed, having nothing more to add to the list.

“What they mean is, it’s nice to have someone interested for once.” Charlie rephrased in a misguided attempt to soften Vaggie’s true words. “Over here, we have Nifty!”

“The bad boy is back!” The little lady exclaimed, crawling up Pentious’ upper body and clinging to his shoulders with a creepy whisper, “Never leave me again.”

“Don’t mind her, we’re about eighty percent sure she’s harmless.” I said, coming up behind him and standing over at Charlie’s side, giving him a death glare that ensured that Nifty was harmless, but I sure wasn’t.

“And over here, we have-”

Oh, boy, here we go.

There stood Alastor, with his questionable posture, his signature grin and his hands resting home on his lower back. I rolled my eyes fondly and watched the scene unfold with amusement, as Pentious had ripped his coat earlier today.

“-oh, uh, Alastor, our gracious facility manager! You’ve met our newest guest, Sir Pentious… heh, heh.” Charlie chuckled nervously as Pentious gave an awkward wave.

“Ah, yes, you’re the one that ruined my coat,” said Alastor, drawing another eye roll from me. And so it begins. “I definitely remember you now.”

They're cute when they're about to wet themselves. I cringed while Pentious swallowed thickly and Charlie's expression grew into a concerned one and she scrambled to salvage the situation. “Well, I guess this is a great time for your first lesson-”

She cleared her throat and I smirked, leaning against the railing of the stairs as I observed the princess mediating the two petty, petty men. “-how to apologize. The first step to becoming a better person is to admit when you are wrong. Why don't you give it a try?”

Charlie pushed Pentious forward and Alastor kept staring at him with his scary-ass smile, while the snake man smiled awkwardly and tried his best to apologize. “Yes, um… Mr., um, Radio Demon, sir, please forgive me for attacking you and ruining your very lovely coat… um, here…”

He pulled a chunk of red fabric from his pocket and handed it to Al, obviously thinking it was a good idea. I snickered under my breath and pretended to rub my jaw to cover it up, watching the scene with great amusement. “Oh-ho, not many people have been able to take even this much off me! It must have meant quite a lot to you.” 

After putting on a look of faux empathy, he set the fabric on fire, green flames wrapping the material in a tiny blaze as he held it between his red gloved fingertips. I pursed my lips tightly to keep any comments or laughter at bay while the other two stared at the flames with concern.

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“Now, with a new resident, I think it's important that we all get to know each other, so we are going to play a little game. Everyone, follow me,” Charlie began, then cleared her throat softly and sang, “My name is Charlie - clap, clap - I like to sing - clap, clap - and when we get to know each other, it's the greatest thing - clap, clap.”

She then pointed at me, who sat beside her, and I stumbled over my words, scrambling in my mind for any good ideas for the improv. “Uh, my name is Y/N - clap, clap - I like to draw - clap, clap - and when I'm in difficult endeavors I try not to use my claws - clap, clap.” I pointed at Pentious with an expectant look, still distrusting of him. 

“My name's Sir Pentious - clap, clap - I like to build - clap, clap - and despite my stupid Egg Bois, I think I'm very skilled - clap, clap.” The three of us looked at Angel, the one that was left to play the game. 

He boredly looked up from his phone and grumbled, “This is stupid.”

“This is not stupid - clap, clap - it's just the game - clap, clap - Y/N and Sir Pentious did it well, so now please try to do the same - clap, clap.” Charlie sang, hoping to keep this from falling apart. Angel was never particularly interested in redemption itself, maybe it was the free room and food, because, and I quote, crack is expensive.

“I'm too sober for this.” He complained, rubbing his face with one of his hands.

“Well, get used to it and learn how to play,” I began, which Vaggie finished with, “This is gonna be your whole day - clap, clap.”

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

This was hilarious.

I had to purse my lips to keep from laughing because this is the best thing I've ever seen since Alastor's commercial. Angel was wearing a trench coat and a hat and roleplaying a crack dealer, while Pentious was wearing white and eating a lollipop. Oh, if only I could get this on video.

“Oh, I'm a bad man on the streets who never got enough hugs. Now where's an innocent kid I can sell crack to?” Angel read. My God, the script was garbage, but it's so garbage that it's actually good. “Wow! Who wrote this?”

“It's great, right?” Of course it was Charlie. 

“I'm telling you, you're no Homer, but it's really funny.” I snickered, drawing my bottom lip between my teeth and rubbing my jaw to hide the chuckles escaping my mouth. My phone pinged in my pocket and I took it out, seeing the notification from Carmilla. Damn it, I forgot to text her.

Are you alright corazón?

22:37

Are you safe? 

22:37

Hey <3

22:37

Yeah, sorry I forgot to text you earlier

22:38

Everything's fine, it was just a false alarm

22:38

What happened?

22:38

I'll call you later and tell you all about it, okay?

22:38

I have a little thing to finish up right now

22:39

Okay, have fun

22:39

Bye amorcito <3

22:39 

Bye <3

22:40

“The only cool thing here is to say no to drugs,” Pentious recited with a proud smile. I still didn't trust him, but at least he seems to be trying. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to not have sexual intercourse before marriage!”

“Yes! Oh, bravo!” Charlie cheered. 

“Nah, no one in Heaven cares about that, anyway.” I said carelessly, which caused Alastor's radio filter to static for a brief moment. Damn it. 

“Really?”

“Uh, yeah, think about it. Adam's in charge and he's probably had sex with half womankind.” I replied, my heart and stomach deflating with relief at my last ditch salvation. I couldn't believe I was about to spill my biggest secret out of a dumb comment. 

“Yeah, she's got a point. The guy spent half the meeting talking about some girl he scored with.” Charlie complained, which drew a humorless chuckle from me.

While Charlie praised Pentious for his performance, I noticed Angel Dust walking up the stairs with a weird look on his face. He usually kept up this act of being horny all the time, now it's just… gone. A small confused frown settled on my lips before I walked to my room, excited to call Carmilla.

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Loud crashing and arguing roused me from my sleep. I opened my eyes and yawned, ears twitching towards the sounds below. It's like one in the morning, what in Heaven's name is up with these people?

With a groggy whine, I got up from my plush mattress and waddled down the stairs, following Charlie and Vaggie to the library with half-lidded eyes. I pushed the door open and saw Angel glaring at Sir Pentious, which made me tense in alert and my tail stiffen. I had a bad feeling about this.

“What's going on?” Charlie yawned.

Angel, with a grip on Pentious’ arm and an angry expression, gritted out, “This little bitch is a traitor!”

His words made me frown and I glared at the snake as well, claws protracting out of instinct as I awaited any confirmation. I knew there was no way he could change his mind in the span of six hours, I should never have let this happen. “Preposterous! I would never betray you. You are my best friends!"

I moved out of the way when he hugged Charlie and Vaggie, a grumble of apprehension and distrust falling from my lips. “Uh-huh, then explain this.” Angel pulled a book aside and uncovered a camera. I recognized it as a VoxTek device from the vibrant blue static line on the side, to which I bared my fangs and a low growl rumbled from my throat.

“You dirty little liar.” I hissed and took a step forward while Pentious scrambled to the window and pleaded for evacuation. Vox answered the phone and I trotted forward, standing just behind Pentious in case he had to be stopped.

“I can't believe we thought you could handle even something this simple,” Vox patronized. I should have known. I did know. I should have stopped it while I had the chance, I knew I shouldn't have let him in. “Do us a favor, if they don't kill you, go ahead and do it yourself, you miserable failure!”

My ears drooped and my lips morphed into a frown. That was really over the line, even for a back-stabber. I saw how the tears beaded up in the corners of his eyes and he lost hope, which made my heart hurt a little. He walked over to us and lied down on the ground, “Just make it quick, I guess… not that I deserve it.”

“Gladly.” Vaggie said and approached him with her spear, which made me hold out a hand in front of her to stop her.

“No, don't.”

“Pentious?” Charlie approached the snake curled up on the ground and extended a hand to him with a kind smile.

♪ It starts with sorry

I saw how he blinked with confusion when she chose to spare him, and to help him, no less. I watched with a soft tilt of my head and a little smile as she helped him up and encouraged him.

♪ That's your foot in the door

One simple sorry

Charlie touched a hand to his chest, which made him look at her with a different look, almost one of surprise.

♪ The path to forgiveness is a twisting trail of hearts

But sorry is where it starts

Pentious shook his head and stepped aside, dejected and unconvinced. 

♪ Who could forgive a dirtbag like me?

I don't deserve your amnesty

♪ Can't we just kill him? 

Shoot him and spill his blood?

Angel and Vaggie piled on, backing him into a shelf with their respective weapons, the spear and the machine guns. I walked to stand in front of Sir Pentious to keep them from harming him and sing,

♪ That's an option you could choose

♪ Works for us

♪ But who hasn't been in his shoes? 

Charlie joined in with me at the next verse, once again extending her hand, and this time he took it, dancing along with her.

♪ It starts with sorry

♪ Sorry

♪ Dig down deeper and say one sincere sorry

♪ I'm so sorry

Pentious said dramatically but from the heart and dipped into our arms, which drew a smile from me and I pushed him back up to encourage him to keep going. Vaggie and Angel still looked skeptical, but to me it seemed honest.

♪ And your journey's under way

♪ It'll take time to cover your vast multitude of sins

But sorry is where it begins

It starts with sorry

Nifty walked in in a little pink nightgown, standing at the door with a pout. “I hated that song! Why are you so lame? Not a bad boy!” She gave him a little kick and stomped away and I laughed, patting him on the back and shaking my head fondly.

“Good first day,” Charlie sighed and walked out with Vaggie's arm around her waist, Angel following suit. “Let's get some rest.”

I chuckled softly and rested a hand on his shoulder, offering him a kind smile. “Welcome, new guy.”

He smiled back and nodded gratefully, then we walked along all together to our rooms. Before leaving the hallway, I heard Alastor's voice ringing out and Vox raging on the device, followed by Alastor's cackle. A smirk of satisfaction adorned my lips and my tail curled mischievously behind me as I walked away, satisfied with the Vees’ failure.

As long as they stayed away from my home, I'd be happy. 

[hyperfix-wip]

Octobie Halloween: The Witch's Vindication pt. 2

Pairing: Demon! Hobie Brown x fem!Witch! Reader

Summary: After entering into a contract with a demon, you decide to confront your very own monster.

Word count: 4.5k

Author's Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVE! This is part 2/ finale for the Demon!Hobie story! Can't believe this event is going to be over already, but I'm so glad I participated in this! Event is by @the-kr8tor and banners by @mushroom-graphics-allotment.

Tags: Demon!Hobie, Witch!Reader, fem!Reader, Demons, Witches, Halloween, Depictions of Monster Appearance, Horror, TW Depictions of Violence, TW Mentions of Abuse, TW Blood, TW Gore

The last thing you remembered before the darkness swallowed you whole were two pools of melted gold, leaving you in a warm haze until you opened your eyes to find yourself away from stone walls. You found yourself floating in an endless abyss, the only light illuminating around you being faint golden web-like veins pulsing around you. Awe creeped up in your head at the hauntingly beautiful sight, dwarfing the last of your fear into the deepest part of your mind, while the tendrils wrapped around your body slithered against your skin in an adoring caress. One of them snaked up to your left hand before you absently grabbed it and gently squeezed against your palm.

“W-what is this place?” you uttered under your breath, almost afraid to break the silence and shatter the sight in front of you.

“You are in my domain, little one.” 

The demon’s voice rumbled and echoed around you, the faint webs growing brighter with each word. “My personal safe haven for when I need to retreat and recuperate, where no one will disturb me...”

Another tendril reached up to your cheek and nuzzled against your neck and cheek. “And now, I share this space with you.”

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat while you looked up to the golden webs in confusion, the tendrils wrapped around you slowly morphing into dark smoke and enveloping your skin like a blanket.

“Your domain? Why would you take me here–”

“We made a contract, did we not?” the demon’s voice cooed at you as the webs ebbed in a golden hue. “You told me your desire, and I accepted it. Now you are under my protection, and I will do whatever to keep my end of the bargain.”

Shivers ran down your spine while the dark shadows clung to your body and seeped into your rags. A warm, fuzzy sensation bloomed in your head before your body grew languid in the abyss.

“And what did you want in return?”

A low rumble of a chuckle echoed throughout the abyss and vibrated on your healing skin.

“I have already received what I wanted, little one. Although not in the way I had initially planned.”

The tendril you clutched onto gradually phased out into a dark shadow before it encircled around your hand. “I was drawn to your power from your summoning circle at first, a pure, raw energy I have not felt from a mortal in a long time…”

A dark, ghostly hand formed in front of you and brushed a strand of hair out of your face, “but the closer I got to it, the closer I got to you, I sensed a strange blockage in your energy flow, something stunting your magical growth.”

The shadowy hand tenderly ran its fingers through your hair, a gentle chill ghosting against your scalp. “If you were any other low-level witch, you would have died the moment I passed through the circle. But with the amount of energy lying dormant in you, the energy you should have tapped into years ago, you have withstood and survived the summoning…”

Dark shadows slowly gathered into the disembodied hand, making it grow and form into an arm, then a torso, then a neck, until a dark figure stood in front of you. Two small golden orbs flickered where eyes should be, and the figure drew closer to you to caress your face with its hands.

“I suppose that insignificant worm had done one thing worth his value,” the demon’s voice echoed around you. “It has brought you to me, my dear. To take in. To nurture. To flourish.”

The shadow’s hands pulled away from your face and reached down to grab your tattooed hands. To your surprise, you saw a smaller marking of a black spider lined with gold wrapped around your ring finger.

“Now, close your eyes and imagine something small coming out of your fingers,” the demon gently instructed you, as if whispering in your ear. “Something easy for you to see in your head. Use your senses to remember if you have to…”

Doubt and apprehension briefly flooded in your mind and trembled your hands, and a small weight dropped down in your stomach at the thought of disappointing the merciful demon. Brief stings bloomed under your skin, and your bones ached. Bile surged back to the back of your throat with a vengeance. Memories of struggling to cast spells under the hateful eyes of your former master while he screamed at you, berated you, for not conjuring anything before reaching for his whipping stick–

“Little one, do not think of that worm. Do not let it control you.”

You blinked up at the warm glow of the twin orbs with wavering, tearful eyes, and the shadowy head slowly morphed into a likeness of the demon’s face, a gentle, tender smile curling up on his lips.

“Take your time, my dear,” the demon reassured you. “Clear your mind, feel for the energy sitting within you, and imagine molding it to your liking…”

Your chest tightened at the demon’s soft murmurs of encouragement, a surge of heat crawling up to your face and the back of your eyes, before you swallow the urge to cry down and close your eyes. The weight in the pit of your stomach shifted pressed against the walls, sending a wave of nausea to you, but you breathed through the wave while imagining reaching out to the weight. How the weight gently thrummed against your fingers with a slight warmth. How you struggled to grip around the weight until you felt it crack underneath your fingers and palms. How you slowly pulled the weight until it was stretched taut and thin, how it reminded you of the thread your mother used to sew up your clothes with her trusted needle while she whispered her stories to you–

“That’s it, my dear. You did it,” the demon praised you with a tender timbre. “You have done beautifully.”

You fluttered your eyes open, only to find golden strings shooting out from your black-tipped fingers. Stunned by the revelation of you actually conjuring something, a soft sob escaped your lips as you imagined the spool and thread in your mother’s hands again before more strings shot out from your fingertips again. You gazed up at the warm pair of gold hovering in front of you with a smile of utter astonishment.

“I…I did it. I actually did it–”

The shadow suddenly dispersed and wrapped itself around you in a warm embrace, spinning you around in the air in the abyss while the golden webs around you shone brightly in pulses.

“I really did it!” You repeated like a mantra as a wave of pride washed over you, “I did it…”

The words gradually died on the tip of your tongue as soon as you realized you were never told of the demon’s name, the only way the contractor could control a demon. A brief flicker of panic surged in your head at the simple mistake, your body growing tense and your mind racing, thoughts of this mistake being a perfect loophole for the demon to take advantage of and–

“Hobie.”

Your spiraling instantly stalled at his response while the shadow slowly pulled away from you and reformed into the demon’s figure again.

“What?”

“Hobie. My name is Hobie, my dear.”

The pair of golden orbs flickered while a deep rumble of a chuckle reverberated in the abyss and the golden webs lit up around you. “It may not be the most intimidating name for a demon, but it is mine, nonetheless.”

A curved sliver of golden light glowed where a smile would be on the shadow, as if amused by your bugging eyes and slackened jaw. “You should blink, little one, or else your eyes will pop out…”

You absently followed his suggestion, the dryness in your eyes slowly disappearing, but you continued to stare at the grinning shadow in front of you. “Y-you –you are willingly telling me your name?”

“...yes?”

“Why?”

A low chortle rumbled in the abyss again, the golden webs pulsing and glowing with each laugh from the demon. “Firstly, it would be quite tiring for me to hear you call me ‘Great One’ or whatever epitaph you mortals arbitrarily think of, especially since we have just entered a life-long contract with each other.”

The dark apparition of Hobie then slowly approached you before his shadowy hands reached out and grasped your own. “And since we have entered such a contract, we are equal to one another. You honor your end of the bargain, and I honor mine. You hold my power, and I hold yours…”

The shadowy Hobie gently pulled your hands up to him, and he rested your hands against his cheeks. “And just as you are mine, I am yours. Whatever you seek, whatever you desire, whatever you decide, I will keep my end and keep you safe.”

Warmth emitted from his smokey figure and seeped into your palms, and a sense of peace gently washed against your body the longer you gazed at the apparition. To your astonishment, all the fear and anxiety you first felt with the demon was gone in less than an hour. From trembling on your knees before him with your bloodied hands to floating with him in his private domain, waves of veneration and joy overwhelmed you in this moment as you gently rested your forehead against his.

Before you could respond, the golden webs in the dark abyss suddenly flashed and glared around you, overtaking all the darkness in the domain. Muffled screams reverberated throughout the space as you clutched your head to shield your eyes and ears before Hobie’s voice thundered around you.

“You DARE speak of disciplining her when she bore the mark of YOUR DEFILEMENT, WORM?!”

 A scream ripped through your throat as you curled up into a ball while dark energy started to crackle in the air throughout his roars of unbridled rage.

“You BRANDED her like LIVESTOCK! TORTURED her to the point of STUNTING HER POTENTIAL! USED her as a VESSEL to summon me and SACRIFICE HER! And you DARE to speak of disciplining her to ME?! You FUCKING. WRETCHED. EXCUSE OF A CREATURE–”

Darkness suddenly enveloped you into a warm embrace and muffled the rest of the screams of thundering. A gentle warmth slowly seeped into your skin from the shadows, and tiny kiss-like flutters ghosted along your face while Hobie’s voice gently whispered to you.

“My apologies, my dear. It seems my emotions are running rampant in my body at the mortal realm at the moment. There is nothing to be alarmed about.”

Tremors ebbed through your body from the initial shock, but you gradually relaxed inside the blanketed safe haven of the shadow before cautiously responding. “W-what is going on out there? Why was there screaming? Why did you sound so angry–”

Hobie’s voice shushed you with a tender caress from his shadow. “I merely wanted to discuss something with that worm, little one, that is all. He seemed to be occupied with some gaudy celebration with some other mortals in that pathetic excuse of a manor, but…I managed to have him find the time for me.” More screams muffled into your ears, and your face pinched into a cautious frown as you glanced up to the golden orbs in front of your face, but the orbs shifted into a squint. “The discussion is not doing so well…for the worm and his comrades, at least.”

The thundering boom of Hobie’s voice and the subsequent terrified screams rattled in your head while the shadow apparition continued to swaddle you like a blanket. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be comforted and protected like this again, especially by a dangerously powerful demon. You had forgotten this feeling, this sense of safety and peace within you, this reassurance you had long abandoned until Hobie emerged from the shadows and your drawn blood at your forced beck and call. A small part of you still feared him, but the fear morphed into one of losing this nurturing, this affection that you did not see yourself worthy of, from the demon before you.

You wanted to be worthy though. You wished you could prove you deserved this with him.

“Hobie?”

A low growl of approval vibrated against your skin. “Yes, my little witch?”

A small weight of anxiety crushed against your lungs, but you shakily breathed in and continued on.

“I…I want to go back out to the mortal realm. I need to see my former master one last time.”

The muffled screams barely filled in the moment of silence before Hobie solemnly responded.

“Are you sure, little one? It is not a pleasant sight for you to see.”

More ghosts of kisses brushed against your skin, and you shivered and melted from the shadow’s caresses, but you slowly nodded before gazing into the familiar pair of golden lights. “Yes. This…this is something I must do for myself.”

The golden orbs dimmed before the shadow reluctantly pulled away from you, taking the shape of Hobie’s figure in front of you again before a shadowed hand reached out to take yours.

“Very well, my dear. Just be prepared for what you will soon see.”

Your hand squeezed the solid-feeling hand as the darkness and golden webs around you gradually retreated into the shadow figure, and a muffled scream slowly grew clearer in your ears as your surroundings morphed into a gruesomely bloody sight.

You stood in the middle of a dark, ruined foyer of the mansion of your former master, the mansion you were trapped and tortured in for years. Broken glass, ripped off decorations, and broken pieces of masks scattered across the room. Splatters of red ichor painted the once-pristine white walls and expensive oil paintings along with deep holes and scratch marks. The smell of blood, kerosene, piss and shit assaulted your nose as you continued to look around the foyer, where your eyes drifted to the gore on the hardwood floor. Chunks of flesh– pumpkins, turnips, or human– and torn off body parts littered the wood, almost eliciting a gag from you before you swallowed the urge down.

It was a bloody massacre.

Your eyes turned to the heavy footsteps approaching you, landing on Hobie’s golden gaze. The tendrils on his head pulled back into a neat slick-back while his bloodied black robes dissipated into smoke and reformed into a black coat with gold trimmings and dark breeches. His lips curled up into an adoring smirk as he held his bloodied clawed hand out to you.

“You look beautiful, my dear.”

You slowly took his hand and glanced down at yourself, the tattered rags you had on replaced by a black off-the-shoulder evening dress trimmed in gold stitching, and the scars and injuries that blemished your skin changed into black webbed marks from your fingertips up to your shoulders. Your eyes then drifted down to your chest, where the large mark of a black spider proudly sat over your heart, before flicking back up to the proud demon.

“One of the mortals had a dress similar to this,” Hobie chuckled lowly as he sauntered over to you, stepping over a bloodied leg on the floor. “Although the one she wore was a garish green with some needless ribbons, feathers and pearls. It did not help that she looked like a hog stuffed in it.”

His golden eyes glinted with mirth before he leaned in to brush his lips against your exposed shoulder. “You, however, are a bewitching sight in this.”

Heat crawled up your skin from his praise while he peppered kisses from your neck to your burning cheek, and you briefly forgot about the carnage around you before a distressed groan echoed in the room. Both you and Hobie look to the direction of the noise, and your eyes widened and your body stiffened at the sight of the bloody, limbless stump of your former master hanging from the ceiling by some golden threads.

Weak whimpers wracked the portly stump as blood weakly spurted out from his joint sockets while the threads gently glowed against his bloodied clothes. The portly man wearily lifted his head up, his beady eyes sunken and his mustache caked in in blood and bile, before he tensed up at the sight of you with Hobie.

“You…”

The man’s dead eyes leered at your appearance before they lit up with fury while he needlessly struggled in his bindings. “You little whore! What the fuck have you done–”

The golden threads suddenly flared up, and the man jerked in the air and screamed in pain. Chills ran down your spine at the sight while a burning sensation bloomed in your chest, shaking you to your core before Hobie rested his hand between your shoulder blades and gently pushed you towards your former master.

“My apologies, little one,” Hobie whispered in your ear as you two stepped in front of the pitiful stump. “I barely managed to restrain myself to keep him alive for you.”

You remained quiet as you stared at the pig-like man in front of you. The man who took advantage of a struggling witch and her young daughter after their cottage near the village was burned down. The man who beat your mother for any reason he could think of– failing to summon a deity for his wish, attempting to escape with you multiple times, fighting back to protect you from his wrath– for years until she died. The man who then turned his wrath onto you and repeated the cycle for years more.

You blankly stared at the man who reigned senseless hell over you and your mother, now a bleeding, wheezing hunk of meat hanging from his prized chandelier like a butchered pig hanging outside the butcher shop, before taking a step closer to him.

“Have you settled your deal, Master?” you cooly asked him as he lifted his head up to you. “Or, my apologies, former Master.”

The man before you clenched his jaw and bared his bloody teeth at you with a hardened glare. “What the hell did you do?”

“I have simply accepted what I had received,” you answered with a low, even tone despite the slight trembling in your hands. “I successfully summoned a demon, and he offered to make a contract with me. I merely accepted it–”

“That was supposed to be MY deal, you thieving little bitch–”

The threads flared up in gold again before the man screeched out in pain, and behind you Hobie coldly glared at the man with his own glowing eyes. When the bleeding lump of meat slumped in the air again, you mentally tamp down the brief fluttering satisfaction in your chest before answering him again.

“From what I was told, only the person who performed the summoning can make a deal with a demon. I am sure you were made aware of that when Hobie came to see you earlier.”

You then glanced around the bloody massacre within the walls of the foyer, ignoring the churning and knotting in your stomach, before turning back to him with an impassive face. “However, I would not fault you for not remembering after everything that happened here.”

Your former master huffed and groaned while he continued to glare daggers at you. “I should kill you for sending that monster over here–”

“It would be rather difficult for you to kill me without any limbs,” you interrupted, surprising even yourself with how quick your retort was without any stuttering. 

An amused snort echoed behind you while you watched a vein slowly pop out from the hanging man’s forehead. “And I never ordered Hobie to do anything. He came to you by his own choice, did everything here by his own choice.”

You stepped closer to him again, your eyes sharpening to a cold stare as they locked into his eyes. “As for the monster in the room, the only one I see is the one in front of me.”

The air crackled in your ears as you stared down at the pitiful man hanging in the air. “The monster who took everything away from me. The monster who made my life a senseless hell for nearly a decade.”

The man choked out some bloody phlegm and clotted blood before he bared his red-stained teeth at you. “Is this what this is about? Some petty revenge for that useless, old witch–”

“My mother was a seamstress,” You growled at him as the black web marks on your skin started to emit a golden glare. “She had no use for magic in a world that did not need it, especially when she knew greed had bled into the world’s heart…”

Tears burned and welled up in your eyes while the markings on your body shined brighter. “And yet she was punished for it. Beaten for it. Desecrated for it until she died in front of me, only for that same greed to turn its wicked eyes and do the same to me…”

The tips of your fingers burned while the weight in your chest pressed against you harder, and a wave of resentment washed over your body the more you forced yourself to look your abuser in the eye. “And for what? For power? Power that you cannot obtain with your own hands, so you senselessly abuse those who have even less?!”

Red flooded in your eyes while your voice thundered in the ruined foyer, and the man you once feared now cowered in front of you. Dark energy swirled around you, solidifying into unstable spider legs with gold electricity crackling around them. The black marks on your body shined into a furious gold, your hair fluttered and writhed in the air, and the white in one of your eyes slowly turned gold as your pupil splitted into eight.

Before any more of your unstable energy crackled out of you, a large callused hand gently wrapped around your throat from behind and slowly pushed your head up, pulling your hate-filled eyes to the pools of gold you had grown to revere.

“Breathe, little one,” Hobie quietly reminded you with a warning in his voice. “Do not let your anger consume you. That little worm is not worth losing control over…”

The demon then leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, the crackling dark energy around you slowly traveling up from your body and seeping into his lips, until the tension in your body melted and themarks died back down into their original inky color. His lips lingered onto yours as he slowly let go of your throat and pulled away, clinging to each other until they regretfully parted.

“You are more than the trauma he inflicted upon you. Do you hear me?”

You stared up at Hobie with wavering eyes as a tear rolled down your cheek, your breath shallow and your hands trembling, before you slowly nodded at him and tilted your head back to the squirming coward struggling in vain to escape his bindings. With a sharp inhale, your face reverted back into an impassive blank stare as you wiped the tear streak off your cheek and raised your hands to the man’s face. The brief flicker of the memory of your mother popped into your head again until more golden threads carefully shot through your fingertips.

“Do you see this? What I had just conjured?” you quietly asked the man with a slight quirk on the corner of your mouth. “It may seem like useless threads to you, but I have finally managed to create something with the magic you scorned and abused me for…”

The man groaned and whimpered as he struggled to turn away from you while you carefully wrapped the golden threads around his neck. “You had called me useless and pathetic when I was not able to conjure anything under your watch, stomped and whipped me every time I failed, screamed and laughed at me bleeding on the floor while claiming I deserved it…”

“N-No, wait,” the man trembled while the threads slowly tightened around his neck and grazed into his skin, “what are you– what are you planning on– wait, have mercy on me–”

“Mercy?” your slight smile dropped as you tilted your head to the side, your dead eyes staring into his soul as his taunting words in your memories echoed in your head. “Why should you have mercy?”

You started to wrap the other ends of the thread around your fingers in a deliberate show, forcing the coward to watch while his face paled in terror of what you could do. 

“I lived my life in fear because of you,” you continued on with a shaky voice. “I lived believing that I was a defective, useless object that was only good as a punching bag for a weak, pathetic little man. But I know better now. I know I am not what you say I am. I know I deserve better. I hold more power for myself now, and you will never take that away from me ever again.”

The pure terror in your abuser's eyes reflected your cold deadpan while you slowly raised your bound hand, and you glanced at the threads around his neck, tightening even more to the point of blood beading against it. The portly stump of a man babbled and begged with unintelligible words before you, the abusive predator now prey under your mercy.

“You deserve this.”

With a yank from your bound hand, the golden threads around his neck cut through his flesh and soaked in the red ichor before his decapitated head finally dropped against the hardwood floor, blood spurting out from his neck while his stump of a body uselessly swung in the air.

You stood there in front of the corpse of the man who ruined your life in silence, your mind blank and your ears ringing, until your legs suddenly gave out and you collapsed onto your knees. Slow huffs of laughter started to bubble from your chest, growing increasingly louder and unhinged, until tears welled up and streamed down your cheeks while the laughter shifted into sobs.

The wave of catharsis crashed down and overwhelmed you as all the weight crushing down on you finally lifted off your shoulders, and you continued to bawl as Hobie slowly approached you from behind again and carefully scooped you up in his arms. He tenderly shushed you and pressed your curled up body against his chest, tucking your head underneath his chin while countless tendrils rose from the shadows and slowly demolished the foyer as well as the rest of the mansion.

“You did well, little one,” Hobie consoled you while you two slowly sunk into the shadows amidst the destruction of the mansion, “now let us go home…”

With The demon’s final words echoing through the collapsing corridors of your prison, you finally got to leave behind the worst of your past as you finally gained your freedom in the shadows.

[fwoomp-me-up]

Cat Rescue

HDG fic, 2700 words. Anon requested sweet & gushy, which brought to mind some experience a friend had recently shared about providing comfort to those in shock. Not smut but the Human Domestication Guide setting is firmly "mature audiences."

The wind whistled through the narrow alleys, carrying with it the scent of toxic rain and the muted hum of decaying city life. Amidst the cold, sharp angles of towering buildings, a small cardboard box lay tucked away beneath a row of long-forgotten crates. It was a box meant for shipping, its edges soft and worn from exposure, yet it offered a semblance of shelter for the trembling young woman curled up inside. She had made a nest of the posters and papers found nearby, but they did little against the chill that seeped through her bones. 

Her eyes, bleary and sunken from fatigue, stared at the crinkled top of the box. It was the only world she'd known for days, a fragile refuge. Each breath was a struggle, drawing the cold, acrid air into her lungs. She was small, insignificant- a tiny leaf adrift in a vast, indifferent sea. Fear gripped her chest like an icy iron vice, she didn't know if she would see the morning sun again. 

She had no name, no papers, and no voice in this strange, massive city. Terran society had left her behind long before the invading ships reached this corner of the sector, and now she drifted through like a ghost. But for once, she wasn't truly alone. Unbeknownst to her, another pair of eyes watched from above, glimmering in the darkness.

The soft patter of paws against the alley floor heralded the approach of a sleek, gray-furred catgirl. Her ears twitched, and she sniffed the air curiously, tilting her head to catch the scent of something faint– sorrow and fear, wrapped in desperation. It drew her in, compelling her to investigate. Peeking over the edge of the crates, her eyes widened as she spotted the hunched figure inside the box. A gasp escaped the lips of Mewlin Frostpetal, first floret. 

"Hey… miss?" Her voice a gentle murmur,  hardly above a whisper. She reached out a hesitant paw but froze when the girl inside shrank away, curling up tighter.

The catgirl's heart ached at the sight. No sophont should be left like this–alone and afraid, hiding in the shadows. Her tail flicked with determination as she withdrew her paw and tapped a small comms unit clipped to her jacket.

"Lycina, I need help," she whispered urgently. "There's someone here. She's… she's all alone and scared. Please come quickly." 

Within moments, a towering figure appeared at the mouth of the alley radiating warmth and life. Lycina Frostpetal, a first bloom Affini, with seemingly ice-tipped vines woven through her shifting form, approached with a grace that seemed to calm the very air around her. Her eyes, softly glowing with compassion, swept over the scene, and she knelt beside the catgirl, her presence gentle but unyielding. 

"What have we here, little kitty?" Lycina's voice was a soothing melody, wrapping the terran like a warm embrace. She extended a slender vine into the box, its touch feather-soft as it brushed against the terran's trembling shoulder. "There's no need to hide, darling. We're here to help." 

She flinched, but didn't withdraw. Instead, she slowly lifted her head, eyes wide and brimming with uncertainty.  Lydia's smile was soft and patient as she extended more vines, weaving a cocoon of shelter around the box without touching it directly. A soft floral scent flooded the air, sweet and calming, coaxing the girl out of her shell, little by little. "See?" Lycina murmured, her snow-white leaves rustling at barely more than a breath. "It's all right. We'll take care of you."

Encouraged by the Affini's gentle tone and the web of vines to block the wind, the terran uncurled just enough to peek out. Lycina waited, unmoving, her eyes never leaving the girl's face. A minute passed, then another. Finally, with a soft, shuddering sigh, the girl shifted forward, her movements slow and hesitant. 

"There we go," the catgirl cooed, her ears perking up with joy. She leaned closer, her expression brightening. "I'm so glad you're okay. You must be so scared…"

The girl's gaze flitted between the two strangers, lingering on the looming mass of plant holding a strangely comforting smile, and what seemed to be an expression of earnest concern worn by a talking beast. Tears welled in her eyes, and before she knew it, she was sobbing–deep, wrenching sobs that shook her slight frame. She tried to bury her face, ashamed of her vulnerability, but Lycina's vines were there, cradling her, supporting her.

"Shh, it's all right, little one. Let it out," Lycina murmured, drawing the girl closer with infinite care. She gently lifted the girl from the box, swaddling her in a web of soft vines that pulsed with a subtle warmth. The catgirl hovered beside, her eyes glistening with tears of her own. 

As they carried her out of the alley and into open air, the girl felt something inside her shift. The cold, hard knot of fear and loneliness that had coiled around her heart began to loosen, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar sensation: Hope. An unfamiliar emotion stirred on by an encounter with the unknown. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt safe.

Lycina took her to an ad-hoc clinic nestled in a former office in the heart of the urban district. The space was filled with soft light and the quiet hum of gentle melodies. In a private room, Lycina set her down on a padded cot, vines tucking her into a cozy space before vanishing out into the hall. The catgirl flitted about, moving junk and supplies alike to clear space, her tail swishing energetically. The terran glanced up at her, still wary but less so now. The catgirl's fanged smile was so bright, so genuine, that it chased away remnants of her fear. 

"I'm Mewlin! What's your name?" the catgirl asked, squatting beside her. 

She hesitated, her voice barely more than a whisper. "...I don't remember."

The felid gasped before her expression softened, and she reached how to take the girls hand, squeezing with a soft paw. "That's okay. We'll find it together, okay? For now, I'll call you… Sweetpea? How's that sound?"

The terran–Sweetpea–nodded slowly. The name felt strange, foreign, but… nice? It was something to hold on to, at least.

Lycina returned with a tray of steaming soup and a cup of sweet herbal tea. "Here, little one. Drink this slowly. It will help warm you up."

Sweetpea accepted the cup with trembling hands. As she sipped the tea, its warmth spread through her chest, melting the last vestiges of the cold that had gripped her so fiercely. She took a deep breath, the scent of flowers and honey filling her senses, and let herself relax against the pillows. Mewlin perched beside her, setting the tray on an end table and fussing over the blankets and pillows, trying to make sure Sweetpea was as cozy as possible. She purred softly, the sound a gentle, soothing vibration she hoped could help lull Sweetpea into a sense of peace. 

She'd drift back into consciousness–a sudden breath, a sip of soup, a soft whimper–before fading back into peace. Her caretakers watched over her, their expressions tender. 

"She'll be all right now," Lycina murmured, brushing a vine gently across her forehead. "She just needs time and care."

The catgirl nodded, her ears twitching thoughtfully. "I'll stay with her, Lycina. I don't want her to be alone." 

"Of course, dear Mewlin," Lycina agreed, her voice a soft purr. "She'll have all the love and care she needs, thanks to you."

Mewlin remembered the soul-chilling cold. It lingered in her memory and in her bones. Like a ghost, whispering of a time that was not so long ago (though quite a good distance away) when she had been the one hiding in the dark, clutching scraps of warmth like a lifeline. She shuddered at the thought, glancing at the small, shivering figure huddled on the bed. The sight sent a pang through her heart. 

She's so scared…

Instinct urged her to pounce–to wrap this fragile girl in her arms and purr until the shivering stopped. That's what you did, right? Everyone loved a warm tackle-cuddle from a friendly kitty. Just close the distance and show her that she was safe now! But the girl's wary eyes, flitting nervously over every movement when she was awake, held Mewlin back. The catgirl swallowed, ears flattening as she fought down the impulse. No. She had learned better. Her mistress had left her with good enough sense–or maybe an unbreakable order, who was counting–to know this girl was hurt. Injured. Delicate. Just like she had been when she was found.

No sudden moves. No flying glomps. No matter how much she wanted to, and stars above did she want to. 

Instead, she tucked herself into a little loaf at the edge of the room. She flicked her tail slowly back and forth, doing her best impression of a relaxed, lazy feline. Safe. Comforting. No threat at all! The girl's gaze lingered on her as she sipped her dinner, nervous and unsure, but she didn't look away. That was good, right? Progress?

A sigh escaped the kitty, and she shifted. Rolling over onto her back and exposing her soft, fluffy belly. She kept one eye half-open, peeking to see if Sweetpea took the bait. Would she reach out? Maybe pet her? It would be a start! A first, tentative step towards breaking through that shell of fear and isolation…

But the girl just curled up again, watching with wide, distrustful eyes. Mewlin's ears drooped. She didn't want to push her luck, so she waited. Rolling over once more and holding her loafed position with all the patience she could muster. She needed time. Maybe if the kitty stayed like this–calm, collected–the girl would come around on her own. 

Time passed. Minutes? An hour? It didn't matter. She had nothing but time. 

When she (finally) sensed Sweetpea relaxing just the tiniest bit, the catgirl shifted again and stood up, moving with slow, deliberate care. The terran tensed, and Mewlin froze, then took a careful step towards the door, ears swiveling in an attempt to show she meant no harm. When the terran didn't flinch away, she let out a soft, happy purr. Just a little hum of sound, hardly more than a breath. A sound to say I'm here to help. It's fine! You're safe!

With that, the catgirl padded away quietly, slipping out of the room and down the hall. Her paws made no noise on the soft, carpeted floor. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe the terran wasn't ready for company. That was okay! Mewlin knew what to do now. She'd make the space cozier. Fill it with warmth and softness. Her tail twitched with determination. This time, she could be the safety she'd been searching for back then.

She rummaged through a linen closet first, pulling out a pile of blankets. She had to wrap them around her shoulders and drag them behind her like a heavy cape to get them all back to the room. She scampered off again, gathering plushies–soft, squishy ones with big, comforting eyes. A whole armful of them! Next she snagged pillows. A dozen or so, tucking them around the terran to create a nest so plush and inviting that even the most skittish would find it hard to resist.

Back and forth she went, making trips until the oversized bed looked more like a cushioned cloud than a clinic cot. She plopped down a final, oversized plushie, admiring her handiwork with a pleased flick of her tail. The girl was watching her with wide eyes, following each movement like she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. 

"Thought you could use a little more fluff," the catgirl murmured, smiling softly. She left one of the smaller plushies–a cute, floppy-eared doggy–on the side of the girl's bed, just within reach.

Sweetpea didn't move. Didn't say a word. But Mewlin noticed her gaze lingering on the plushie, the tiniest hint of something–curiosity, hopefully–flickering in those tired eyes. 

"Don't worry," the catgirl continued, voice gentle. "I'll stop fussing and leave you to sleep. But I'll be right here if you need anything. Anything at all, okay? Do you want the lights on?"

Sweetpea blinked, and gently shook her head.

With a final, hopeful glance, Mewlin dimmed the lights out and settled herself on a giant plush kitty bed she'd lugged into a corner during the earlier flurry. The pad was an oversized, cushy nest on its own, its soft fur-lined fabric made for lounging and catnaps alike. It took up a good section of the room, but it'd have to do. If it meant she could stay close to Sweetpea, then it was perfect. 

After her efforts setting up the room, she tried to keep her excitement in check and give the new girl space. She'd flopped down on her bed, watching the girl curled up alone in the little cocoon of blankets and plushies. Sweetpea hadn't made any moves to leave her nest, but that was okay. Mewlin was a patient kitty. If she'd learned anything from her time in the cold and dark, it was how much it could mean just to know someone was there. 

As the city hummed along outside, Mewlin yawned and stretched luxuriously, curling up into a ball on her bed. Her tail wrapped around her, and she felt herself start to drift. The sound of Sweetpea's soft, even breathing formed a comforting lullaby. It wasn't long before the catgirl was purring softly in her sleep. 

Hours passed in silence, the kind of quiet that blankets the world in peace. But deep into the night, Mewlin stirred. She felt the tiniest shift in the air, a subtle rustle of blankets–barely more than a whisper. Instinctively, her ears twitched, and her eyes fluttered open, scanning the dark room.

Sweetpea was there. Right there.

Mewlin's heart swelled, warmth spreading through her chest as she realized the girl had moved–slinking all the way across the floor from her cot to the oversized kitty bed. Sweetpea was curled up just a few inches away, so close Mewlin could feel the gentle heat of her body. 

For a moment, Mewlin didn't dare move. She just watched, her gaze soft and full of wonder. The girl was still trembling a little, her fingers clutching the edge of a blanket like it was a lifeline. Mewlin's breath caught. Sweetpea looked so small, so fragile, her face half-hidden by the folds of the blanket. But she was here. 

Mewlin's instinct screamed to snuggle closer, to wrap her arms around Sweetpea and never let go. But she held herself back, knowing that any sudden movement might startle the poor thing. Instead, she stretched out one paw-like hand, slowly and carefully, until it just barely brushed against Sweetpea's arm. When the girl didn't flinch or pull away, Mewlin let her claw slip into the edge of the blanket, gently tugging it up around her shoulder.

"There we go…" she murmured softly. "All tucked in."

Sweetpea shifted slightly, a small sound–something between a sigh and whimper–escaping her lips. Mewlin's heart melted. She couldn't help herself; the softest, most contented purr rumbled through her chest, vibrating through the bed and filling the room with a gentle, soothing hum. 

"It's okay," Mewlin purred, watching as Sweetpea's breathing slowed, becoming deep and even. "I've got you, we're safe here."

Carefully, she shifted just enough to drape her tail over Sweetpea's side, creating a loose, protective circle. She could feel Sweetpea's heartbeat–fast and fluttery, but steady. Gradually, it calmed, falling into rhythm with Mewlin's own. 

The catgirl closed her eyes, a contented smile spreading across her lips. She couldn't stop purring if she tried. Sweetpea was here, right beside her. Not alone. Not anymore.

As Mewlin settled back into sleep, her last conscious thought was a simple, joyous refrain: 

It's gonna be alright. It's gonna be alright.

And in the quiet darkness of the clinic, the two of them–lost and found, fragile and resolute–found peace in each other's warmth.

[ginxyy]

Bloody Valentine

I know I've got to go but I might just miss the flight i can't stay forever, let's play pretend And treat this night like it'll happen again You'll be my bloody valentine tonight

The air was thick with the scent of summer; it lingered on your skin like a favorite perfume, sweet and intoxicating. Your recent tour had taken you far and wide, but with each stop, your heart had been tugged in an unexpected direction, one that led straight to him—Wonwoo. It wasn’t official, not yet, but what had begun as casual meetings in quaint cafes and whispered secrets under starlit skies had bloomed into something more profound and exhilarating.

You had fallen head over heels for him, that quiet boy who wore his heart on the sleeve of his vintage band T-shirts. His dark, thoughtful eyes often danced with mischief as he laughed, and those rare moments where he let his guard down made your own heart flutter like the pages of a well-loved novel. Those evenings spent curled up in dimly lit rooms, sharing dreams and tastes in music, ignited a flame within you that felt both frightening and freeing.

As the golden hues of summer began to fade into the crispness of autumn, you found yourself grappling with the reality of your departure. Soon, life would pull you back into its chaotic rhythm, and you’d be miles away from the boy who had managed to break down the walls you had built around your heart. Each day drew closer to the moment you would board that plane, yet thoughts of him lingered like unpicked petals scattered on a sidewalk.

In a fit of inspiration and an ache in your heart, you decided to channel your feelings into something tangible. You reached for your electric guitar, the one that had been your companion through countless late-night jam sessions. As you strummed a few chords, the haunting melody of “Bloody Valentine” by MGK wrapped around you like a haunting embrace. It was a perfect way to encapsulate the bittersweet nature of your emotions.

After recording the video, you uploaded it to Instagram with a single, simple caption: "Even if the time we shared was limited, my love was true." There was something bold about putting your feelings out into the world, a testament to everything you’d experienced together, even if it felt impossibly fleeting. The last notes of the song resonated in your ears as you hit ‘post,’ a mix of anxiety and hope flooding through your veins.

As the hours passed, you tried to shake off the whispers of worry that fluttered at the back of your mind. What if he didn’t see it? What if he brushed it off like so many others had done? But in that quiet space of your heart, you knew—he would understand. He had to.

Moments later, your phone buzzed in a flurry. A comment from Wonwoo. Your heart raced as you opened the notification. “I saw your post. I’ll meet you at the airport.” Just five words, but wrapped in them was everything you wanted to hear and yet feared. Would this be it? The final goodbye wrapped in the hope of ‘I will see you again’?

Your heart thudded in your chest as you packed the last of your things, anxiety mingling with excitement. The airport loomed ahead, sprawling and bustling with life, yet all you could focus on was him. The thought that it might be the last time you saw him sent ripples of sadness curling in your stomach under the surface of uncertainty.

As you stepped through the automatic doors, the world outside blurred into a backdrop. You scanned the crowded terminal, heart racing as you fought against the tide of travelers. There he was, standing by the barrier, looking as striking as the first day you laid eyes on him. His hair slightly tousled in the summer breeze, he looked like art made tangible, and just like that, a sense of calm washed over you amidst the storm of emotions swirling in your heart.

“Wonwoo,” you breathed, and the space between you vanished as he wrapped his arms around you in a rush of warmth. Your body instinctively molded against his, heart hammering against your ribs. It felt as though all the music swirling in the air paused for just a moment, as if time had graced you with a second chance.

“I saw your video,” he murmured, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze. His eyes were intense, darkened by the weight of things left unsaid. “I rushed over when I did. I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye properly.”

The words sent a shiver through you. There was urgency in his tone, an undertone of desperation that mirrored your own. “I didn’t want to make it harder,” you replied, your voice softer than a whisper, “but there’s so much I wish I could say.”

“Then say it,” he urged, taking a step closer. “We don’t need to part like this, love. I want you to know that you’ve made this summer unforgettable for me. Even if it feels short, I’ll always carry this with me.”

The sincerity in his words hung between you like the music of your favorite song, reverberating through your very core. You both knew time wasn’t on your side, yet the connection you had forged felt significant an echo that would carry you through the distance.

“I fell in love with you,” you admitted, feeling the weight of truth lifted from your heart. “I wish I could stay, just one more night one more chance to create memories wrapped in the rhythm of our laughter.”

“Then let’s make a promise,” he said, his voice low and filled with emotion. “This isn’t goodbye forever. We will find a way. You’ll see I’ll never forget you. Not now, not ever.”

“And I’ll always carry you with me,” you promised, the reality of your fleeting time intertwining with a glimmer of hope. As you held him tightly, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat against your own, a part of you knew that, even amidst the distance, you would find a way to let your love shine through the darkness.

“Take care of yourself, won’t you?” he murmured, as if afraid that the moment would slip away like sand through clasped fingers.

With a bittersweet smile, you nodded. “And you, too. Until we meet again, Wonwoo.”

As you stepped back, the world buzzed back into existence, but in that fleeting encapsulation of love and longing, you both remained suspended for just a moment longer, hearts echoing the promise you both silently made. Love, after all, was a melody that transcended distance. And you were both determined to let it play on, no matter how long the wait.