#i have forgotten how to sharpen

[kirschetein]

Ruan Mei ❀ Floral Triptych ❀ Ice/Harmony

[bieddiediaz]

for @tawaifeddiediaz.

[vcrnons]

HOSHI & WOOZI God of Music itslive

[snaileer]

Call to My Bedside

When Danny wakes up with shackles around his wrists and chains pinning him to the wall, he’s not all that surprised to see his mother in front of him.

And no, he doesn’t mean Madeline Fenton, although he wonders if he’d be surprised by that either and really, what does that say about his life?

But no, he’s not all that surprised to be staring into the eyes of Talia Al Ghul right now.

Even if his heart stops at the sight of her.

Immediately, he tries to stand, shoulders pulled painfully behind him as he tries not to let her loom over him.

This is a woman he barely remembers, through no effort of her own, but that’s what happens when you left a kid to be trained by strangers before he’s whisked off to America against his will at age 5.

Really she was lucky he remembered her at all.

She crouches down slightly to make up for their height difference, face softening too quickly to be real, “I am Talia Al Ghul. Though you may not remember, you are my child-“

“I remember.” Danny cuts her off, trying to keep the anger from making his eyes glow. He does remember, he remembers enough to know that it would be dangerous for them to know he has powers.

He settles for glaring at her.

For a second it seems she just watches him, but the kindness drops from her face as she straightens.

The slap catches him hard enough to jerk his head to the side, chains rattling behind him as he unsuccessfully tries to catch himself.

Instead, they go taut behind him, leaving him to jerk sideways, breath rough by the surprise of the hit.

“Do not interrupt me, child.” Her voice rings cold in the air.

Danny doesn’t bother to lift his head, instead keeping his eyes pinned to the grimy floor. Had he forgotten how unforgiving this place was? What it was like?

“Look at me.”

Danny kept his eyes downwards. He didn’t want to look at her. He wanted to go home.

“Look at me, or suffer the punishment,” She said, voice steely.

He slowly lifted his head, eyes meeting hers.

“Good. You know who you are then, child? What place you are meant to hold in this world?”

Danny doesn’t answer, only glaring.

She barely blinks but her eyes sharpen in warning.

Danny grits his teeth, “I’m Danny al -Al Ghul, heir to the Demon’s head of the League of Assassins-“

The second hit is just as hard, but Danny is better braced for it.

“Your name is Danyal Al-Ghul, you are my blood and the blood of Batman, your heritage dictates a higher quality of discipline than this and you will show it.”

Everything in Danny’s being rebels against the name. He hasn’t been Danyal in years. And he refuses to go back to it.

He straightens his back, ignoring the ache of his shoulders as he snarls at her, “My name is Danny, Danny Fenton. I haven’t been your precious heir in years, and you can’t make me now.”

They couldn’t and he wouldn’t let them, not when he had the power to-

Talia idly pulls something from behind her and he feels the blood drain from his face.

It’s a picture of him, Tucker, and Sam, next to it is a larger grid of images, each making his heart drop further in his chest.

Sam. Tucker.

Jazz. Mom. Dad.

All of them in cells. Chained.

Hurt.

His family, his family-

“Did you think we would not know of your gifts? Would not know how you would think to leave us? You clearly do not remember as much as you think you do.”

Danny can barely hear her over the static rushing in his ears.

She grabs his face roughly, “We are the League, child, and you are one of us. You may have thought you were like them, but we are better. Meant for better, and you will not be allowed to squander the gifts bestowed on our bloodline through you. Until you can make the right choice yourself, as your blood, we will make them for you.”

Danny looks into her eyes, the certainty behind her words, and he feels a gaping emptiness open inside him. The kind that knows it’s not going away.

He wants to go home. He wants to see his family, and his friends. He doesn’t care that his parents don’t know his secret, that he’s just barely getting a handle on it himself, he just doesn’t want to be here. Not again. Please, not again.

Talia releases him, and he lets his body droop, sinking into himself as he crouches over the ground, the restriction of his arms keeping him from even fully curling around himself.

“Remove the chains, he will not be going anywhere,” Talia says, her shadow falling over him in the dim light of the doorway.

Danny barely moves as the cold metal falls away from his wrists.

And he knows she’s right.

He won’t be going anywhere. Not as long as his family is in danger.

—

The first months were hard. Harder than Danny remembers. Maybe his five-year old self had just had it easy.

He doesn’t now.

“Again!” His instructor shouts, bamboo staff coming down on the back of Danny’s knees.

He doesn’t let himself stumble. Not anymore.

At least his Arabic is getting better, he can understand it completely, as if he’d never forgotten it -as if it’d been his mother tongue- and he can speak it smoothly again, though shallow. You can’t even hear his American accent anymore.

Danny hasn’t spoken English since that first week, when they’d beaten it into him every time he’d tried.

When they’d beaten him for not understanding fast enough. Not reacting fast enough, not responding fast enough, to a language he didn’t know, hadn’t known for years now.

They’re right about one thing.

Pain is an excellent teacher.

“Again!”

He moves fast enough to dodge the bamboo stick this time, body shooting forward against his opponent.

Dodge, lunge, feint, block, swipe, block, block, block-shit-block, reach-

His back slams against the stone floor of the courtyard, knocking the breath out of him.

The instructor doesn’t step in. He won’t.

Not even when his opponent’s hands clamp around his throat.

Danny struggles, trying to use his inhuman strength to pull the arms away, but that inhumanity has waned since he’s been here, drained like the rest of his energy.

He feels the weight begin to build in his skull, he can’t breathe, he doesn’t have much longer, what can he- Danny forcefully moves his arms away, fighting instinct, instead pulling his legs up and rolling, just as they’d drilled into him, the change in leverage giving him the break he needed to be free as he stands-

The bamboo slams into his back, knocking him forward, “Again!”

Danny rolls with the momentum, ignoring the new throbbing in favor of dodging his opponent’s grappling fists.

Dodge, lunge, dodge, swipe, dodge, dodge, hit, swipe, block, forward, dodge, block-

Danny breathes through the sweat dripping down his skin, the way his ribs creak with every breath, the way his muscles feel numb and disconnected. None of it matters.

He just has to win.

He doesn’t have any other options.

He never did.

Not really.

This is why they brought him here.

Why he was born.

He has to win.

Danyal twists the arm of his opponent back until there’s a sickening crack.

“Again!”

A new opponent flies towards him with fists already raised.

He doesn’t have any other option.

He never did.

——

The next time he sees Talia is just before the ceremony to his next stage. She is waiting in his room when he walks in.

“Mistress,” He greets, bowing his head, feeling phantom pain bloom on his cheeks. It’s the only thing that makes him call her that.

“Danyal, your training is going well,” She says, voice idle in that meandering sort of way. This isn’t why she’s here.

“I will improve,” He says anyways. Because he knows he’s not meeting their standards yet, knows they’re disappointed by the heaviness in his bones that weighs him down and drains his energy.

She stands, making Danny go stock still as she approaches, featherlight touch on his chin as she tilts it upwards.

English drifts from her lips, “You have his eyes, his cheekbones…” her eyes drift down again, and it still doesn’t feel like she’s even really looking at him, “My chin and my jaw…not like Damia-“

Her hand drops.

Danny can’t figure out the change but he can feel it. Hesitantly, he asks, in Arabic still, “Talia, why… are you here?”

The steel returns.

“The bat is dead. You are the last of his power,” She says, then pauses. She seems torn about saying more.

She doesn’t, exiting silently as Danny stares into the air, unmoving.

His… birth father… was dead?

A man that was a great enough warrior to impress the Demon’s Head. Impress Talia.

A man… he didn’t even know the real name of.

It’s not like the Bat was anything more than a name to him.

A name he had to live up to.

Danny sighs and turns to his drawers. He has a training ceremony to prepare for.

——

Danny doesn’t resist the arms that hold him back as they swipe a broad slash across the skin of his back with the whip, simply letting himself curl inwards around the pain before he’s dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

He pulls himself back up just soon enough to see the next person dragged in and thrown in front of him.

The handle of the blade is pressed into his hand.

It wouldn’t be hard.

It should be hard. Right?

Killing a man whose crimes he doesn’t even know should be hard. It’s meant to be hard, right?

Danyal wishes he doesn’t know how easy it will be to fall into it.

But he can’t keep doing this. Collecting scars because he’s clinging to morals that aren’t even his.

He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep doing any of this.

He has to.

Danyal slices the edge of the blade across the man’s neck.

The cut is clean. Deep.

He’s dead in less than a minute.

Danyal’s own blood continues to flow.

——

Danyal doesn’t know what’s happening. One minute he’s training, trying to push past the exhaustion lining his bones, and the next the entire west side of the courtyard is in flames, crumbling down the side of the mountain.

Danny runs through the rubble of the passageways, searching for the source, searching for reasons, searching for… he doesn’t know, but he knows he can’t be caught doing nothing.

He doesn’t find anything except ruins.

Danny is called to meet Ra’s Al Ghul two weeks later. His grandfather. The Demon’s head.

The man doesn’t even look at him.

Danny stays kneeling all the same, better safe than beaten again.

“Are you familiar with Red Robin?”

Danny inclines his head, just barely, “I… can’t say I am…Great One.”

The following hum is derisive.

“He is one of the Bat’s… followers. Recently, he has proven himself to me. His ruthlessness is impressive, his ability to pursue his goals: admirable. He would make the perfect heir,” Ra’s says and he must know it makes Danny’s heart drop, why else would he say it, “Do you know what Timothy lacks, Danyal?”

Danyal stays quiet, eyes tracking the grit of the floor.

After a pause, near silent footsteps enter his vision, “You are the culmination of his mentor’s blood and my own, blessed with the gifts of the Lazarus pits, and yet-“ the cape swirls as Ra’s turns away, “Yet it is squandered by the mistakes of your upbringing!” He yells.

Danyal clenches his fists, willing himself silent.

The air of the room falls level again, “I grow tired of your mediocrity, Danyal. You will advance, or I will stop wasting my resources keeping your baggage alive.”

Danny’s head whips up before he can think better of it, meeting Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes where they stare down at him.

“Do not mistake my past grace for mercy, Danyal. Mercy makes men weak. There is no room for weakness, and we are here to purge it from this world. Do not forget that.”

“Of course, Great One.” Danyal’s heart pounds in his ears, fear jumping across each beat sporadically, “I will do better.” He tries to fill his voice with confidence.

He’ll do better.

He has to.

Ra’s looks at him, then turns his back and waves a hand dismissively, finally allowing Danyal to stand and leave.

He feels Ra’s’ eyes on his back the entire time as he leaves. And no matter how much he wants to, he doesn’t stop in the hallway. Even once the door is closed, he continues forward.

In his mind, Danny stops and heaves a breath through the grief crashing over him.

In his mind, Danny is a million miles away, at home, with his family around him, happy and safe.

In his mind, Danny rushes back into Ra’s al Ghul’s grandiose throne room and attacks him with the sword he’s forced on him, not stopping until he’s free or dead.

In reality, Danyal breathes out with false calm and moves on.

He has training to get to.

——

Danyal can feel the pressure of the Leagues- of Ra’s’- expectations pushing down on him.

It’s not new.

But he doesn’t let it weigh him down anymore. He doesn’t have that luxury.

Instead, he uses it to push himself harder, farther, pushing until he reaches those expectations.

And surpasses them.

And keeps going.

He won’t-can’t stop. So he keeps going.

Moving up, learning, training, getting better, faster, getting stronger.

Getting weaker.

Danyal ignores the strained whisper of his core in his chest in favor of aiming at the target in his scope.

An Ethiopian politician, making a name for himself by drafting new acts supporting the build of a dam on the Nile River.

It would endanger the lives of thousands in Egypt, cutting them off from the water that has flowed through their country for millennia.

It would never make it through the legislative ruling without him.

This is their duty. To cull the disease. To burn away the parasites killing the world. The ones feeding off excess.

Danyal pulls the trigger and starts packing the gun away.

His hands move with robotic precision, even without his guidance. No, his eyes and his focus are elsewhere.

Instead, Danny stares at the newspaper laying damp on rooftop gravel, eyes scanning every detail, every line.

May 7th of 20XX. Over a year.

Alien invasion recently. Superman.

New hero in Russia.

Multiple car crashes in Pakistan. All survived.

None of it really matters to him, not really, it doesn’t tell him anything interesting, nothing he needs to know. It’s not even an American newspaper.

But…It’s the closest he’s come to freedom in so long. In almost two years.

Is it bad that what he calls a taste of freedom is knowing how long it’s been since he’s been free?

The rifle case clicks shut beneath his fingertips and he stands without so much as a lingering glance at the newspaper.

Danyal leaps off the roof, scaling down the side, ignoring the way his legs want to collapse beneath him as he lands in an alley.

He heads towards the rendezvous, job finished. Efficient as always.

Exactly as is expected of him.

———

It is several months more that he begins to realize there may be something truly wrong.

He’s training-fighting, losing- with the Lady Shiva. If Red Robin could beat her, Danyal must as well.

He’s fairing… okay.

They’ve been engaging for a while now, for a fight, a minute at least, maybe two.

He feels his breath rough in his chest, his face slick with sweat, his body buzzing with adrenaline and the push to do better-

His heart squeezes, seizing up tense and frozen for just a second, his body following in surprise-

There’s a sword through his stomach.

Danyal tries to focus again, to swing his sword, like he’s been trained, but everything feels… loose.

The sword is removed from his stomach, wet blood sliding down his tunic. Cold floor beneath his knees, had he fallen? No, he had to stand, get up, get up, get up. Get up!

Please, you have to get-

There’s hands on him, moving him, the hallways are too dark, -get up, you have to get up- he can’t tell where they’re going. No they’re not dark, his eyes are closed, he pries them open, gasping for breath as the pain in his stomach tears deeper.

Please, he just wants to go home.

Darkness still clouds his vision, but the people carrying him barely glance back as he groans.

His eyes flicker shut, too heavy to keep open as he tries to focus on anything but the pain, on not bleeding out, on please don’t let him die here, not here, please.

They enter another door, letting him stumble across steps farther and farther down.

When they reach the bottom, it seems as though every sound is sucked out from the room. An eerie silence thick in the air.

It forces his eyes open, just a squint, darkness prickling at the edges of his vision.

He barely catches a glance of cave walls before he feels himself thrown forward.

And familiar green fills his vision.

Panic surges.

Pain in his stomach. -His hand. The button!-

Green water surrounding him. -The portal is on!-

Liquid fills his mouth when he tries to scream. -There’s no sound between dimensions.-

It feels like burning acid running across every nerve of his open wound, creeping into his pores like tar covering a dying animal.

But it doesn’t feel like death.

He would know.

It feels a little like life.

He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t get a choice.

He never does.

It feels like a thousand screaming souls, begging for justice and for freedom, just as he is.

They shout and yell at him to do something, to fight where they can’t, why can’t they, they’re so helpless, angry at their helplessness, angry at their inability, angry angry angry

Their pleas fill his ears, louder with each passing second.

He’s angry, angry, angry- how dare they, how dare they- he could win, they can’t stop him, they deserve it-who’s they?- he’s going to kill them, they can’t stop him-

Frigid humid air stings against his skin, no longer submerged, and green fog tinges everything.

But he-they- need to fight, kill them, stop them, do something, do something because they can’t- fight!

Danny lunges at the first person he sees, an assassin in all black at the edge of green waters.

His fist nearly collapses his skull. It doesn’t stop him.

There’s another and Danny lunges again, ignoring the sword that slashes towards him, grabbing it and snapping the metal with one hand, the other around the ninja’s neck, gripping, cracking, breaking-

Something heavy hits him over the head, the world staticking for a second as his hand loosens, a body dropping to the floor.

Hands reach at him, pulling, holding, restraining, and he fights with sharpened claws and fangs and burning fists of glowing energy and hands ripping hearts from their chest- until there’s so many bodies around him and restraining him, that it actually slows him down.

Enough to realize his powers are flowing easily once more, surprise cutting through the fog in his mind.

He stops actively pulling against the arms holding him down, his cheek now pressed painfully against rocky floor.

Where is he?

A nauseatingly familiar voice fills the room, “You managed quite the damage, Danyal,” Ra’s al Ghul stands in front of him, when Danny is able to lift his head and look, “Perhaps there is still potential hidden behind your weakness, the capabilities of your rage is akin to my first venture into these pools, so many centuries ago.”

The smile on Ra’s’ face sends twitches down his spine and confusion pools in his gut, “What…?” he murmurs, head still murky, but a bolt of fear races through his chest, and he forces his words into the League dialect once more, “What happened…? I..-“ His voice is small, and slowly he feels the assassins holding him release his arms and back away. He pushes himself upright to his knees, finding less strain in his muscles, in his bones, than he has for nearly two years.

“You failed your training, little Al Ghul,” A voice, Lady Shiva, speaks from his right. Her sword is still red.

Danyal’s eyes jump to hers, the memory rushing back- blood, the sword, falling, the water- his hand grips the side of his tunic even as his head snaps to the side, finally seeing the green waters lurking just next to them.

The Lazarus Pits, his training says.

Ectoplasm, his core whispers.

He looks down at the hole in the fabric of his tunic, any bloodstains around it all but gone. There’s not even a scratch.

The rest of his clothes are still layered with blood.

And Danyal knows it isn’t his.

He stands, watching as other league members file in, dragging away the bodies surrounding them.

There are too many to count.

He doesn’t even try.

Ra’s Al Ghul steps forward, drawing his focus once more.

He eyes Danyal critically, “Walk with me, child,” He says, already turning away with robes moving gracefully.

Danyal hurries to move with him, one step behind as they trail through the halls and corridors, slowly moving farther and farther up through the compound.

Finally they step out from an arch, the gentle late afternoon sun lighting up the sky with colors. Just enough light to see clearly, not enough to blind or burn.

It would’ve been a perfect afternoon to die on.

Instead, Danyal catches the sword thrown towards him with surprising grace. Ra’s face is filled with dangerous curiousity as he speaks, “Attack.”

Danyal doesn’t question it. Doesn’t wonder why Ra’s remains unarmed, doesn’t question if he might hurt him. He just acts, lunging forward at the command with nary a second thought.

“Starting today, you will train with me. Each week,” Ra’s speaks as he easily dodges and blocks Danyal’s hits, forcing him to take a new approach each time.

Danyal nods, “Of course, Great One.”

Ra’s knocks him to the ground, standing over him with sword drawn, “Call me Grandfather, Danyal. You’ve earned it.”

Danny’s heart squeezes.

He nods, “Of course Grandfather.”

——

After that, things change. Ra’s Al Ghul keeps to his word, calling for him each week, sometimes no more than a few days apart.

All too quickly it becomes a part of Danyal’s routine. The brutal training sessions of Ra’s beating him down and letting him up only to do it again.

He wishes he had it in him to question the Demon’s Head, but he doesn’t, so when Ra’s tells him to attack, even when unarmed, even when Danyal should rip his throat out with one use of intangibly, Danyal listens and attacks him.

Months into the now singular training, Danyal realizes that he hasn’t left this compound in a while, there hasn’t been a spontaneous move, or travel for a new master.

It’s just been… Ra’s.

He feels more stable, more stationary than he remembers being in so long. His youngest years had been the same routine of constant movement from base to base, compound to compound. And then he had lived.. in America, and had a single home, a house he knew the direction to from anywhere in town. For so many years, he been able to settle in one place.

Only to be uprooted once more, thrown back to everything he’d left behind, everything he’d-

Danyal enjoyed knowing where he would return to at the end of the day. The sense of familiarity that came with the same room, the same bed and halls, day after day, week after week.

Maybe that’s why it catches him by surprise when Ra’s calls for him at the base of a landing pad, jet idle behind him.

Danyal allows a nearby assassin to pass a pack into his hands, clearly full of materials.

For a moment, Danyal wonders where they are going? What new training awaits him at the other end?

Then Ra’s steps aside, dangerously graceful as ever, and reveals the bay of the jet to be not empty, but filled by assassins, each standing at command.

Danyal looks to Ra’s once more.

“An Al Ghul does not only follow, Danyal,” He says with a sharp smile as he approaches, laying a heavy hand on Danyal’s shoulder, “An Al Ghul leads. And as you are my heir, you must learn to command the respect of our members.” The hand squeezes on his shoulder, making him look up, meeting Ra’s in the eyes, “By any means necessary.”

Danyal looks away, looking back at the assassins waiting for him, for his command.

He’s not ready.

He has to be anyways.

The hand on his shoulder feels like lead as he steps out from under it, filling his voice with power he doesn’t feel, and sending the squadron scattering to new assignments.

Flight, equipment, weaponry, information, planning, infiltration, execution, all of it, it’s all on him to control.

Danyal turns back to gauge Ra’s’ reaction, only to find him already halfway gone, the sight of his retreating back the only response.

Okay, he’ll do this.

He can do this.

He has to.

What else can he do?

——

He takes to leading missions with the hand of a natural.

It’s easy.

Send these people here. These people here. Block every exit, erase every loose end, don’t leave any witnesses. Finish the mission.

Their missions are for the betterment of everyone, they are fixing things, getting rid of corrupt leaders, people unworthy of what they have, everything they’re doing is for a reason. It has a purpose.

He has a purpose.

So he ignores what’s behind every number he sends for each job. Ignores the calculation behind every call to secure the exit that has five private guards. Ignores the number behind the perimeter assignment because he knows the building has a late hour maid present each night.

They’re just numbers.

And he’s good at this.

At least he’s good at this.

He kills the first person to question an order.

They don’t question him again.

Everything runs smoother when they don’t question him.

It’s easier this way.

It’s always easier.

——

He’s traveling again. Spending more hours sleeping in hotels and safe houses than any bed he might deign to call his.

More and more time goes by, bit by bit, hour by hour, each filling his body with sand like setting concrete.

Slowly, Danyal feels it begin to wear on him. The exhaustion of the missions, his own body weighing him down with every strike he takes. Refusing to react with the speed demanded of him to succeed.

Danyal pushes past it. It doesn’t matter. This is his duty, it is all that is expected of him and he will do it. Even as he finds himself clutching his chest in the dark of a mission, blood still leaking from his target below him.

He forces himself past it, eyes flickering, steeling himself, then wiping down his blade and leaving, muscles tense and bones shaking.

He makes it as far as the car waiting in the near abandoned parking garage below, his chest continuing to tighten, heart erratic beneath his ribs. Danyal grunts, pain lacing up his arm, struggling not to stumble as he staggers into his seat with a near gasping breath.

He pulls himself together, his words as confident as he can make them as he speaks to the assassin in the drivers seat, “Call Ra’s Al Ghul. Bring me to him. Now.”

Danny feels his heart twitch in his chest, his hand flickering in his vision, or is it his vision that’s flickering, he can’t tell, still the cold leather soothes him, heart pounding louder louder, yelling, screaming in his ears, angry so angry so angry, rage rage rage, fix it fix it fight fight fight for us fight! Don’t let it go, never let it go, revenge, make them pay, they have to pay-!

He comes back with a gasp and a burst of pain across his shoulder, adrenaline and fury still coursing through his veins in equal measure.

His hair is wet, green liquid dripping down his face in sluggish trails mixed with foreign blood. It lays plastered on the curves of his face, framing his eyes as he stares up at the Demon’s Head.

The same malicious smile sits on his face, “Welcome back, Danyal.” The words are tinged with expectance.

Danyal pauses, collected his words around his tongue like a lead weight in his dry mouth, “I- Why was I put in the Lazarus pit again?” Danyal can only hope he’s showing the right amount of deference to even be allowed such a question.

“You were brought to me collapsed, and your heart failing you. The Lazarus pits provided a temporary solution,” Ra’s says, his eyes sharp, “But it is temporary. This problem will not be allowed to continue.”

“Of course, Master,” Danyal pulls himself to his knees, “…I believe it’s because of my accident-“ Danyal pauses, this is closest he’s come to actually telling them how he got his powers, what it did to him-, “There was electricity, and the shock, my heart was-is damaged. I don’t know why it’s getting worse-“

Ra’s hums, “The body can be fixed, child. The mind cannot. This,” Ra’s places a hand on his back as Danyal stands, “is merely an obstacle to our goal.”

“I will not fail you, Grandfather.”

“I know, child.” His words are a guarantee, an assurance to Danyal.

He will prove that the confidence placed in him is not mistaken.

——

It is barely months after that second time that Danyal once again feels his body’s failings encroach on him.

His heart beats off pattern, falling out of rhythm more with every passing day.

Danyal takes a deep breath, willing it to calm himself.

He will not let this stop him. He is an Al Ghul. He is capable. He is strong, and he will not be held back by his own body.

Danyal turns his focus inwards, ripples traveling along the surface of the ectoplasm in his core he’s left untouched for so long now.

He lets the ectoplasm submerge him, turning his form ghostly, his eyes sharper green than they’ve ever been before.

Danyal lets his feet lift off the ground, just for a second, weightlessness enveloping him, the buzzing of the world a background in his ears.

Then his toes touch the ground again and Danyal snaps into movement towards his closet. He puts on his usual league clothes over the old hazmat suit, feeling the layers lighten as he covers them up. Until it feels as though he’s only wearing the league clothes, and his white gloves stare in his face.

Slowly, he removes them, staring for too long at the green lines like cracks trailing up his arm.

Danyal turns away.

He has work to do, he can’t let himself be held up with small feelings like that.

As Danyal travels the halls, every step an effort to remain flat on the ground, he feels the ectoplasm within him roil, coursing faster and stronger than he ever had before, even in the Ghost Zone or in A-.

It revitalizes him and Danyal arrives to Ra’s Al Ghul’s training with bold confidence filling him.

Ra’s greets him an enigmatic smile and a challenge of his strength.

Danyal meets him kind, dodging every lunging, swiping every parry, light on his feet like he hasn’t been in years now.

Their fight lasts longer than any other they’ve had, his muscles able to hold up stronger in this form, his stamina infinite as the ectoplasm he draws from without any need for breathing or rest.

Ra’s Al Ghul is impressed even as he holds Danyal beneath his boot, his sword pressed to his neck.

Glowing green sluggishly leaks from the scratch.

Danyal pays it no mind.

Instead he stares at the small cut on the crown of Ra’s’ head, a single crimson red droplet crawling down the side of his face.

Danyal did not win. But he didn’t loose either.

Satisfaction fills him in a rush, carrying him through even as they reengage.

——

Danyal strives to reach his goals, to hit every target set out for him, beat every opponent put against him, to reach the expectations and the potential that the Demon’s head sees him.

To make himself worthy to be here, to stay.

And he knows his weaknesses hold him back, make him vulnerable, put everything-one- in danger.

So he stops being vulnerable. Stops letting his body, his weaknesses, dictate his capabilities.

Faster and faster his store of ectoplasm drains within him.

And Danyal makes himself stronger and stronger, short exposures of the Lazarus pits to keep it from stopping him.

He can’t stop.

So he keeps going, keeps training, fighting, growing- when had he gotten tall? When had he gotten older?

He keeps working, to be better, to be the best.

And as he approaches the Demon’s chambers weeks later, he is surprised to hear yelling.

More than that, he is surprised to hear Talia’s voice be the one yelling.

He pauses outside the door, eyes narrowed and body resting on the edge of invisibility.

He does not want to know the punishment for eavesdropping, nor for interrupting them… and yet…he hasn’t spoken to Talia, not truly, not since she told him the Batman was dead. Barely seen her except beside the demons’s head in ceremony as he stands at the edges of a room.

It has been entirely too reminiscent of his childhood.

Danyal’s ears prick up as the volume increases once more.

“You cannot ask me to bring him back to use him for-!”

“I do not ask for anything, Daughter! He belongs to the League! And the League to me! It was a mistake to allow you to keep-“

Ra’s’ voice drops too low to be heard through the door, muffling the rest of his words.

Danyal steps back from the door, standing in the hall with questions blooming in multitude.

Moments later, Talia Al Ghul steps through, a force of fury in every step. She catches sight of him immediately, and when Danyal makes eye contact, her eyes are filled with worry, stress, regret, a thousand what-ifs and plans and concerns.

Somehow he knows none of it is for him.

He bows slightly, and she passes by him without a word.

Danyal watches her hair flow as she retreats further and further down the hall until he finally turns around to enter the room.

Ra’s Al Ghul is waiting for him.

He gives no indication that he knows Danyal heard him, so Danyal doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t make the mistake of thinking that means Ra’s doesn’t know.

He always knows.

His training continues.

For days, and weeks, and months more, he continues.

But even a ghost cannot lie to himself forever.

——

When Damian wakes up with chains around his wrists and the familiar feeling of harsh metal beneath his knees, he is not surprised to see his mother standing in front of him.

He wishes it were only his mother.

Instead, his grandfather stands in front of him as well, eyes staring down at him with impassive judgement. Damian feels his spine straighten against his will, the feeling of ‘never good enough’ creeping through his limbs.

He glances at his mother behind Grandfather’s looming form. Her face is uncharacteristically open, the barest hint of tension evident in her jaw, her eyes almost brighter with the concern hidden behind them.

Damian forces his eyes away as Grandfather begins to speak.

“You’ve wasted your time with your father Damian,” he starts, “Letting your training go to waste as the league continues to work to better the world.”

Damian wants to sneer, a scowl forming on his face, “The league does nothing but hurt innocent people. My time as Robin has saved hundreds.”

Grandfather’s eyes sharpen, “And I see it has taken your discipline as well.”

Damian grinds his teeth, “Anything I have learned, I learned from my Father and my family,”

“Your family?” Grandfather says, his tone almost mocking as he raises an eyebrow, “You are an Al Ghul-“

“I am a Wayne too!” Damian says, straining as he rises to his feet, “I am Damian Al Ghul-Wayne! Just as you wanted me to be! And it is my choice to be a hero, to be Robin, and I stand next to Father and the others with pride!”

Grandfather’s glare intensifies, “Do not interrupt me again, Damian. You will not be exempt of the consequences.”

Damian stares him down, fear pressing against his insides with a scream too familiar to his youth.

He turns away with a click of his tongue.

Shame whispers at his cheeks.

Grandfather waves a hand blithely as he turns his back, “Bring him.” He pauses at the door, “He remains bound.”

Damian watches his Grandfather leave, his eyes drifting sideways to his mother.

“Mother, why am I here?” He demands, tone sharp and clear. He tries not to let show how lost he is.

Mother steps forward, laying a gentle hand on his face and the other at the crook of his neck, cupping his cheek as her eyes soften. Regret sits behind them.

“Mother.” He says again, pulling slightly away from her hand, “Why am I here?”

She sighs, stepping back, “The Demon’s Head has need of you.”

Then he watches her leave as well, and Damian finds his arms and hands grabbed as assassins unchain him and push him forward.

He reluctantly lets them lead him through the unfamiliar halls of wherever they are, just a few paces behind his mother.

They stop in front of an open doorway, and when Damian is dragged in front, the sight he is met with brings confusion over anything else.

In front of him is a young man, no older than Todd or even Drake, laying asleep in a hospital bed with a heart monitor attached to him.

The beeping that fills the room is shallow and unsteady, much like the boy’s breathing. His hair is dark with speckled streaks of grey and a natural paleness in his skin.

Worse than that is the IV Damian can see tucked into the crook of his arm, tube trailing up to a bag.

Slowly feeding Lazarus water into his veins.

Damian whips his head around to look at his mother, only to find her staring disdainfully at the boy in the bed.

It only serves to confuse Damian more.

What had this man done to cause his mother such ire?

“Take the sample.” His Grandfather’s voice commands. And Damian feels the arms holding him shift to a more secure grip, pulling him to his knees even as he fights them. A man in a white coat approaches him, and Damian fights harder when he notices the syringe in his hand.

The sting of the needle is dull against the fear crashing through him as his grandfather watches.

His mother looks away.

Finally, Damian jerks as the hands he now knows are Ubu’s release him, still hovering close as he is dropped. He is surprised to see that they actually took blood, rather than dosing him with something. Sedative or worse.

Damian scowls at his grandfather, but he simply looks unconcerned as the assumed doctor moves forward to take a second sample, this time from the boy laying in the bed.

“Why am I here, Grandfather?” He asks, eyeing all parties critically.

“Haven’t you realized, Damian?” His Grandfather asks with a mockingly raised eyebrow, “His heart is failing, and the Lazarus waters can only fix so much by the nature of his defects. Your brother needs you, Damian,” Grandfather says, voice serene, “And you are going to help him.”

Damian barely has a moment to process his words before the hands are pulling him back once more, he yanks his arms from their grip, “Grandfather! What are you- let me go!” Damian turns fully to incapacitate the assassins, only to have Ubu pull his binds harshly sideways and give the servants leverage enough to actually tame his movements.

“Who is he?! Mother!” Damian turns to her, unsurprised to see her turning a blind eye once again, “Mother who is he!? What is Grandfather talking about?! What are you doing!?” The assassins pull at him again, successful in getting him through the doorway as he struggles.

Just before the door closes, he hears the Doctor speak to his grandfather, and his response.

“The boy is a match Great One.”

“Good, prepare Danyal for surgery. As soon as possible.”

The surprise is enough that the door closes in his face and he is dragged back through the hallways.

He stands as much as he can, walking at pace, refusing to allow them to disrespect him by letting them drag him.

He glares at Ubu as he shuts the door of his cell between them.

Once he knows he is alone, Damian takes a better register of his situation. He is still in his Robin uniform, so that means he was out with the family- he has a brother- they’ll be looking for him. He believes he’s on a boat, the rocking, the design of the doors and walls- a brother!- he has to make sure he can be found. Grandfather has plans for him-why tell him now- he doesn’t seem to be listening to Mother’s decisions- his brother’s name is Danyal- he might be in danger-they both could- how is he going to get out-

Damian stops.

He readjusts his clothing, feeling the minute shift once more. There’s something between the collar of his suit.

Slowly, Damian runs his hand along the fabric, finding a small bump he recognizes as a tracker.

One of his own bat made trackers. But how..?

Mother.

Damian scoffs to himself. Of course, he should have known she would never show such an obvious display of affection without reason. She was still largely loyal to Grandfather, but Damian was not so naïve as to think she did not care for him at all.

The vibration of the tracker is rhythmic beneath his fingers, the only solace he gets.

His family is coming.

He knows it.

He just hopes it’s fast enough.

——

Perhaps Grandfather’s first mistake was taking him as Robin, when his family was always the most on edge, the most prepared, the most connected.

Or perhaps his first mistake was training Bruce Wayne in the first place.

Either way, Damian watches from the other side of an observation window as his Grandfather and Father engage in a fight racked with fury on both ends.

Richard jostles him, bringing his attention back into focus.

Right.

His newest brother.

He mumbles an explanation to them, words slurred as they leave his mouth. But he knows they heard him. The shock-caution-suspicion painted across their faces could mean nothing else.

Perhaps his Father was under a curse. Surely there was a limit to how many unknown children one person could have in a single lifetime?

All the same, once freed, he moves to help Drake and Richard remove the boy-brother, Danyal- from the operation table next to him, stepping over the doctors knocked unconscious at their feet.

Reluctantly, he allows Drake to support him under one arm, the anesthesia still weighing down his eyelids.

They rush through the halls like a bull, both him and Drake separating to fight off more than one assassin. Even Richard has to set down Danyal to join the fight at least once.

But finally, they make it to the Batplane idling next to the hull.

The moment they are onboard, the plane starts to move away, but his Father is still on board.

Still fighting with Grandfather as they burst through the doors, fists and weapons engaged in equal measure.

Father dodges sideways, blocking hits until he reaches the rails, then he jumps over without hesitation. And just as Damian is about to shout for him, arm reaching out futilely, Richard blows past him.

He is leaping out of the open cargo door with just as much surety as his father leapt, a cord tied around him, and with perfect precision, he watches Richard catch his father at the extension of his swing.

It’s a perfect demonstration of their partnership.

And Grandfather is left scowling out at them from the ship.

His mother stands alone and calm on the upper deck, watching.

Damian turns his attention to his family.

And to Danyal with them.

——

Returning to the cave is less of an affair than Damian may have expected from such a mission.

His father is-has been- silent for most of the flight, staring at the body of Danyal with blank eyes.

Even Drake and Richard conspicuously cast a glance back every few minutes. Damian controls himself from doing the same. He is not so undisciplined as to be as obvious.

Still, the tension only rises the longer Danyal continues to remain asleep. Even by the time Damian feels the last of the anesthesia leave his own system, Danyal is unchanged.

Damian is certain his grandfather would not choose someone so sickly to be his heir, someone so incapable of protecting themselves in this state. Surely there was a reason he was kept, a reason he was allowed this weakness when Damian was-

Regardless, Damian didn’t trust it. The others could get pulled into this invader’s lies all they wanted, Damian would be there to stop him, he was sure of it.

Still, he watches Pennyworth dote over him in the medbay, Father laying him down on a medical bed with harried care, removing his cowl with barely a thought.

Damian ground his teeth, did they not understand that this was an operative trained by his Grandfather? An assassin with no attachment to them that was favored enough by Grandfather to warrant Damian being-

Damian turned to his locker, glad to replace his weapons stores and feel the weight of his sword at his side once more. It would be a pain, but he would have to find a way to receive a package from his mother if he wanted his other sword back.

It was merely a replica of one of his betters but the desire remained.

He watched from the corner of his eye as the family began to gather in front of the Batcomputer, the screen’s light casting shadows on them even in the artificial cave lighting. Finally, they were going to be doing something.

Damian approached, lingering at the edge where he could still see through the curtains of the medbay.

“I’m not the only one who noticed a suspicious lack of life threatening wounds right?” Drake began, turned away from the console with one hand still on the keys, “I mean, there was that first surgery cut, but that was the same as on Damian. It certainly wasn’t enough to necessitate Lazarus water being entered directly into this kid’s bloodstream.”

Damian scowled, “He was like that before they attempted this. Grandfather said that there was something wrong with… Danyal’s heart, said that I would be able to fix it.”

Father cast another brief look at the medbay, Pennyworth’s shadow still moving within. “I’ll have Agent A call Leslie. Robin,” he turned towards Damian, “Did Talia or Ra’s mention anything else to you? Where .. he’s been this whole time?..Why you didn’t know of his existence?”

Damian shook his head, “No, only that he was my brother and that the pit water was being used to fix him somehow. That I was needed to save him.”

Father hums, turning back with pensive silence.

“B, we don’t even know how long this kid’s been there, he’s older than Damian,” Richard pleads. And it makes Damian duck his head with clenched fists. Who was he? Why was he so much more favored by Grandfather?

Why had they told him he was the firstborn of mother? Of father?

“He could always be a clone with advanced aging, we know Talia is capable of it, she’s done it before,” Drake adds. But the theory sits uncomfortably with all of them. Something just not quite right.

“But then why did they need Damian?” Richard says back.

Father grunts.

“Is it really…” Richard starts, “I mean, we have to consider that she actually kept it secret again. Even from Damian.”

“But B wasn’t even with Talia before that, Damian was the first time they… y’know.” Drake says, a grimace on his face at the end.

Father hums, “But I’d fought Talia before. And I had trained with Ra’s.”

“All it would have taken is one DNA sample, right.” Richard says with a sigh, carding his fingers through his hair, “Well, we might as well-“

There’s a slight clatter on the medbay level, silencing everyone as their heads snap to the sound.

When nothing follows, Father motions them all to head up, flanking the room.

Damian is the closest, entering first. No sooner does he notice Pennyworth laying on the floor before he feels a hand slip around his neck and another quickly snatch the sword at his side. Within seconds, Damian feels his back pressed against another body, the cold steel of his own sword stinging at his neck as he stares into his Father’s eyes.

Except his father is not looking at him, he’s looking at the person holding him.

Danyal.

“Where am I!? Who are you!?” The voice behind him demands, the vibration buzzing against him with the familiar staccato of Damian’s native league dialect.

His family shares a weighted look, clearly hesitant to say anything. Already Damian can see the way their fingers twitch towards weapons and utility belts.

The steel at his neck tightens, “Tell me now or I slit his neck and deliver your bodies to the Demon’s Head myself.”

Father’s stance tightens, anger pulling at his gloves even as he forces himself to put his hands up in surrender. When he answers, it is in the League dialect, “We’re not a danger to you, Danyal,” the blade doesn’t so much as twitch, “Put down the swor-“

Stephanie Brown’s voice rings out across the cave, “Hey, Kate and I just finished patrol and-“

Damian doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the sentence because the moment Brown starts speaking, his assailant’s group loosens just a bit, accompanied by a low, broken whisper of, “English?…”

Damian immediately jabs the flat of his arm up, putting the blade farther from his neck as he begins to grapple with him.

In the blur of movement, Damian sees his sword coming at him, throwing his body back with a barely a second to spare, feeling the supporting hand of Richard on his back as he joins their combined front.

Danyal now stands alone in front of them, stolen sword extended in warning.

And now that Damian can see his face, he knows why his family was hesitant… Danyal’s eyes flicker a bright Lazarus green.

“What do you want from me? Why am I here?” he demands once again.

His Father steps up, “I don’t know how much know about me: my name is Bruce Wayne,” There’s barely even a flicker of recognition, “But you might know me better as Batman.”

The eyes widen, eyes scanning them with fervor before narrowing with suspicion and denial, “The Batman is dead, the Demon’s Daughter told me so herself.”

Drake steps forward, “She was wrong. He came back-“

Damian rolls his eyes, “Clearly Mother must have told you. Do not be stupid.”

Danyal’s brow furrows, silently mouthing the word ‘mother’ beneath his breath.

“I don’t-“ He cuts himself off with a grimace, hands tightening on the shaft of the sword, “I don’t believe you, what-“

“What happened? Did we bring back the demon spawn, why are you all-“ Brown bursts into the room, words already filling the air. Only to stop when she sees Danyal.

He raises the sword at them again, noticeably less stable as he supports it with two hands, “Who are you!? Why am I here!? Tell me-“ He grunts again, putting a hand to his chest, “Tell me, now! I-“ the sword drops, Danyal using it to support himself like a cane. Father steps forward, hands extended. It only serves to make Danyal lift his head to glare at him.

“Stay back-“

“We’re only trying to help-“

“I said-“ Danyal grunts, hand clenching at his shirt as he drops to his knees, “Stay- Stay back- I’m-“

The sword falls from his hands with a metallic clatter on the stony ground, Danyal gasping for breath.

“Back- off..” He whispers, the English falling from his lips with desperation as he curls in on himself.

Father rushes forward the moment Danyal’s body goes limp, lifting him onto the medical bed as the room bursts into motion. Richard is grabbing medical equipment as Drake helps father with providing CPR as Brown moves to get Alfred, all of them quick to jump to action.

Damian slowly steps forward, picking up his abandoned sword from the floor.

He turns it over in his hands, making sure it is unharmed from the ordeal even as he watches his family rush to help each other.

Just what had Grandfather been doing to Danyal?

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/752878745769181184/call-to-my-bedside-part-2?source=share

[amandacanwrite]

The Bear and the Fox - A Halsin x Reader One Shot

Word Count || About 6,000 Words

Scenario || You are a druid adept that has been imprisoned by Kagha for trying to stop the Rite of Thorns in Halsin's absence. He returns to find you and is none to happy to see it, especially after all you have been through.

POV || 2nd Person, ungendered tav/reader.

CW || mentions of entrapment, trafficking, self-deprecation, trauma. (Please let me know if I forgot anything.)

A/n || I have been a little stressed out and have been using this as a distraction/escape. I would appreciate so much if you all let me know what you think! Requested by the lovely @drabblesandimagines, thank you for the idea and I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you for your patience in waiting for this one!

You’re almost certain Archdruid Halsin doesn’t know you exist, but it doesn’t stop you from being devastated when he doesn’t return to the Emerald Grove from his travels to the nearby goblin camp. Even if he doesn’t remember you, you certainly have never forgotten him. Nor have you been able to wrench your heart from the grip of the merciless pining that has plagued you ever since you woke up on a pile of soft hides on the floor of his vault beneath the temple.. 

The truth is, Archdruid Halsin had saved you. 

You’d been captured, at the time, by a troupe of traveling drow with the intention of taking you deep into the underdark to be used for whatever nefarious purposes they deigned. You were one of many captured, but the only druid in the lot. 

They’d entrapped you in a cage, preventing you from even taking your wildshape to flee. They’d gone between distressing you in both forms, though. They’d seemed to have a particular talent for making you miserable, and in time you’d lost a bit of your humanity to the shape of the russet and auburn fox you often favored. 

When he’d reached in to coax you out with a gentle hand, you pounced on the appendage–far too entrapped in the fear-addled mind of an animal that would sooner gnaw its own foot off than let a hunter find it caught in his leghold trap. 

But he hadn’t flinched; hadn’t even grimaced as you sank your sharpened teeth into the thick flesh of his muscled forearm and tore at it. He’d simply watched calmly as you got it out of your system. When you’d realized he was an unyielding mass of man, you’d backed into the farthest corner of your kennel and cowered. 

“Fear not, little one,” he’d cooed with that gentle, gravelly tone. “You are among friends now. I only wish to ensure you’re uninjured, and you can be on your way to find your mate or your burrow.”

You’d only blinked and he swapped his bleeding arm for his other one. You’d sniffed cautiously before dropping your head and your ears. He’d not needed any other sign, he’d known the way animals communicate; with gestures and body language rather than sounds.

He’d smoothed a hand over your ratty coat; it was the first kind touch you’d felt in months. You’d leaned yourself into it and he’d used the opportunity to scoop you up into his arms. 

Perhaps it was at that moment that you’d fallen for him. Because as soon as you’d registered the strong and tender support of his warm, cradling arms, you’d suddenly realized how exhausted you’d been. You lost hold on your wildshape and changed back to your humanoid form, unclothed and skinny. 

He’d started, adjusted his grip a little clumsily as you’d spilled out of the space he’d allotted in his arms for you; but he didn’t drop you.

“You surprised me, child,” he’d said as you’d started to drift into unconsciousness. “I’d certainly thought it was strange to go through such stringent measures for a single fox, but I see now why they’d made such efforts to keep you entrapped.”

He’d reached up to brush your tangled hair away from your face. “I can see you’re exhausted. Rest now; when you wake, you’ll be safe and warm with a meal and a warm bath awaiting you.”

He hadn’t lied, and the Emerald Grove had quickly become your home in the months and years that had passed since then. You’d seen Halsin around, of course. And he always seemed to have a smile to spare for you as you passed like swans floating in a pond. But you’d never quite been able to find a way to speak to him in private. 

Perhaps it was your fault, you think, as you find yourself in a new cage, heart broken and aching as it seems less and less likely that he will ever be coming back. 

You know Halsin to be strong. He’s a seven foot elf and built like the cave bear he so often likes to take the shape of. But there is only so much a single druid can do on his own, even one as competent as Halsin. 

It hurts to be facing the possibility of rotting in the cells below the grove–below the place that had so much begun to feel like home for you, finally. It hurts to realize you may die here having never told Halsin how you feel about him. 

But perhaps it’s better this way. Perhaps it is better to die having never faced the awkward acknowledgement of feeling that could never be returned. 

Halsin has always been effusive, warm, welcoming…brave. 

But there is a reason you chose the fox for your wildshape. 

You have always been furtive, timid, too reliant on a single person. It has always been your nature, but you can’t deny the fundamental absurdity of the fox falling for the bear. At best, you could only be an inconvenient pest to him. You’re sure of that much. 

Still…you miss the sun…you wish you could see it one more time. You’d always wanted to die bathed in the sunlight, not cold and damp in a stone chamber flooded with three inches of water. You curl into yourself, hugging your knees close, trying to remember the feeling of those warm arms around you as the Rite of Thorns continues somewhere above ground, heedless of your pleas for stalling, uncaring of the courage you’d had to summon to stand up to Kagha at all. 

Kagha had never cared much for you; found you weak and miserable. 

Pathetic. That was the word you’d heard bandied around when she didn’t know you were within earshot or when you were cozily cloaked by your shadows. 

“You should have just kept your mouth shut,” you tell yourself. 

But even you don’t really believe that. Not truly. You found kindred spirits in the Teiflings who had come to find refuge in the grove. You’d even played with the children in their little hiding spot beneath the old stone structures. 

When the goblins came screaming the name of the Absolute, when Halsin left to learn more about the parasites, you’d been shocked and frightened by the sudden turn of sentiments against them and gotten swept away in your own outrage over it. As far as you’d been concerned, everyone in the grove should have been well aware of what Halsin would have tolerated. They should have known that he’d want any living being to be safe and fed–especially the children. 

But it’d seemed that even the Emerald Grove druids were merely people; they were just as vulnerable to intimidation, coercion and power hunger as anyone else in Faerun. 

You shiver in the cold and the dank, wishing you could get some rest so that you could take your wildshape and find warmth in the silken texture of your auburn coat. 

You think of the nights curled up by the fire in Halsin’s secret cache while he allowed you a smaller space to acclimate to when you’d first arrive. You remember the feeling of large, gentle hands cradling your small, vulpine body in comfort as you slept. 

It’s at that moment that you hear the scuff of loud, fast foot fall on the decrepit stairs that lead down to this sodden prison. It’s followed by heavy, hurried sloshing before, as if out of thin air, Halsin stands before you. His hands are wrapped around the thick, stone bars of your enclosure so tightly that they are white at the knuckles. His broad chest rises and falls with exertion; or is that emotion? It is hard to know. 

He looks…utterly stricken. So much so that you wonder what happened to devastate him. Did he get back to The Grove to find all of the tieflings slaughtered? Did the tieflings rise up and destroy the grove before the Rite of Thorns could be finished? 

He opens his mouth and you expect terrible news–expect the worst. 

“A-are you alright?” is what he chokes out instead. 

You’re quiet for a moment; the question not making sense to you. Why in the world would he care if you were alright? You were…nobody. A druidic adept that found much more comfort tucked into a nest of blankets than anything else. You’d failed to stop the Rite. You’d failed at almost everything in your life so far. 

Has he…is it too dark down here? Does he think he’s talking to someone else? 

He grits his teeth and starts to wrestle with the door to your cell. 

Its mechanism is like the others in the temple; controlled by a stone tablet which should be placed in the proper slot and then activated with druidic magic. But he’s trying to use his own raw strength to open it. 

“Forgive me,” he grunts as the stone actually begins to give way, heeding his command. “I should have never left you here while The Grove was tangled in so much unrest. Had I thought the Kagha…had I known–”

“Archdruid,” you stammer. “You’re going to hurt yourself–”

“I care not,” he says, his tone taking on an almost ferocious quality that has you lifting your shoulders and shrinking into yourself. “It is you I am most concerned for. You had only just begun to smile and I– because of my negligence I find you entrapped all over again.”

Your mouth drops open as you realize that he actually came down here looking for you. Specifically to find you. To save you again. 

You are small; practically half the size of the archdruid. Yet, you suddenly recognize that he is trying to free you and you are just sitting there like some kind of dead fish. You stand to your feet and hurry over to the bars, grasping two of the other juts of stone and pulling it as he pushes. 

You’re not sure, but for a moment you think you see the barest ghost of a smile before his teeth clench again with effort. 

When the door is finally forced open a few inches, you release the stone. You roll your shoulders, shake out the tension in your hands. You will yourself to become smaller, to become lithe. You will your mouth to grow sharp, unforgiving teeth. You become vulpine. 

You slosh through the water on four padded feet and dash through the opening. 

For a moment, you almost flee up the stairs, ready to retreat to the fresh salty air outside. Ready to resign yourself to life as a fox. 

But Halsin drops to his knees and you look at him as he looks at you. 

He reaches a hand out to you, and you see the faint, silvery scars on his forearm from where you tore into him on the day you met. You sniff at him for a moment, then you shift back to your human form, carefully cradling his arm in your hands. 

“Did it get infected?” you ask. “After I gnawed at you?”

His brow is low and lips turn down at the corners. 

“No,” he says. 

“I don’t understand,” you say. “You shouldn’t have scarred…you should have been able to simply heal yourself.”

“I was able,” he says. “But I was unwilling. I…I didn’t want to forget.”

You look up at him. “Why?” you ask. 

There is the sound of chaos from up the stairs. You turn your head, letting your ears tune into the finer details of it as the quiet ambience of the water dripping and sloshing around you obscures it. As your focus narrows, you hear her. 

“She’s back,” Halsin sneers. “Kagha has finally returned.”

You look at him, your eyes wide as if you’re seeing him for the first time. The expression on his face is nothing short of raw, wild fury. He is the snarl of a wolf, he is the crackle of wildfire, he is the dark promise of death in a row of pointed teeth. 

He draws his arm back, stopping to take both of your small hands in his. His expression softens. “I will tell all,” he says. “But not before I punish the one who did this to you. Not before I see justice properly served for all of the disarray and cruelty enacted in my absence.”

You try to find a way to answer, but you can’t, settling instead for a dumbfounded nod. 

He stands and, once at his full height, shifts the position of his hand to cradle yours; offering you help, but also offering you the chance to help yourself. You grasp that hand and he tightens the muscles of his arms as you use his strength and stability to get yourself back up to your feet. 

“I am loathe to leave you down in this terrible place…but if you’re too frightened to face her…” he offers. 

“I’m not…” you say. “O-or at least I won’t be…not with you there.”

He graces you with the first real smile he’s given you since he suddenly appeared before you and you think you may no longer need the sun if he can continue looking at you just like that. 

“Come,” he says. “I want you to be part of this discussion.”

You follow Halsin, dwarfed in his shadow as you ascend the craggy steps, your soft leather shoes uncomfortably soggy and embarrassingly loud as you go. It feels almost surreal to be acknowledged by Halsin. Even more strange that he remembers you–that he seemed to have come to seek you out before anything else. 

There are more questions than answers immediately available, and you’re not sure you’ll have the nerve to ask those questions when all is said and done. 

When Halsin reaches the top of the stairs, he stops and looks back at you, giving you a calm smile as you quicken the pace of your last few steps to catch up with you. 

Now that you’re in better light, his brow faintly tenses and he reaches out for you. You go utterly still as he places two of his fingertips under the very tip of your chin, using the most minute bit of pressure to turn your face. 

“You’re hurt,” he says. “I didn’t see it in the darkness of the cells.”

You’d forgotten about the injury on your face–it’s not one you’d actually gotten to see before you were imprisoned, but you’d felt it throbbing for the entire day you were there. 

“It’s just a bruise,” you say. 

He removes his hand from beneath your chin and draws those same finger tips carefully over the curve of your brow. You wince slightly as he touches the most tender part and shakes his head. 

“There’s a split in your brow,” he says. “It will scar…”

You heave a little breathy chuckle. “Perhaps it will make me look more distinguished,” you say as you meet his hazel eyes. “You certainly wear them well.”

His heartbroken expression eases up and he shakes his head, hesitant amusement on his face. “If I wear them well, then you’ll be exquisite as ever with your own,” he says. “Still–that you were hurt because of my absence–”

“The fox was caught sticking it’s nose where it didn’t belong and was appropriately punished for it,” A familiar, haughty voice interrupts. “Don’t let the little bandit fill your head with untruths.”

Halsin takes your hand in his and pulls you slightly behind him as he also moves to block you from Kagha’s sight. It’s a protective measure, but he doesn’t force you to hide. Instead, it feels like he’s asserting his position as your protector–as the protector of any who are weaker than him–while allowing your agency to remain intact should you wish to take the lead.

“I don’t want to hear about your paranoia Kagha–I’ve heard enough of it to turn my stomach,” he says, that gravelly voice gaining an almost abrasive quality. “Tell me why I shouldn’t turn you out–or hand you over the shadow druids you’ve been cavorting with?” 

You watch as Kagha goes pale and your stomach churns with a dizzying mixture of nausea and fear. 

The shadow druids. The order of druidic magic that lay closest to the dark. The drow, the deep gnomes, Shar. Everything that represents the terror you’d once experienced crammed into a too-small cage. 

How could she? How could she want to work with them?! And then to have a nerve to call you a fox in the hen house. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you say, your voice quiet but steady. “I was only looking for a way to convince you that we needn’t go through with the ritee…”

“By snooping in places you DON'T belong,” Kagha says. 

“Perhaps it is you who does not belong here,” you snap. 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Halsin growls. “You do not deserve to remain here, yet it is Nature who will determine what becomes of you. One thing is certain: my teachings have clearly not made the difference here. You are to start anew—be made a novice once again.”

“You can’t do that—“ Kagha starts. 

“I am the First Druid in this Grove and I will do whatever I see fit to protect the people who call this place their home!” Halsin booms. “Kagha, you failed me. You failed everyone who relied on you!”

“That fox is an outsider. Ever since you pulled it in by its scruff it has done nothing but consume priceless resources and shrink into the corner like a frightened rodent. If you so crave balance—“

“Enough!” Halsin barks. “I will hear no more of this.”

“But—“ Kagha says. 

“I said enough. Get out of my sight before I lose hold of my humanity and tear you to shreds,” Halsin snarled. 

He says it loudly and deeply enough that it echoes in the stone chamber. Even you flinch a bit at the sudden fury coming off of him. You can almost smell it coming off of him–the adrenaline, the willingness to fight and gnash at Kagha. 

Kagha has the good sense to dip her head in deference. 

“Understood, First Druid Halsin,” she says. 

“Good,” he says, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “Now. Apologize.”

Her head snaps up again and her gaze slides over to you, sharp as an arrowhead. The silence between you carries the same anticipatory nausea of waiting for a cobra to strike. You can sense quite well that Kagha may be properly chastened for her actions in the grove, but her opinion of you seems to remain the same. 

Pathetic, you remember. That’s what you are to her. 

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’m just happy to be free again.”

“No,” he commands. “It is not fine. You did what was right and were punished for it. Kagha. Will. Apologize.”

Your heart stutters and pounds in your ears. You know Halsin means well. You know he is angry on your behalf, and that he wants to see you treated kindly, but you don’t like confrontation.You think that ferocity is meant to be directed to Kagha, but you’re not entirely sure. Flashes of terror and confusion climb out of the burial ground of your mind. Memories of a cramped cage, the smell of blood, the sound of pained mewling, angry shouting in a language you don’t understand and the pain of punishment when a command you didn’t understand was not followed.

You don’t want this display; you do not want to be the vehicle of this lesson. You don’t want to rock the boat unless the situation is absolutely dire; especially now that you’ve proven just how little efficacy you have when you insert yourself into the matters of people who do not like you or simply have more investment in their own interests than in the interests of the collective. It feels like a leg snare waiting to lock down on you and you’re not sure you can escape it this time.

The tension between Halsin and Kagha sings at a tenor that pierces your ears. Or is that your adrenaline? You’re not sure. Whatever it is, your muscles are sore and aching; wound tightly and ready to spring at the first sight of danger; the first sign of movement toward you.

Halsin spares a glance your way, perhaps sensing that growing tension. Your eyes dart up to his as your body starts to tremble, not with fear, but with the urge to act. You are a small, scrappy creature locked in a stand-off with a larger predator. 

His expression softens, looking almost apologetic. 

“Easy, little one,” he says as he reaches his hand out to touch you. 

Your mind is more feral than human by then. Just before he can actually touch you, you drop into a crouch and dart away from him, your heart hammering painfully against your sternum like an animal backed in a cage. You feel that wild urge to scratch, to gnaw, to snarl. 

His expression drops into one of worry, his guilt clear in his expression and in the way he bends at the knees, lowering himself and making himself small like one might when trying to calm an injured animal. 

“You are safe, dear one,” he says. “You are safe.”

You don’t believe him. It doesn’t feel safe here, not anymore. Perhaps never again. 

A sound comes from behind you and you lurch forward, losing your footing on your slick, damp boots, falling hard onto the palms of your hands before you get back up to your feet and fly through the old temple and scrambling out of the door. 

You simply run, your mind a blur of colors and raw, terrible fear. You can’t even register and savor the feeling of the sun on your skin or the sweet, salty breeze coming off of the lower cove. You run, and run, and run until familiar sights bleed into unfamiliar ones; until the wound up tension in your muscles gives way to trembling exhaustion. 

You don’t immediately recognize where you are, but you find a little alcove tucked into a glen of oak trees, their trunks fat with age and their canopies heavy with acorns and boughs full of leaves. 

The sun shines through the eaves, coloring the long grasses in deep emeralds and dappled yellow light. You sit against one of the trees, feeling the steady presence of Sylvanus as you gulp in desperate, exhausted breaths, your heart still hammering loudly in your ears. You rest your head back against the tree and close your eyes for just a moment. You breathe, and then you breathe again. Distance from the grove gives you a moment to realize just what being in that place was doing to you. 

The politics, the prejudice, the precarious balance between the available resources and the people who needed them most. You always do better on your own. There’s a reason the form of a fox comes to you most naturally; they aren’t pack animals. As it so happens, apparently, neither are you. 

So why had you stayed so long? 

The fear of being captured again, perhaps. 

Or maybe it was the Teiflings–you’d found a little group of friends among them; enjoyed sharing a drink with Dammon once in a while. 

But neither of those seem to ring true for you, in reality. 

No, what really seems to be the reason is the other part of foxes that makes the most sense to you. 

That they tend to find a mate, have a family, and remain with them for life. 

A reality you’d spent the last several years trying to avoid. Because there was only really one person keeping you at the grove. And that person was Halsin. 

He’s just…

He’s everything you wish you could be. 

He’s everything you wish you could have.

But you can’t. Because at the end of the day you’re just some animal, fleeing the first offer of help and biting down on the hand that feeds you. There’s regret in this moment. Regret that you will never get to inquire about the expressions on Halsin’s face; about the reasons he came to free you so quickly. 

But the regret gives way to exhaustion and as you soak in the speckled rays of sunlight, feeling truly warmed for the first time in days–perhaps even weeks–you drift into a dreamless sleep. 

It’s the quiet sound of metal against wood that wakes you. 

The manner in which you wake is not a lurch; not an abrupt burst of movement that feels like you’re gasping for air. It’s the slow, soft blinking of an afternoon nap becoming an evening laze. In breathe in through your nose, slow and deep, faintly aware of the feeling of soft fur against your bare feet. 

You feel swaddled by warmth. Wrapped in the familiar scents of clove, moss and tobacco. 

You finally open your eyes and find a fire crackling before you, hemmed in by stones half-darkened by clay, as if someone collected them recently to guard the oaks from the danger of an unkempt flame. 

You don’t put it together at first that you’ve been moved; specifically that you’ve been laid down within a comfortable bedroll. That the smell infused into the furs is comforting because of the man sitting not even a few feet away; the source of the sound of metal against wood. 

You crane your head up to find him. Halsin Silverbough quietly focused on a block of soft wood, whittling away at it. You just watch him for a few seconds, almost dazed that he’s here with you. 

“Is this a dream?” You ask. 

His knife slips a little clumsily, he hadn’t noticed you were awake. He drops his hands into his lap and turns his head to smile down at you. 

“Do I often visit you in your dreams, dear heart?” he asks. 

Hearing that gravelly timbre and that tender pet name sets your blood on fire. You feel a flush rising to your face and you can’t keep from bringing the covers up to hide the evidence. His eyes crinkle with mirth and he lets out a pleasant, easy laugh. The easiest you’ve heard him laugh in…well, ever. 

“Forgive me for laughing,” he says, setting his little project aside. “You gave me quite a scare when you ran off like that. But I suppose I can’t blame you for reacting that way…I know how hard it is for you when tension is high. Forgive me for being inconsiderate of those feelings by making you the instrument of Kagha’s repentance.”

You’re quiet for a long time, unsure what to say. You finally settle for, “How far did I run?”

His brows rise a bit and he heaves out a bit of a grumbling breath as he thinks about it. “Hard for me to ever tell how long a distance is, but we’re somewhere near the goblin camp at that old temple of Selune,” he says. “Lucky for us that I cleared it with a group of adventurers today. Otherwise, I fear I would have made things much worse for you by tackling you down before you could get too close to their camp.”

You bite the inside of your lip, trying not to imagine your body tangling with his. Your face is red enough. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you say, still beneath the covers. “I was so devastated when you didn’t come back from the goblin camp.”

“I’ve been worrying about you since I left,” he says. “I was…I wasn’t behaving calmly when I found you. I wasn’t acting in a way befitting a First Druid.”

“No one is above their own natural drives,” you say. “Anger is a natural reaction to disobedience.”

He looks at you, his brow creasing. “You think I was angry because Kagha disobeyed me?” he says. 

“It’s as good a reason as any,” you say. 

He inhales. Hesitates. Then inhales again before saying, “You asked me about the scars on my arm. Why I didn’t want to forget them.”

“Yes,” you say. “But then Kagha came back…”

“I know,” he says. “But I’d like to answer that question now. Now that I’m calm.”

There’s something in his gaze that feels heavy and significant. You slowly rise from your position tucked away in the bedroll, letting the furs fall away from you. You notice, now, that your damp boots have been placed on the other side of the fire to dry, along with your socks. A small act of care a lesser man may have never thought to do for you. 

You turn to face Halsin and he turns to face you. 

“When we found you…that day with the drow,” he says. “You…reminded me of something I went through as a young adept. A time in which I was kept as an unwilling guest in a drow lord’s estate. As time goes on, it’s easy to forget those things that have happened to me, or to minimize what I went through. 

“In truth, I admired you. I admired how you snarled and gnashed at my hand when you were barely the size of my forearm. I admired the way you reached out for care when I housed you while you got back on your feet…for a while I feared that you were never going to heal. But then I realized that you were strong in a different way…in a way that I was not.”

“I’m not strong,” you say, shaking your head. 

“You are,” he insists. “Strength is not only measured in brute force. It’s not measured in violence and demands and power. It’s in how you wake up every day, how you rise out of your bed and try to be better than the day before. What I experienced…I shoved it deep down inside of me until the pain was forgotten, but I watched you facing yours every day.”

You’re shocked to hear this, because in your recollection you struggled each day. In the beginning, you were frightened of everyone and everything, and the only thing that allowed you to function at all was the desire to be worth the effort Halsin made in saving you. 

“Then…then I learned of you trying to stop the Rite of Thorns, and of you winding up imprisoned again in the very place you should have been safest,” he says, his anger a quiet undercurrent as he remembers newly. “I was so terrified that you would fully retreat back inside yourself, but then you stood and put your small hands on the stone door, snarling at your entrapments just as you were that day I met you.”

You remember his smile, a brief flash when you came to help. 

“Am I still strong if I run away from the grove?” you ask. 

“You wish to leave?” he asks. 

“...I’ve realized, Halsin,” you say, your voice quivering. “I’m not well suited for the social hurdles involved with remaining with the druids…and that the only reason I’ve stayed is because…”

You swallow tightly, words lodging in your throat. Halsin is silent, ever patient as he waits for you to speak. 

“Halsin, I have loved you for some time now, I think,” you say. “I know that I am young and that I can’t hope to compete with your past lovers or even the braver druids back at the grove. I know that you hardly have the time for romance, and that even if you did, you likely wouldn’t spend that precious time with me–”

“Hah…you sound so certain,” he says, his voice quiet and contemplative. 

It’s your turn to be silent, now. You bring your gaze up to meet his again and he is smiling so gently at you. “The only reason,” he says finally, “the only reason that I have not invited you to my bed is that I didn’t want to cause you inadvertent harm by placing pressure on you that you wouldn’t have the resolve to deflect. I didn’t want to risk my position as the first druid making you feel as if you couldn’t say no to me.”

You blink, the world coming to a screeching halt around you. 

Halsin…wants you? You?

You shake your head, feeling your face begin to blaze like you’ve come down with a fever. 

“Well, I suppose it’s moot,” you say. “I can’t expect you to leave the Emerald Grove with me.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “I’ve already left.”

“What?” you say. 

“Did you think I packed a bedroll and a pack just to come retrieve you?” he says through a chuckle before he heaves out a rough sigh. “No, truth be told, my heart, I have long become disillusioned with my place among the druids in the grove and with you and the ache of old pains, I can no longer say that my heart is fully in it. The adventurers who released me…they are making their way to the shadowlands and I hope that if I join them, I can undo an old failure from a century ago. Finally heal the ache instead of simply avoiding it. I’m hoping that I can be more like you.”

You feel breathless for a moment, even more so when his eyes lock on yours. 

“It will be frightening, my love,” he says. “The shadow curse makes the underdark look like a stroll after midnight. But if you still feel the way you’ve told me you do and if you can trust me to continue protecting you, I would have you in my tent with me greeting each day together.”

You don’t speak, not because you’re uncertain, but because you want to savor this moment. 

Halsin loves you.

The bear has fallen for the fox. 

And he wants you by his side. 

It is the purest bliss you have ever felt. You think you could die happily in the shadow cursed lands if it is a sacrifice you make for him. 

You will protect him. 

And he will protect you. 

“Dear heart,” Halsin says, his nerves coming through his voice. “You torture me by keeping me in suspense. Please know if you don’t wish for this you needn’t agree. I know what I ask of you is–”

“I’m going with you,” you say freeing him from the discomfort you’ve resided in for years. “Of course I’m going with you, Halsin.”

The smile he gives you is nothing short of miraculous. 

“Nature blesses me with you,” he says. “Now come here, I need to enjoy you before I take you to meet the others. I have waited so very long for the opportunity, and I have until nightfall to make good on it, if you will have me.”

The image of your body tangled with his appears in your mind’s eye again. You rise to your feet and stride over to him, slipping your fingers into his wild hair. He cups the back of your thigh with a large hand before coaxing you to sit on his lap. 

Where he kisses you for the very first time.

May the oak father bless you with countless others. 

Taglist|| @itty-bitty-dancer @thoughts-of-bear @tryingtowritestuff24 @drabblesandimagines @soupaisu @ladyoakenshield157 @ladytesla @incrediblethirst @baldurs-gate-simp @themidnighttiger @rayskittles33 @hippiewrites @whisperingwillowxox @ethereal-sk1es @cosywinterevenings @themartiansdaughter @brain-has-left @any59 @madwomansapologist @midnightmoonytales @unaliveoni @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @kellerybird @tiedyedghoulette @jenn-duncan @thelittledoe @esotericeribos @robingreysantos @erwinmybeloved @itdobe-foggy @witchywannabe3263 @kaimxri @cryingoverpixelsetc @theoriginalannoyingbird

[queenofterrasen418]

Cruel Fates (Part 2)

Pairing: Azriel x f!Reader, little Eris x f!Reader

Summary: Azriel is your mate but only you know it. You are very aware that he has eyes for someone else and thus you decide not to hide it forever. After all, what could go wrong right?

Warnings: Angst (I don't think I can ever stop myself from writing angst.)

Based on this ask.

4.1K words

Part 1 | Part 3

You found yourself aimlessly wandering along the banks of Sidra after storming out on Rhys. The ambient noise enveloped you—the rhythmic splashes of the river against rocks, the bustling chatter of the market, birds chirping in the background. Everything felt mundane, yet strangely comforting. Ignoring your problems wasn’t a solution, as Rhys had pointed out, but it was undeniably easier than facing or even acknowledging them. Nevertheless, you had resigned yourself to the current state of affairs.

Using distraction as your shield, you returned home burdened with bags filled with new books, clothes, and other unnecessary items. As you entered the elegant two-story building you called home, a sense of familiarity and solace washed over you. This palace had become a sanctuary, a reflection of your own essence.

Closing the door behind you with a soft thud, you were greeted by the familiar scent of citrus and jasmine. Setting down the bags, you kicked off your shoes. The silence of the house stood in stark contrast to the lively atmosphere of the market. Just as thoughts of Azriel slipped from your mind, your senses sharpened, recognizing the subtle hum of shadows.

"Ah, the shadow singer. Ever heard of knocking or privacy?" you quipped, though you didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

"I'm a spymaster; it's not in my nature," he replied with his customary soft smile.

Refusing to let your gaze linger on him for too long, you busied yourself by fetching a glass of water.

"How can I assist you, Azriel?" you inquired as you filled the glass in the kitchen beyond the hall where he stood. You still felt a distance from him, not quite comfortable enough to address him as Az like your sisters, Feyre or Elain, did.

"Can't I simply enjoy your company?" he teased, his voice gentle.

Turning away, you closed your eyes for a moment, mentally reminding yourself to compartmentalize. "He's just being polite," you repeated to yourself, trying to drown out the nagging voice in your head that reminded you of Elain's constant talk about him. "He treats Elain the same."

You scoffed, hoping it didn’t come across as too rude. "Yeah, sure. Now, what brings you here?"

"We're expecting Eris to arrive in a few hours, around sunset. Rhys wanted me to ask if you've changed your mind."

Ah, you had forgotten about the impending meeting with the prince. You sighed. "And Rhys couldn’t ask me himself because?" It was a rhetorical question, but Azriel seemed unaware.

"He mentioned that you two had a disagreement, and he wasn’t sure if you'd be open to talking."

"Of course, I'll talk to him. I’m not a child," you replied, your brows furrowing. "And yes, I still intend to attend that meeting."

Azriel nodded, his expression unreadable as always. "Good to know. In that case, he asked me to inform you that you’ll have to deal with this meeting on your own, there are some crises with an Illyrian camp that he had to attend to, and he is running late.”

“Oh,” A part of you was glad that Rhys let you handle this, “It’ll just be me then?”

The spymaster shook his head, “Of course not, I’ll accompany you.”

You nodded as you were unsure of the right response, “Is there anything else I should know before I meet Eris?”

Azriel paused and started slowly, “My shadows tell me he wishes to overthrow his father. But it’s difficult to know what’s the truth.”

“Ahh, that’s why Rhys put me on this.”  you realized as Azriel nodded in response.

You wondered why Rhys requested you accompany him to a meeting with Eris. The powers you got from the cauldron were unique. Your ability ranges from slowing a person's pulse to snatching the air from their lungs as long as the target must be in your line of sight. You can command human organs and regulate emotions by releasing certain chemicals in the body. This allows you to induce suffocation by removing air from someone's lungs, controlling blood flow, causing heart attacks, dictating heart rhythm, and slowing healing. Aside from being extremely valuable in a battle, you can also act as a living lie detector, by monitoring a person’s physiological response.

“Alright, I’ll be there, is there anything else?” 

Azriel looked like he was about to say something before he muttered a no.

“You know better than to lie to me, what is it?”

He signed before he finally asked, “I knew that you and Rhys got close in a short time but I didn’t realise you were close enough that he trusted you to handle a meeting alone. That too with Eris.”

“Honestly, I didn't know either.” you said, “Rhys and I connected so quickly that it felt like I had known him for years, he is the older brother I never had. I am glad that he trusts me to handle this.”

You noticed a strange emotion flash in his eyes for a quick second before he gave a soft smile “I am happy for him, I am glad he found a friend in you, y/n. Cassian and I may be his brothers but he still doesn't confide in us completely, he is too afraid to burden us. Feyre and you are good for him.”

You returned his smile, “We all need someone to lean on.” 

“Well, Is there anything you need assistance with before then?", he asked.

You shook your head, dismissing any further conversation. "No, I'll manage. Thank you, Azriel."

He lingered for a moment, as if debating whether to say something else, but ultimately turned to leave without another word.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. It wasn’t directed at Azriel, but rather at yourself for the walls you had built, preventing anyone from getting too close. Yet, at the same time, you couldn’t bear the thought of letting those walls crumble, leaving you vulnerable to the possibility of rejection. Aside from that, even if he did feel the same way, how long will it last? That too with your newly immortal lifespan? You have witnessed true love fall apart in a short time in the human lands. How would it not end in anything but pain in the life of an immortal? If there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that to love, is to destroy. Not telling Azriel was the best option for yourself, you were not going to invite pain to your doorstep.

With a heavy heart, you retreated to your room. You knew that sooner or later, Azriel would find out but for now, you allowed yourself the temporary respite of distraction. 

Later that day, the anticipation of Eris's arrival hung heavy in the air as you prepared for the meeting. Despite your best efforts to focus on the task at hand, thoughts of Azriel and the unresolved tension between you lingered at the edges of your mind.

As the sun began its descent, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, a knock at the door signalled Eris's arrival. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you made your way to the entrance, your heart pounding in your chest.

Opening the door, you were met with the sight of Eris standing tall and imposing, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His eyes, a striking shade of amber, sparkled with mischief as he took in your appearance.

If you were to describe him, you'd call him the living embodiment of fire. 

He was the light to Azriel's dark, they were opposite in every way possible.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't the infamous Y/N," he drawled, his voice smooth like silk. "I must say, you're even more captivating in person."

You rolled your eyes at his flattery, though you couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement that his words stirred within you. "Save the charm, Eris. It won’t work on me."

He chuckled, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you, the air between felt charged, "You wound me, darling. I assure you, my intentions are nothing but genuine."

Before you could retort, Azriel appeared beside you, his presence like a sudden gust of wind that left you breathless. Though his expression remained neutral, you couldn’t shake the feeling of tension radiating from him.

You did miss how Azriel's heart rate was unusually increased, while Eris' remained stable calm and genuine, just like he mentioned before. 

“Eris," Azriel greeted with a nod, his voice devoid of warmth.

"Az," Eris replied, his smirk widening as he used Azriel's nickname. "Always a pleasure."

The air crackled with unspoken tension as the three of you made your way to the meeting room. Eris's gaze lingered on you, his eyes flickering with a mixture of curiosity and desire that sent a shiver down your spine as you all took your seats.

“Imagine how surprised I was when my high lord told me that you had requested a meeting with the night court.” you began holding the prince’s eyes.

“I had requested to meet Rhysand but I am not complaining. You are far better to look at.” Eris said with a smirk that never seemed to leave his face.

“I'll inform him that you were pleased by the arrangement.” you replied with an earnest smile.

Maybe this could be fun, you thought.

Maybe you found Eris fun.

As Eris seemed to give another flirty retort, Azriel spoke.

“Why are you here?

“Ugh! You are no fun Azriel. It’s not like you don't know already.”

You raise your brows at him, asking him to elaborate. 

Eris obliged, “I want to…” he  seemed to pause choosing his words carefully, “relieve my father from his duties and be the high lord of Autumn court.”

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh at his words, “‘relieve my father of his duties’? My, my, whatever happened to daddy's loyal boy?” 

You caught the slight upper tilt of Azriel's lips just as your powers detected the slight rise in the pulse of Eris before it slowed down again.

“Apparently he's not as loyal as you thought.”

“How can we trust you?”

“Who are you kidding, princess? I'd be a fool not to know about your interesting powers.”

“Fair enough, what does the night court have to do with this?”

“Help me, to get rid of my father, support my claim as the high lord.”

“Why would we do that? We’d then be replacing one monster for another.” you shot back.

If your words affected him, he showed no signs of it, physically at least, but the small spike in his cortisol levels and the drop in his pulse told you your words hit their mark.

Eris's smile tightened ever so slightly, but he maintained his composure, leaning back in his chair with an air of practised ease. "I can see why you might think that, but I assure you, I'm not my father. Unlike Beron, I see the value in alliances and mutual benefit."

Azriel crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. "Convincing words, Eris, but words are cheap. What do you have to offer in return for our support?" 

You couldn’t honestly remember when was the last time you had heard him speak this much, or if you had ever interacted with him for more than a few words.

Eris's gaze flickered to Azriel, then back to you. "Information. My father is planning something that could have catastrophic consequences for all of us. He's been working with a human queen—one who has a vested interest in starting a new war between our realms."

Your heart skipped a beat, a sense of dread settling over you. "Which queen?"

Eris's expression grew grave. "Queen Briallyn. She's amassed a formidable army and is working with my father to create a weapon that could tip the scales in her favour."

You exchanged a glance with Azriel, whose stoic expression betrayed a flicker of concern. "What kind of weapon?"

"One that can manipulate the very fabric of magic itself," Eris replied, his voice low and serious. "It could render even the most powerful High Lords and their courts defenceless."

Azriel's eyes darkened. "And you have proof of this?"

Eris reached into his coat and pulled out a small, intricately carved box. He placed it on the table and opened it to reveal a collection of documents and maps. "These are the plans and correspondences between my father and Queen Briallyn. Everything you need to verify my claims is right here."

You leaned forward, scrutinizing the documents. The meticulous detail and undeniable authenticity left little room for doubt. 

You sighed passing the letters to the shadowsinger. "Just when we thought Prythian had a moment of rest."

Eris met your gaze, his expression was earnest. "Our courts need to work together."

You considered his words, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. It was a risk, but the potential consequences of inaction were too dire to ignore. "Assuming we agree to help, how do you propose we go about it?"

Eris's smirk returned, though there was a determined glint in his eyes. "We can meet regularly and update eachother with what we know and proceed from there."

Azriel's gaze remained fixed on Eris, his expression unreadable. "And what guarantees do we have that you won't betray us once you have what you want?"

Eris leaned forward, his amber eyes burning with intensity. "You have my word and the knowledge that if I betray you, I'll be signing my own death warrant. Beron would kill me in a heartbeat. I need this alliance as much as you do."

You took a deep breath, weighing the risks and benefits. Finally, you nodded. "Alright, Eris. We'll discuss this with our high lord and get back to you. But know this—if you betray us, there will be nowhere in this world you can hide."

Eris inclined his head, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "Understood. Now, I've always been curious about your powers," he began, his tone light but laced with genuine interest. "I've heard rumours, but I find that firsthand accounts are always more... enlightening."

You arched an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a guarded expression. "Have you now, Eris? And I’m not in the habit of revealing my secrets to just anyone." Your powers were not publicized much, you and Rhys decided it was more advantageous to keep it quiet. But they weren’t a secret either.

Eris chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "Ah, but I'm not just anyone, am I? People talk about you being able to control the very essence of life itself. Now, that sounds rather impressive, don't you think?"

You chuckled softly, crossing your arms. "Rumours tend to exaggerate. I'm sure the truth is far less exciting."

Eris took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Is that so? From what I understand, you can manipulate the body on a molecular level. Imagine the possibilities... and the danger."

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Dangerous, perhaps, but only to those who give me a reason to use it."

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "Fair enough. But tell me, how does it work? Do you just think about it and—poof—someone's heart stops beating?"

You gave him a sly smile. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you. Or at least give you a nasty headache."

Eris laughed, a rich, warm sound that filled the room.

Eris's expression grew more serious, though his smile remained. "You know, Y/N, there's something else I've been thinking about.”

You looked at Azriel and joked, “Look at that! You have certainly been thinking a lot recently, haven’t you Eris? Looks like you’ve been having a lot of thoughts.” You were surprised that Azriel gave a small smile from the way he had tensed this entire meeting, waiting for a chance to pounce on the Autumn prince.

Eris widened his smile at your comment as he continued, “Here’s my proposal, this alliance between us... it could be more than just a political arrangement."

You tilted your head, intrigued despite yourself. "Oh? And what exactly are you suggesting, Eris?"

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm suggesting a union between our courts, a marriage of sorts. Think about it—together, we’d hold so much power." 

Azriel lost all his self-control as he whispered in a deadly calm tone, “You have gone insane.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. Your powers silently rush to soothe Azriel before he does something reckless, "You certainly don't lack ambition, I'll give you that. But why on earth would I consider such an arrangement?" 

Eris's gaze softened, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something deeper in his eyes. "Because I believe we could be unstoppable together. You're powerful, intelligent, and, if I may be so bold, quite captivating. With your abilities and my resources, there's no limit to what we could achieve."

You felt a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe even the faintest hint of intrigue.

“Too bad you were already mated, if only he knew”, you thought to yourself.

A slow thought crept into your mind, “So what if you were mated? Nothing was going to come out of it anyway.” 

"Captivating, am I? You do know how to charm, Eris. But you'll have to do better than that to convince me."

Eris's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Consider it, Y/N. Imagine what we could accomplish together. The Autumn Court and the Night Court united as one. We could bring peace, prosperity, and a new era of cooperation to our people."

You studied him for a long moment, weighing his words. There was no denying the potential benefits of such a union, but there were also risks—trusting Eris was a gamble, and one you weren't sure you were ready to take. Thoughts of what he did to Mor screamed in your head.

“I didn’t forget your past with Morrigan, Eris. You still expect me to agree to this?”

His eyes narrowed at that, “Morrigan knows the truth of what happened that day. Ask her for the entire truth.”

Confusion bloomed inside you at his words but you did not have time to sort through lies now, Azriel was too agitated and you were left with an important choice to make.

"I'll think about it," you finally said, your tone careful. "But don't get your hopes up, Eris. I'm not so easily won over." you slipped a mask of playfulness again.

Eris chuckled, rising from his seat with a graceful fluidity. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Y/N. Just promise me you'll keep an open mind."

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'll keep an open mind. But remember, Eris—if you cross me, you'll regret it."

He inclined his head, his expression earnest. "I wouldn't dream of it. Until next time, Y/N."

With that, Eris turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The idea of a union with Eris was both tempting and daunting, and you couldn't help but wonder what the future held for the two of you—and for your courts.

The room settled into an uneasy silence. You could feel the tension radiating from Azriel beside you, a stark contrast to his usually calm demeanour. His jaw was clenched, and his shadows seemed to writhe and twist around him with a life of their own.

You turned to face him, concern etched into your features. "Azriel, what's wrong? If I hadn’t calmed you Mother knows what you’d have done to him!"

Azriel’s eyes, usually a cool and controlled shade of hazel, now burned with a fierce intensity. "What's wrong? Are you seriously considering his proposal, Y/N?"

You blinked, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction, you have never seen this side of him.

 "It's not as simple as that, Azriel. We have to consider all options if we want to ensure the safety of Prythian."

He took a step closer, his voice low and filled with barely suppressed anger. "Eris is playing a dangerous game. A union with him? You can't seriously think that's a good idea."

You met his gaze, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. "I'm not saying I'm going to marry him tomorrow, Azriel. But we can't dismiss his proposal outright. There’s the potential benefit—"

Azriel cut you off, his voice rising. "Potential benefit? He's manipulating you, Y/N! He wants power, and he’ll use you to get it. Do you really believe he has anyone's interests at heart other than his own?"

You felt a surge of defensiveness, your own anger flaring in response. "And what if he does? What if this alliance could actually bring about the change we need? We can’t afford to let personal grudges cloud our judgment. He meant everything he said today, not a single ill-intended thought!"

Azriel’s expression darkened, his shadows growing more agitated. "This isn't about personal grudges. This is about trust, about loyalty. Eris has proven time and time again that he can’t be trusted. And now he's proposing a union with you? He’s trying to bind you to him, Y/N. To control you."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. "I know it’s risky, Azriel. But we need allies. We need every advantage we can get if we're going to take down Beron and stop this war."

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And what about your own safety? What about the risk to you? I can't stand by and watch you put yourself in danger for a power-hungry prince who will betray you the first chance he gets."

Your heart ached at the raw concern in his voice, hope threatened to manifest in you but you shoved it aside and held your ground. "Why do you care, Azriel? I can take care of myself. I’m not making any decisions lightly. I just need to consider every option."

Your words cut through the air like a sharp blade, and for a moment, Azriel seemed taken aback by your response. His gaze softened, his expression filled with a mixture of frustration and hurt.

"Why do I care?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because you are like Rhys’s little sister, you are one of us. Because I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you."

Though a part of you was glad he cared but you scoffed in disbelief, “Right. Because I am important to Rhys. Well, this decision is mine to make and I will discuss it with Rhys as it concerns his court. I’ll be sure to take what you feel into consideration. Thank you for your input, Azriel.”

His gaze hardened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Fine. If that's how you want it. But have you ever stopped to consider the possibility that you might have a mate, Y/N?"

The question hung in the air like a heavy weight, the implication sinking in with a sickening certainty. You felt your breath catch in your throat, the blood draining from your face as you struggled to comprehend his words.

"What if you have a mate out there, waiting for you?" Azriel continued, his voice soft but filled with an undercurrent of pain. "What then?"

You recoiled as if struck, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. The truth, the painful, unbearable truth, threatened to drown you in its depths. A dry, joyless laugh came out of you.

"I don't have a mate," you spat out, your voice trembling with rage. You lied without a second thought. The ease of it scared you. "And even if I did, it's none of your damn business, Azriel. Stay out of my life."

With that final, venomous retort, you turned on your heel and winnowed out of the room, leaving Azriel behind in a cloud of anguish and regret. 

As you fled down the empty corridors of the townhouse, your heart ached with a pain you couldn't name. 

You opened Rhys’s study door without a second thought and sighed in relief as you found Feyre and him.

Realization of what truly happened spread through you like a bolt of lightning hit you. Both of them were quickly at your side, worried and asking you questions. A single tear slipped as your voice broke,

 “Not telling him was one thing, but lying to him? Oh cauldron, what have I done?”

Next Part

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Let me know if you want to get added to the list or if I missed someone!

[dcxdpdabbles]

omg i love everything you write why you so gooddd

i wanted to know, if requests are open? i dont know how it all works, i rarely use tumblr ^^"

if yes, can we have another part of Why Ten?

Damian does not want to do this, but his father is giving him no choice in the matter. Apparently, the man thought he owed Daniel a proper apology for his behavior while under the effects of a concussion.

Why does that mean Damian was the one suffering? Ugh, he should turn back. Tell his Father he failed in the mission assigned to him and take whatever punishment it would earn him. Surely it would not be as nerve-wracking or as nauseating as standing here would be?

Damian is about to do that, turning towards the run-down porch steps when the front door swings open. Only his training stops him from stumbling in place like a fool.

A man in a purple shirt raises a brow at him. He is shockingly handsome in a near-offputting way. The part that ruins his beauty is his lack of emotional expression. Damian had seen plenty of ninjas who trained years to craft the perfect impassive mask, but even they showed some signs of humanity.

This man does not.

Damian scrambles to straighten his back and raise his chin, cursing his palms for becoming sweaty. It's a nervous tick he's never been able to control, and he really hopes the other can't tell.

After all, he is Daniel's aloof uncle. As much as he questions how involved he is in his friend's life, this man still means a lot to Daniel. Damian wants to make a good impression on him.

"Can I help you?" His voice belies his humble station, reminding Damian of the aristocrats of his upbringing.

"Is Daniel Fenton home?" Damian asks back, fighting to bite his tongue at what could have been disrespectful. He meant to ask if it was alright to see his friend, as he had come calling for him, but somehow, his panicked voice became more biting.

More like the aggressive Robin than the spoiled Wayne.

The man's face doesn't twitch, mouth firmly shut. Damian waits a few seconds before pushing more words out of his mouth. "Does Daniel Fenton live here?"

Nothing. Just a dead-set stare that seems to drag Damian's very soul out of his body. His heart rate picks up as he suddenly wishes he had brought his katana along. This is the worst mission he's ever been on.

Taking a few steps backward- not cowering! Damian Wayne does not cower- Damian stammers. "Does Daniel Fenton even live on this street?"

He is about to run for it when the man finally speaks. "Danny is in his room. You brought flowers. Why?"

Damian risks looking down at the bouquet Alfred recommended, clutched in a death grip. He had nearly forgotten about them.

Damian was unsure of the proper custom for inviting a friend for dinner as a formal apology for past behavior. His father had insisted that he be the one to request Daniel's presence as he was the one the other boy was friends with. Despite not being anywhere near prepared, he had thrown Damian out of the manor with the instructions to extend the invitation.

The young Robin quickly realized that he was severely underprepared and had chosen to seek wisdom from the sanest family member. The old butler assures him that the flowers are a class act, even if few youths participate in the effort.

The dozen red roses would make Daniel feel special and increase his chances of success.

None of which he could tell Mr. Clockwork about. So Damian settles for a helpless shrug which makes the man's other eyebrow raise. It's a bit unsettling how little emotion that action causes.

"Danny! Can you come down here?" The man doesn't raise his voice but somehow sharpens it. Damian finds himself standing at attention upon hearing it without real thought.

Was Mr. Clockwork in the military?

"What's up?" Daniel calls from further in the house. At the sound of his voice, butterflies appear in Damian's stomach. He fights not to fidget, especially with Mr. Clockwork staring him down like the grim reaper valuing a soul.

He used to think Father was intimating. Fool he.

"Dami?" His friend appears over Mr. Clockwork's shoulder. His hair is upkeep, his clothes are old and withered, and he not wearing shoes or socks.

In all cases, he does not look his best, yet still, Damian could find no fault in his appearance. Just like his uncle Daniel was unfairly, inhumanly attractive.

His heart launches in his chest when Daniel's face lights up, recognizing him a second after his confusion. "Dami! Hey, what's up?"

"I have a message for you," he hears himself say from far away, staring helplessly into his blue dazzling eyes. Mr. Clockwork narrows his eyes as Daniel tilts his head.

"Why didn't you text me then?"

"It would not be formal to request in a text. I wish to invite you to dinner." Damian blurts, watching with small horror as an emotion finally starts to build on Mr. Clockwork's face.

It's rage.

"Dinner?" Daniel repeats, his eyes flickering to the flowers in his hands. Damian, with a start, remembers he forgot to give them to him before asking. He thrusts them towards his friend, his heart actually starting to hurt from how fast it's racing. Is it hot all of a sudden?

One of the rouges must have done something to weather again.

Daniel is frozen in the doorway, staring at the outstretched flowers and Damian like he's grown a second head. This is all horrible, and he truly wishes he would die right this very second to spare him.

Father has forsaken me, Damian thinks in near hysteria It's the only explanation for forcing me to do this.

"Oh." Daniel finally breathes, taking the flowers as gently as he can. He presses his nose to them, taking a soft sniff that does not hide the tiny but bright smile growing on his face. "I'd love to have dinner with you, Dami."

Damian is fighting bile as the butterflies decide that right now is the perfect time to revolt in his stomach. He once climbed a mountain with a broken arm and no food or water, and yet, somehow, this was far more difficult. It takes three attempts to get the saliva down his throat before he can speak. "Splendid. This Friday, at seven. I shall have a car arranged to pick you up. Does that work for you?"

"It's a date," Daniel confirms, his eyes soft in a way Damian has never seen. It's a beautiful sight were it not for the utter death stare that Mr.Clockwork settles him with. Damian can't explain it, but he is sure he felt years fall off his lifeline.

"Wonderful. Good day. You too, sir." Damian doesn't fully run, but it feels like he does as Daniel waves him goodbye and Mr.Clockwork yanks him back inside, one last glare thrown his way.

It's not until hours later when he lies in his room after doing an insane amount of training to burn off the sudden energy, that Damian realizes he failed the mission anyway.

He forgot to inform Daniel that it was a family dinner hosted by his father, and the entire Clockwork/Fenton household was invited. He would have to go back tomorrow to correct himself.

He grabs a pillow to smother his scream.

________________________________________________

Bruce jerks in his seat. "Was that Damian screaming?"

"Let the poor lad be, Master Bruce," Aldred tells him without glancing up from his gardening magazine. "He is trying his best.

[bubblebaththoughts]

Somnophilia

perv!Lo’ak x Fem!Omatikayan!Reader

kinkmas masterlist

warnings: 18+ MDNI! SOMNOPHILIA!!!, kinda dark, dubcon, pervy Lo’ak, Lo’ak is a little delulu, P in V, “unwanted” touches, Reader is Kiri’s best friend.

“Kiri! Stop it!” You shoved her off

“Ah- Someone has a crush!!!” Kiri teased

You both hear the flap of the tent-like marui pod swoosh open and then closed, neither bothered to look and see who it was as you two were basically in the middle of a wrestling match.

“You like him!” Kiri pointed in your face

“She likes who?” The person who walked in now spoke up, making you and Kiri finally look up to see who it was.

You knew who it was by his voice, Lo’ak. Kiri’s face dropped as she saw him, looking over at you for a second to widen her eyes.

“None of your business.” Kiri answered for you, crossing her arms at Lo’ak

He merely shrugged, passing the two of you to sharpen his hunting knife in the corner. He kept his head down, grinding the sharp edge against a stone as you and Kiri resumed your conversation.

You must have forgotten Lo’ak was there, and he could hear about your admiror“And then Nìtem was adjusting me and I-“

“Nìtem?” Lo’ak interrupted, almost dropping his knife “You like Nìtem?”

Your eyes snap up at him, a murderous glare.

“Brother, I suggest you keep your mouth shut.” Kiri warns, a stern look crossing her face

“Seriously? Nìtem!” Lo’ak scoffed

“What do you care?” You ask, your eyes narrowed at him

“I didn’t.” Lo’ak shook his head “I don’t care.”

“Mind your own business baby brother.” Kiri sassed

Lo’ak rolled his eyes, going back to sharpening his knife with a huff.

“I wanna go look at the stars.” You sighed, lying down on the floor and staring up at the low ceiling of the pod.

“Then go look at the stars.” Kiri suggested

“Are you going to come?” You perked your head up

“No it’s cold.” Kiri smiled “If you want to go out there, you’re on your own.”

“I’ll go.” Lo’ak said, lowly

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped listening in on my conversations.” Kiri’s eye glared around Lo’ak

“And I’d appreciate it if you would stop being such a baby.” Lo’ak sassed back to his sister.

“I’m going to look at the stars, I don’t care who comes.” You shrug, walking out by yourself

You hear footsteps beside you, Lo’ak’s footsteps.

“You really like Nìtem?” He asked softly

You shook your head, “No.”

“Then why-“ Lo’ak began

“Just because he came up in conversation doesn’t mean I like him.” You tell him, peeking back to see his face

You find an area that isn’t completely covered by trees so the stars were all visible.

“So why did you want to see the stars?” Lo’ak asked as you squatted down on the mossy ground

Your eyes snap up at him, “Why did you want to come out here with me?”

Your hands feel around the ground, making sure it was smooth so you could lay down to watch the sky.

“I asked you first.” Lo’ak countered as he got down on the ground next to you

“Because, I mean-. Look at them.” You pointed up at the sky. “They’re beautiful.”

“Yeah, they are.” Though Lo’ak’s eyes never left you as you were explained your reasoning

Your head turns to him, “So why did you come out here with me?” You repeat tour earlier question

“Just-“ Lo’ak began “Just gotta keep an eye on you.” He shrugged

You scoff, “If anyone should have an eye on them it should be you, Lo’ak.”

He mocks offense, placing a hand on his own chest, “How could you say that?”

“Whatever, troublemaker.” You roll your eyes, tilting your head back up to the sky “And stop staring at me, watch the sky.”

Lo’ak listens, for the first time ever, and readjusted himself to look up at the sky.

You are comforted by the silence of the world right now. The clan were all, for the most part, asleep. And soon you felt your eyes getting heavy and then very soon after that, you had drifted off to sleep.

Lo’ak hadn’t noticed until he had heard a light snore come from you. That’s when he looked over and noticed your sleeping form.

At first, he wanted to wake you up, but he felt it was best to leave you alone. But he didn’t want to leave you there, what kind of friend would he be if he left you there?

But it was cold out here, like Kiri had mentioned. He debated with himself, but figured if he just got close to you, your body heat would keep each other warm.

So Lo’ak scooted close to you, slipping his arm around your waist and holding you as close as he could allow himself.

Sleep wouldn’t come to Lo’ak like it did to you. Instead, all he could think about was how close he was to you, how the curve of your ass fit perfectly against his hips, how your head rested on his shoulder, how hard he could feel himself getting.

He tried to brush it off, go to sleep, anything. This wasn’t the best time, at all.

He found that his hands had a mind of their own as they gently squeezed at your hips, absentmindedly pulling you back on forth on to him for some sort of relief.

Lo’ak shifted against you, his eyes flickering down to your sleeping face. You wouldn’t mind, right? Fuck it, he didn’t care.

He leant down, his lips peppered kisses on your neck as his long fingers slipped under your loincloth.

You sighed, making Lo’ak pause, he peeked down at your face, you were still asleep.

He continued his venture to your pussy, pushing your loincloth completely out of the way.

He had to hold back a moan as his fingers separated your soft folds, Eywa, you were so wet, so wet for him, you just didn’t know that, yet. His finger circled your clit for a moment before he moved it down to your tight hole.

He edged to tip of his finger in, watching your face for a reaction. Once you didn’t react, he sunk his finger in.

Your body naturally reacted to him, your walls gushed around his single finger. He smirked down at you, you were being so good for him.

Slowly, he started to gently thrust his finger in and out of you. While somehow still asleep, you arch your back against him, a low breathy moan leaving your lips. You were so reactive.

Suddenly, the best idea he’s ever come up with popped into his head. He pulls his finger from you with a quiet “pop”.

Lo’ak maneuvered himself from behind you and gently laid you on your back, He slowly untied your loincloth and discarded it. Then he spread your legs until he could fully see your pretty pussy, all splayed out tor him, dripping wet.

“Fuck, sevin…” He muttered to himself lowly as he sunk in between your beautiful legs.

He admired your beauty for a second before he used his fingers to hold your pussy lips apart so he would have better access to your little clit.

He leaned in, taking your clit in his mouth, swirling his tongue on it. He began to hear your breathy sighs once again as he continued his advance on you.

You slowly begin to drift from deep sleep, feeling a beautiful sensation between your legs. Your eyelids flutter open and you can barely make out the silhouette of a figure hovering over your pussy. You soon realize that it's Lo’ak and he's definitely in between your legs, his tongue gliding along your sensitive skin.

“Lo’ak!” You gasped down at him

His eyes flickered up at you, a smirk falling on his lips before he looked back down to continue his meal.

His tongue is gentle and playful as it swirls in circles around your clit. His movements are slow and calculated as he teases you, running his tongue along your inner and outer lips. His breathing is heavy and you can feel his desire for you emanating from his body.

He slides his tongue back up to your clit and sucks it into his mouth, gently biting and licking it. You moan softly in pleasure and arch your back, pressing your hips up against his face. His hands wander up your body and he kneads your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers as he continues to pleasure you.

“Lo’ak… please.” You didn’t even know what you were asking for, you didn’t know if you wanted him to stop… or to fuck you with his tongue harder.

Your desire for him grows and you can feel your orgasm building. He moves his tongue faster and faster, pushing you over the edge. You cry out as pleasure washes over you, your orgasm rippling through your body. He doesn't stop until every last wave of pleasure has passed and you collapse onto the ground, exhausted.

He crawled up to you, hovering over you.

“What the fuck Lo’ak!” You cursed at him, out of breath

“You wanted it, sevin. Your body was calling for me.” He grunted into your ear, then leaning down to kiss, bite, and suck on your neck.

“Aha- Lo’ak- You shouldn’t.” You try to push him away

“Why not, sevin?” He whined to you “Made you feel so good, didn’t I?”

“You did but-“ You began

“But what? No need to fight me if you want this. C’mon pretty girl, don’t make me stop.” He was more focused on leaving love marks on your neck than to listen to you

“We might get caught.” You tried to reason with him

“That’s a risk I’m definitely willing to take.” He moaned against your neck. “Besides, no one is awake sevin, no need to worry. It’s just you and me, and the stars.”

“Hah… Okay.” You give in

Your hands wander his body, gliding up his torso to his shoulders, then his neck as he peppered kisses on yours.

“I’ve wanted you…” He leaned in, kissing your lips “…for so long.”

“Lo’ak…” You whined against him

“Patience, sevin.” He remarked, pulling away, he brings his hand to your cheek, his thumb rested on your lips as he observed your beauty.

You feel his hands on every inch of your body, exploring the curves of your hips, the swell of your breasts, and the contours of your face. His lips follow suit, sending tingles down your spine as he leaves a trail of kisses across your skin. His hands wander further, pushing against your inner thighs as his mouth finds its way to yours.

His kiss is passionate and hungry, his body pressing against you as he holds you close. You feel yourself melting into him, every inhibition and worry slipping away as you succumb to his touch.

He continues to explore your body, like his hands and lips never want to be still for a moment.

His hands wander further south, caressing your inner thighs before he slips a finger inside of you. Your eyes close and you moan with pleasure as he slowly moves his finger in and out of you. You feel his hard cock on your thigh and you open your eyes to see him looking at you with pure desire. He moves his finger faster, and you arch your back as the pleasure builds inside of you.

“You getting close again?” He asked, teasingly

“Mhm..” You moan, too embarrassed to use your words

He slides his finger out, making you whine.

He moves so that he is on top of you, pushing his cock against your slick pussy. You gasp as he slides inside of you, filling you completely. He moves his hips in deep theusts, driving you wild with pleasure.

“That feels better, doesn’t it?” He whispered to you as he brought his finger back down to your cunt, this time focusing solely on your clit

“Faster… please.” You moan in response, trying to grind against his slow pace.

“You got it princess.” He smirked, speeding up his thrusts

“Ah! Lo’ak!”

“It’s okay, you’re right there aren’t you?” His head leaned down to kiss on your neck again

“Yes!”

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, until you can't take it anymore. You cry out as you reach the peak of pleasure, thrashing against him.

“You’re squeezing me so good sevin, c’mon, make me cum pretty girl.” He moaned

You pull him against you tightly, letting him decide the pace now that you had already cum.

With a whimper, he’s cumming, and he’s cumming deep inside of you.

You feel his warmth as he fills you with his cum, marking you as his own. You lay there, panting, your body still trembling from the pleasure he has given you.

“Told you we wouldn’t get caught.” He smiled, reaching to your face to push your hair back

“Whatever,” You whine, pushing at his chest

“You don’t think I’m going anywhere do you?” He asked with a tilt to his head “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He leans down, biting your neck gently and then whispers: “You’re mine now.”

taglist: @danniackerman @loaksslut

[hazelfoureyes]

The SafeWord is RadioApple (part 3)

Alastor x Lucifer

part 2 male reader is coming, this was mostly written though so I wanted to get it out; reader referred to with they/them pronouns

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱

Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱

Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱✨NEW✨

Flint and steel 

You made it very clear the two demons had to get along when it came to whatever you three were doing. Which they did! …A great job at pretending to do! They could’ve probably kept it up, until Lucifer tried to humiliate Alastor at a party. Luci says Alastor doesn’t know how to satisfy you? Well Alastor is happy to show him otherwise. Too bad you’re not there….

「Warnings/Promises: DomAlastor x SubLucifer, Reader is not there when it happens, GN reader, choking, hands free ejaculation, anal, bondage?, praise kink, begging, Luci the cocksleeve, Luci the pretty little bird, Alastor tops in every sense, angelic blood kink?, biting, scratching, tentacles briefly penetrate, In every universe Angel appears when he’s not supposed to, Anal Smut sponsored by Ozzie’s Lube; Keep your lust ring happy©」

Minors DNI 👮 ✋

Alastor explained the best he could, that he had wanted to humiliate Lucifer and got a little carried away. In his defence, he had genuinely forgotten he had spoken to Charlie.

“Would I have stayed otherwise?” He asked.

That wasn’t the point.

“I don’t mind your unfounded rivalry. But if you drag this,” you gestured to all three of you, “into it again, we’re gonna have a different conversation.”

His hair bristled. Lucifer opened his mouth, ready to say something mocking, but you cut him off, “That goes for you too. Enough.”

Lucifer pouted, it seemed wholly unfair he be lumped together with Alastor for anything.

Well, not anything. He was finding situations he was quite alright with having Alastor join. 

“Peace. Give me peace. Can you do that? Just dial back this bullshit?”

No. “Of course. I’ll be the perfect gentleman as always.”

Absolutely not. “Not a problem! I literally did nothing wrong, so, haha, super easy.”

“Fair enough, Luci.”

Alastor’s edges sharpened. Nothing? He’d been canoodling you in every public space the hotel had. 

His body relaxed again. Ah, he understood. Alastor was, to his distress, bothered watching Lucifer make public displays of affection with you. It sent out a message to others that Alastor was being undermined in an established relationship since one knew the details, or that perhaps things had ended already and no one had been informed. That was how it could be interpreted. If direct attacks were not acceptable, then he’d just have to make a louder message. 

Alastor’s smile unnerved you. You knew well enough to read his subtle changes in facial expression.

But even with your skill in knowing Alastor better than most, you hadn’t noticed the change in him immediately. It was small at first. A hand on your hip when you were standing side by side. Quite nice.

Pressing into the side of you when sitting on the sofa. Lovely.

A kiss good morning in front of the others. You’d woken up in the same bed, already said good morning. Okay… strange. But appreciated.

Pulling you into his lap in the lobby. “Alastor. An innocent look if he ever could make one. “What’s going on?”

He shrugged, “What ever do you mean?” His smile widened.

How could you complain?

“You’re unusually physical.”

Hands rubbed at your hips, making you nearly jump from his lap, “You don’t like it?”

He knew very well you liked it. He could tell by how much hungrier you were becoming at night. Lucifer now a nearly daily interloper, helping Alastor unravel you under the canopy of his bed.

And it was true. Suddenly having both men showering you in physical affection was creating a new problem entirely.

Alastor’s mouth on your mouth, fingers on your body. Lucifer’s hips snapping against yours, claws gently scratching down your back. You fell asleep satiated and woke up hungry. 

What you didn’t see, brain fogged with the stimulation, was how both men glared at each over of your body.

How when you entered a room they were in, Alastor would use his shadows to reach you before Lucifer could. No, you didn’t notice how suddenly Lucifer was always flagging you down and pulling you away from Alastor to discuss hotel topics. 

You were quite impressed, a week of peaceful days and lustful nights, not a jab or barb to be seen. 

For you, that is. Alastor would spin his mic too quickly, knocking off Lucifer’s hat. At least once his shadow tendrils outright tripped the king of hell as he descended the stairs. Luckily no one of importance was around to witness the brief and only mildly destructive battle that followed. 

Not that Lucifer was an innocent party in any of it. He dropped the lobby chandelier on Alastor. Charlie is convinced there's something wrong with the bolts anchoring it to the ceiling now. 

When he saw Alastor was just behind him to enter a room, he opened his wings, knocking Alastor backward.

Their favorite form of competition though remained you. Who could illicit the deepest moans? Who made your eyes roll back the most? 

Something imperceptible to them, that you were well aware of, was how every night they inched closer and closer. While before you had an expanse of bed to explore between the two, by the end of the week you could barely roll over without brushing against one of them. 

You felt quite accomplished. No brawls (that you witnessed), no overly cruel comments (within your earshot), no power plays (that you could perceive). 

You said as much to them, everyone gathered in the common area around the bar in celebration of the 100th guest to move in. A modest party, most residents weary of being caught in the crosshairs of Alastor’s and Lucifer’s bickering. 

“A toast. To… common ground?” You smirked, happily the thing shared between the two.

“To shared interests.” Alastor offered.

Lucifer, rarely one to drink, eagerly rose his drink, “To my Kitten!”

Alastor’s glass shattered in his fist. “Oops. Husk?” 

It should have been an omen to you. But you laughed it off, a little broken glass wasn’t so bad considering the alternative; them choking each other out on the bedroom floor.

Perhaps the week's events had you too relaxed, quickly finding yourself drunker than you could recall in recent memory. You weren’t alone though. Lucifer’s tongue felt numb in his mouth, the effects of three apple martinis. And while Alastor was a little past tipsy, it was hard to tell with him. He was managing to keep his composure for the sake of one upping Lucifer. 

Angel approached both men, “I don’t know which one of yous is the top in this fucked triangle but y’all okay with me takin’ them to their room? They are wasted.”

Alastor opened his mouth, but Lucifer spoke quicker, “Not at all! Thank you Angie.” 

Alastor’s head whipped around to face Lucifer, “You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”

“Ha! Said the man who broadcasts his across the Pride Ring. Not that anyone listens to that trash.” Lucifer inspected his fingernails, pretending to not care.

“Very funny coming from you. The tacky circus master who can’t even keep hell safe.” A tinge of static broke through. 

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed.

The sound of stations flipping through an AM radio frequency, Alastor’s annoyance clicking through his speech, “Now that I think about it, you can’t keep much of anything at all. Where is your estranged wife, anyway?” 

Horns materialized, breath fiery, “You wanna talk about relationships? You needed to tap me in to satisfy your woman.”

All anyone saw was Alastor grab the lapels of Lucifer’s jacket and yank them half way down his arms before both men descended into a pool of shadow that then disappeared entirely.

Lucifer stumbled back from Alastor, struggling to free his arms in the makeshift restraints Alastor had made. His jacket was folded down to his elbows, too tight to roll off and too far down to slip back up. “Just admit it. She needed me because you can’t meet her needs. Your relationship is incomplete without me!”

Alastor’s hands were on his neck before Lucifer could react. Squeezing, Lucifer gasped, eyes immediately losing focus. 

His tail wound onto Alastor’s thigh, spade tip tapping twice.

Like a dog trained to a dinner bell, Alastor instinctually loosened his grip, his face not hiding his dismay. Lucifer moaned at the lighter pressure.

No, it wasn’t supposed to end up like this. He had other plans for how to dominate over Lucifer.

Shadow tendrils burst from the floor and tossed Lucifer to the bed, arms still trapped on either side of his chest.

“It seems you need some correcting on how well I can satisfy. Quality over quantity, my liege.” He loosened his bowtie. “And a reminder on who pulls the strings. You were allowed into my bed by me.” His hands came to Lucifer’s hips pulling him up onto his lap, back still on the bed as his bottom settled onto Alastor’s crotch. “You were allowed to enjoy my darling’s company by me.” Alastor leaned forward to hover over Lucifer.

The king of hell was flush from a combination of alcohol and shock, eyes glossy and big. His chest heaved slightly with every breath, mouth hanging open. Alastor brought a hand back to his neck, “Everything you cherish with your kitten was granted to you by me.” His hand began to squeeze, Lucifer’s tail returning to twirl around his thigh.

And there it was. Perhaps the most delicious sight Lucifer could offer Alastor; absolute surrender. Eyes closed, Lucifer fought the urge to roll against Alastor with his hips. 

Yes, he hated the radio demon. But, well, hate was so close to passion. And passion could be enthralling. Lucifer had never been choked in a setting that wasn’t literal danger. He imagined for a moment how you felt, how you looked at him when Alastor fucked you while gripping your neck. It looked like it felt good. He wanted to feel it, too. 

But he couldn’t possibly ask. Alastor would laugh and say no. Lucifer wasn’t sure his pride could survive that. 

Alastor had been trying to find ways to soften his approach to Lucifer, knowing very well that if he could endear himself to the devil like he had Charlie he could increase his influence seven fold.

This wasn’t quite what he had in mind. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to toss him to the bed, it was a strange reaction to Lucifer’s insolence and moan. How many had heard the great corruptor moan like a bitch? How many had pinned him down beneath them? His cock was twitching to life in his lap as he stared down at Lucifer.

It was not what he had planned, but it could be just as effective. More so, even. 

Lucifer stared at the back of his eyelids. Alastor stared at Lucifer. Both men made a silent decision.

Alastor’s hand tightened a little more, Lucifer grinding his ass against the other. Replying in kind, the radio demon leaned further over Lucifer, folding the smaller man in half as he ground down into him. 

Lucifer didn’t attempt to stifle his moan, hands flexing where they were stuck, wishing desperately to hold onto Alastor’s arm that was gently increasing pressure still.

Every roll of his hips made Alastor’s breath hitch, the reality of who he was going to fuck into his mattress catching a fire in his veins. 

 Tap tap went his spade tipped tail on the inside of Alastor’s thigh. 

“Open your eyes, your majesty.” Alastor leaned down, nose touching nose.

Lucifer opened one eye first, then the other. His pupils were blown. Alastor pressed his erection down against Luci’s own, making the other man clench his teeth.

“Were you listening?” He asked Luci.

A grin, “No.”

Alastor growled, hands both going to Lucifer’s pants, pulling them and the ducky boxers down to his shoes before peeling everything off and letting them fall to the floor. 

Luci’s cock slapped up against his stomach, leaking already. He glared, hearing the radio demon laugh. 

“You were listening a little, I think.” His hand touched the sticky clear liquid, a strand following his finger as he pulled it back. 

“Are you going to take off my jacket?” Luci wiggled.

“Hmm, no.” 

He threw his head back, blonde hair losing its usual coiffed shape. 

Alastor slotted himself again between Luci’s thighs and began to unbutton the other man’s shirt. “There’s been something on my mind for awhile now.” He said, opening the shirt and revealing his pale chest. “Do you still taste like an angel?” His teeth sank into the shoulder muscle, Luci’s knees coming up and wrapping around his waist. 

Dizzying, the rush of pure angelic blood into his mouth made Alastor weak. Golden liquid, sweet as honey and aromatic like fresh sage, dripped down Luci’s skin. The pain was light, Luci’s body thrusting into the empty space between their bodies. 

“Touch me,” Luci meant to make it a command but it came out more of a plea. 

He briefly considered saying no again, but let his hand wrap around Lucifer’s cock. He didn’t move though, instead letting Luci thrust in and out of his fist.

Alastor was aware how vocal Lucifer was, but he was a little surprised the normally difficult man didn’t even try to hide how good Alastor was making him feel. 

Luci was sighing, body unable to stop itself from pushing up and into the warm hand he had been offered. The tongue lapping at his shoulder, Alastor hungry for him, was making him glow. He always enjoyed feeling wanted, being praised, and no praise was better than seeing Alastor’s demonic deer antlers grow above him.

Another bite, higher up now on his neck. Before, just working his shaft inside Alastor’s hand, he now was dragging the head of his dick inside of the grip. Sticky and wet, Alastor’s fingers providing ridges that bumped over his erection.

His own fingers were gripping the blankets, unable to do much else. 

With a snap and a small puff of smoke, Lucifer took to the task of preparing himself for Alastor with a small bottle of lubricant. Freshly lubed fingers shifting under his body and stretching down to reach his hole. His thrusting slowed, focus now on prodding gently into himself. The other demon hadn’t noticed, attention devoted to lapping up every errand drop of blood.

With his arms restrained he couldn’t reach well, only a knuckle of his middle finger making any headway.

“I can’t reach.” He whined. Alastor perked up, looking at his face and then down between his legs.

“Ah,” he stared, Lucifer’s finger pathetically entering himself an inch or so. “When did you get lube?” Luci didn’t reply. “Hand it here.”

Lucifer looked a little surprised, which insulted Alastor. “I’m not a monster. I fully intended to prepare you.”

When all Luci did was squint, Alastor shrugged, leaning back over and licking at the dripping blood. He felt Luci’s body jump, one of his summoned tentacles now pressing cautiously into him. 

Lucifer helped along the stretching, fingers rubbing the thick lube along the tendril as it pushed in an inch and pulled back a half, in two inches, back one. 

This was progressing much better now. Luci’s hands relaxed back at his sides, eyes closing as he tried to let his muscles go slack. Deep breath in, deeper breath out.

Alastor listened and felt the smaller of the two funnelling all of his energy into easing his hole open. 

“All this effort for little ole me?” He nipped Luci’s skin, no blood, just for fun.

Lucifer hissed, “This has literally nothing to do with you.”

“Funny, feels like it does.” He tightened his hand around Luci’s jumping cock.

“It’s the alcohol.” A blush he could feel radiating off his face spread from ear to ear. His mind kept flashing back to you. Would Alastor make him moan his name like you did? A prayer into the sheets? A twitch. Alastor’s body always seemed to know exactly where to go on yours. With a little practice, could he be brought to pleasured tears too? Luci moaned into Alastor’s shoulder. 

“More,” this time it was a command, and one Aastor was happy to oblige, living shadow pushing deeper into Luci’s body. A groan, long and loud. The burning stretch made his dick weep into Alastor’s hand and onto his stomach. 

Was it enough? Ozzie’s advice echoed in his head, “Better to prepare than tear!” a slogan his branded lubricant proudly declared. 

His hips began moving again, every thrust up into Alastor’s hand met with a down thrust onto the tendril. Alastor’s hot breath over his neck, clawed hand on his member, tendrils deep in his ass. He felt like he was being swallowed whole by the deer demon, and it felt heavenly. Did heaven know such sensations? How could he suggest Alastor has the 8th sin?

Alastor was patient, uncharacteristically some would say, sighing into Luci’s skin as his angelic blood moistened his chin and lips. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He had been within biting distance for weeks now. If he had done this while they were mingling around and in you, it could have been seen as a part of the sex. He lowered, pulling Luci’s vest and shirt open wider so he could sink his teeth just above his nipple. Luci gasped, another moan following it.

The tail around his leg tightened, slithering up to his still clothed erection.

“Were you going to get naked or just fuck me through your pants?” Luci felt he was ready, hole soft and pliant. 

A hum into his chest, “Was that an option?” 

“Fuck you.”

“That is the topic of discussion, sire.”

Sire

Luci whined, eyes rolling side to side, “Hurry up before I change my mind.”

Alastor laughed, “You’re full of jokes tonight. Actually funny ones for once, too.” With the speed of a man with nowhere to be, Alastor leaned up and settled onto his legs. Belt undone and pulled off. Button, zipper, he sat up to drop his pants and underwear. Luci craned his neck up trying to watch, face still pink.

His hand came out and motioned to Luci to hand it to him. The small bottle of lube rolled from Luci’s fingers and down to Alastor’s knee.

Alastor poured a generous amount onto his manhood, hand pumping it along his shaft and reddening head. Luci’s heart was pounding, arms tugging at the jacket that kept him bound. He considered going full demon and ripping the jacket to pieces. 

But then his eyes darted down, feeling pressure and heat as Alastor was lining himself up.

Alastor met Luci’s eyes, an unspoken, ‘ready?’

“Go ahead, Allie.”

With no cup to shatter, Alastor’s hands pulled Luci’s legs up and open by the ankles and snapped his hips with one motion into the devil’s slick ass.

Luci yelped, eyes watering. “Asshole!” He cried.

“Much better.” Alastor pulled out nearly entirely before thrusting back in. His eyes clenched, even with the prep he found Lucifer to be nearly painfully tight and insufferably hot. He stopped moving for a second, trying to let Lucifer adjust.

Luci was pouting, fingers wiggling. “Release my arms.”

“No.”

He tried to kick Alastor, but the grip on his ankles was too firm. Alastor began to move again, dragging himself out to the head and then thrusting back in. A different sensation than he was used to, but not a new one. 

Lucifer was whining, every thrust back making the king of hell release a pitiful noise. Alastor looked down to the tail on his thigh before picking up his pace. 

He dropped Luci’s legs, hands taking his thighs.

“Slower.” Luci groaned, “Slow down.” Alastor stopped, staring at Lucifer. He brought his foot up and pressed it under Alastor’s chin, “I didn’t say stop.”

Insolence.

Alastor rolled his hips forward, so slow and so slight Lucifer’s own hips began to thrust back onto him. 

“Just do it right for fuck’s sake” Luci was getting annoyed. He wanted to be fucked, not fucked with. Could the two not be separated from each other? 

“You’ve forgotten your manners,” Alastor felt the pull of his body to move, to thrust, to feel that cycle of pleasure let him relax into a simpler mental space. But, well, where was the fun in just chasing physical pleasure? He had the king of hell whimpering in front of him. In that exact moment, he was at the top of the food chain in hell. He wasn’t ready to tumble off that precarious point just yet.

Luci bit his lip, blood dripping down his chin, “Please.”

Alastor bent down to lick the liquid gold from his king’s neck and followed the trail up to Lucifer’s mouth, “Please what?” Taking the opportunity, Lucifer captured Alastor’s mouth with his. At first, Alastor stilled. Sex was one thing, but kissing was an entirely different beast.

But then the blood found it’s way into his mouth, and he pushed his tongue against Luci’s. A fight for dominance like always, both men seeking to feel more than the other. Luci clenched, making himself whine into Alastor. Legs lifting up to wrap around Alastor’s waist, Luci used the other man as an anchor to pull himself on and off Alastor’s too gentle cock. If his arms were free, he’d grip those tall and expressive ears on Alastor’s head.

He found a pace that suited him, refusing to beg. 

How was Lucifer still managing to take control? Even bound and receiving, he was the one in charge. Alastor had to tear his body from the sweet taste of Luci’s kiss and reclaim the lead, cock more deeply entering Luci now.

Luci didn’t need deep, he just needed to feel that pressure and pull at his still tight ring of muscle, g-spot not far past his entrance. He knew exactly what he needed and felt allowing Alastor to do anything else was just a waste of time.

But you never seemed to fight or argue. You just relaxed under Alastor. If you were there, you’d stroke Luci’s hair and tell him how pretty he looked on his back.

He decided to stop trying to get the best of Alastor, and let Alastor show him exactly what he promised; how well he could satisfy.

Legs hooked, Luci let his body be rocked on the bed with Alastor’s direction. It’d been so long since he felt so full. 

Alastor felt Lucifer relax, soften. He heard his breath start to become heavy and loud. Looking between them, he watched the other’s dick grow harder still. 

“Good boy,” he offered. Luci whimpered, twitching around Alastor. Oh, of course. A praise kink. Alastor managed to stop the laugh bubbling in his chest, willing to meet Luci somewhat halfway. 

Could he praise the man he was hoping to choke to death not that long ago?

A test, dipping his toes into the water. “You look divine with your legs open, your majesty.” 

Luci moaned, erection hopping up.

“And you sound delicious,” Alastor let a hand run down Luci’s chest, small beads of yellow blood forming in the wake of his claws. A hiss, Lucifer’s stomach muscles tightened from the combination of sweet words and painful scratch.

 Alastor began to pick up his pace, resting his weight on his hands at either side of Luci’s head to angle himself. He adjusted his hips slightly until Lucifer jumped, eyes rolling back.

Mounting pleasure brought sweat to Luci’s brow, his sounds becoming harsher, raspier. “I’m close, I need your hand.”

Alastor tutted, “You don’t need anything.”

Tears streaked Luci’s cheek, “Are you fucking serious? Do you- ungh,” a moan, a swear, “Fuck. I’ll beg.”

The deer demon, tall and imposing over Lucifer, wanted nothing more than to make the King beg. “No begging yet. You don’t need anything else to orgasm than what I’m giving you now”

A slight panic, Luci crying at what he was sure was just another act of cruelty. But as Alastor moved in him, swollen head rutting against his prostate, he felt his orgasm building to an unstoppable place. Alastor was mindful, only entering enough to keep Luci going.

Claws gripped the blankets, Luci’s hips instinctively thrusting into the air, he fought the urge to hold his breath. “Say it,” fast and low.

Alastor cocked his head, not sure what Luci was asking for. A deep blush took over the entirety of his pale face, “Tell me I can— nngh,” 

“Ah,” Alastor giggled, “Cum, Lucifer.”

Alastor slowed his hips, a moan escaping as Luci’s balls and asshole tightened and trembled.

Luci came over his stomach and chest, waves of pleasure racking his body. 

It was a sight Alastor was admiring; sweaty and bloody and shaking. It looked like Lucifer was melting. His smile widened, eyes darkening as he picked up his thrusts.

“W-wait,” Lucifer’s legs tightened around Alastor.

Alastor dropped to his elbows, chasing his own high now. Eyes open and flitting around the image beneath him. Flush cheeks, sweaty skin, Lucifer was panting and moaning. No double tap yet.

“You sound like a bitch in heat, your majesty.”

Lucifer’s face screwed up, body overstimulated and sensitive.

“Now, you can beg.” Alastor sat back up, pulling Lucifer’s ass into his lap and thrusting up, dick buried to the hilt as he let Luci’s soft walls massage at his member.

Luci’s hands tensed, looking up his body to where they both connected, Alastor’s cock bulging his lower stomach, “For what?”

“For me.”

Alastor’s face was covered by shadow, eyes glowing red down at Lucifer. Tears still drying, eyes watery, Lucifer shook, “Please,” he felt embarrassed, somehow even more naked than nude. Alastor was still nearly fully dressed, a fact Luci’s mind was just registering. “Please cum, Alastor.”

His head fell forward, eyes wide and smile shaking. The King of Hell, the greatest of the sins, was begging for Alastor to dirty him. Alastor had done it, euphoria flooded his brain. His nails cut into the soft flesh of Luci’s ass as he pounded into the smaller demon.

Lucifer was gasping and grunting, softening cock rolling around in his own seed. He just wanted Alastor to cum and let his body rest, “Cum already, please cum inside me. Please, Plea—,” Luci was being used as a toy, just a cock sleeve for Alastor and he liked it.

He felt Alastor’s cock grow inside him before his hips slammed into him once, twice, three times then bury himself as deeply as he could. Luci felt the warmth spreading in spurts, Alastor still rocking slightly without withdrawing any. He couldn’t see the other demon’s face, red and black hair shrouding the expression Luci so desperately wanted to watch.

Lucifer’s body went limp, Alastor pulling out already half soft and sitting back on his legs. 

Pitiful. Soft and leaking, if Lucifer was a king Alastor felt like a God.

Finally, Alastor felt like he’d bested Lucifer, truly topping the most powerful demon in his own domain.

Meanwhile, Lucifer didn’t care. He felt closer to you, feeling Alastor’s cum drip out was a shared experience. He wanted to see you, to nuzzle into your neck. The only way to enhance his afterglow was to have it reflected off your smile. 

Alastor was undoing his shirt when the door creaked open. 

“So did you get the venom out of your system or…?” You slurred, “My bed is too empty. Can’t sleep.” 

Alastor’s head near snapped with how quickly he turned, Luci propping up on his elbows and leaning around Alastor to stare wide eyed.

Alastor considered launching himself directly into the sun. Lucifer wondered if he opened his wings fast enough if he could launch Alastor directly into the sun.

“They uh—- tried to cuddle but I didn’t wanna die so I brought them here… maybe— maybe a worse idea.” Angel was slowly closing the door. “You should really lock these doors.”

Unholy fire singed Angels face before shadows slammed the door shut with such forced the walls shook.

You curled up beside Lucifer, nuzzling into his neck, “Pretty baby Luci. You’re like a fancy little bird.” In your foggy state of consciousness, you were immensely proud of how the two had taken your request so seriously. 

Alastor’s hand came to cover his face, watching through his fingers as Lucifer looked lovingly at you, who was already half asleep.

“Under the covers, dear,” he gestured at you, “You, shower.”

Lucifer nodded and began wiggling down the bed so he could stand, you rolled until you hit pillows. You both in unison sighing, “Clean sheets.”

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

[divine-misfortune]

Dew pulls away entirely after his transition, he barely lets Aether near him, but he won't let Mountain anywhere remotely in his vicinity.

It's like he's avoiding him...Because he is.

Water and earth were two things always meant to overlap, seamlessly blend together and work harmoniously, Dew and Mountain were two halves of a whole. But fire? Fire was never meant to touch the earth. He won't let his flames reach Mountain, refuses to even play with the idea of allowing him close. One ember in a field deprived of water could lead to absolute ruin.

He avoids Mountain for weeks. Nearly months. Dew almost seems to warm up to the new ghouls before he even looks Mountain in the eye again.

But Mountain can't take the ever widening gap between them, like his world is slowly caving in without Dew to hold him together. With both Ifrit and Zephyr gone, he's had to hold Aether and Dew that much tighter just to survive the days but Dew took something of him when he pulled away.

Mountain can't do it, can't take another day not hearing his name off of his mate's familiar lips. He's almost forgotten what Dew sounds like.

Dew returns to his room and nearly turns on his heels when he sees Mountain on the edge of his bed, hands clasped between his knees like he's just interrupted the ghoul in the midst of praying. He flinches from the yearning etched into Mountain's strong features, the pain unburying itself from his emerald eyes.

"Don't go," Mountain breathes, pleading despite the weariness in his voice. "I don't think I can take watching you walk away from me again."

"What are you doing here?" Despite his attempts to sharpen his tongue, offer up a front that might drive Mountain away, he could never speak anything but softly to the gentle giant.

"I...I don't know." His eyes drop to the floor, "I miss you, droplet."

The words feel like a knife, or several, in his gut and his chest. Guilt or fear beginning to claw in his throat.

"I'm not the person you miss, he's gone."

"You're right in front of me, Dew-"

"And I'm a burnt up husk of who I was, he's dead for all it matters." The words feel cold on his tongue.

Mountain stands and Dew goes rigid, fight or flight tugging at his tendons. They both smell kerosene. Another reason to keep him further than arms length.

"You're here, Dew. I'm looking right at you, don't hide from me...Please." He swallows, throat tight. "You haven't gone anywhere."

"Might've been easier if I did. They should've let me turn to ash."

"It would've fucking killed Aether and I..."

"And you think this is better? I'm an accident waiting to happen, Mount. It's stupid to try to deny it."

"You wouldn't hurt me." Mountain's lips almost manage a smile despite his weariness. He's too close now. Dew can smell the eucalyptus and juniper and it makes his knees threaten to give. He should have turned tail but his body didn't budge. "Ifrit never hurt me."

"I'm not him."

"Yeah, you're not." Those big hands settled on his shoulders and his world went spinning. Flipped on its head from one touch. The anger and indifference he'd tried to hide behind gave. Dew hadn't realized how badly hed missed Mountain's firm, reassuring touch until he remembered how it felt. "You're you, Droplet. The only thing I've ever wanted you to be."

[scarletttries]

How The Straw Hats Keep You Company on the Night Shift... (One Piece Live Action Request)

Pairings: Luffy x Reader, Zoro x Reader, Sanji x Reader, Nami x Reader, Usopp x Reader

Author's Note: I am well and truly in my One Piece obsession here so keep the requests coming! 🥰

Monkey D. Luffy

- While the rest of the crew moan and gripe when it's their turn to take the night shift, tasked with keeping the boat on course and an eye out for anything dangerous, you never seem to mind when your turn rolls around again. Instead of eight hours of monotonous boredom, your shift is always passed in the supervision of the ship's jovial captain, your sweet, loving Luffy.

- You always start by insisting he should get some sleep. Everyone has to take a watch on their own, you should too, right? But Monkey insists he'd be a terrible captain to leave you out on your own all night, the unspoken truth simmering just below the surface; he's forgotten how to fall asleep without his arms around you and can't bear waiting until morning to see you again.

- As you keep one hand on the ship's giant wooden wheel, Luffy captures the other, interlacing his fingers with yours as he moves behind you, the warmth emanating from his body keeping you safe and comfortable against the night air. His free hand wraps around your waist so he can pull your back flush against his chest, your needy boyfriend making the most of the private moment to express all his affection the way he knows best. Unwilling to let go of you for even a second, his nose nuzzles against your neck, shifting your hair to the side so he can pepper the exposed skin with gentle kisses, feeling you wriggle against him at the sensation and only spurring him on more.

- In a fit of giggles you momentarily release the wheel to capture his face with the hand he hasn't claimed yet, giving him the chance to spin you around to face him, drinking in the sight of your beauty lit only by the stars and the brightly shining moon.

"You know, you're somehow extra pretty up close." He whispers the words less than an inch from your lips, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath before the intensity in his eyes shifts and his lips crash down against yours. He has to pull away every few seconds just to let the smile you bring out of him blossom on his face before diving straight back in for the most addictive thing he's ever tasted.

- Every time you turn ever so slightly to get a hand back on the wheel, he only clings more, pressing closer to you, or grabbing the wheel himself so both your arms can be wrapped around him where they belong. You continue this carefully choreographed dance half the night, the two of you giggling as you twirl around each other and keep the ship on its course, completely intertwined until finally an exhausted Luffy starts to drift off, slumped against your back, clutching you like the life preserver you are in the vast ocean of his affections.

Zoro

- It doesn't matter how long the two of you have been dating, or whatever you want to call the arrangement you and Zoro seem to have so effortlessly fallen into, Zoro will deny he's there to keep you company: He's just happens to be sharpening his swords at that hour, and it's too cramped to do it in his room. He couldn't sleep. He thought he heard something and he wants to make sure it's gone. Every week the excuses get thinner, but you still humour him for the sake of his good company.

- He always starts sitting on the other side of the deck. He likes to think he's completely in control of his emotions, and playing it very cool, despite his obvious inability to resist the magnetic effect you seem to have on him. As the moon charts its own path through the sky he inches closer and closer, responding to your nonchalant observations like it's a weighty task. Finally, about half way through your watch, he's sat with his back to the ship's wheel, leaning gently against your leg where you stand, still not acknowledging his actions, even as you let one hand drop by your waist and he reaches up instantly to hold it.

- He'll trace his thumb slowly over the back of your hand, taking his time before finally he looks up at you, seeming so much smaller than he does when he's charging into battle weidling his collection of swords. He'll bring your palm to his lips and then give you a gentle tug, pleading silently for you to sit with him for a moment, to escape everything else and just be two people in love without any of their history behind them.

- And so you do, sinking to the floor until your thigh presses against his, Zoro still clinging to your hand like a lost child in the vast night, but finding endless comfort in your presence. In the quietest moments like this he can finally be vulnerable, whispering his softer thoughts as you run your fingers through his hair, offering the warm embrace he's been searching his whole life without ever realising it was missing.

- When the first rays of morning light start to dance on the ocean's surface, he'll plant a soft kiss on your forehead and then slink back to his hammock, ready to pretend he didn't spend all night falling deeper and deeper in love.

Sanji

- Sanji actively looks forward to the nights you have command of the ship, so he can finally have you all to himself and not have to worry about Luffy barging in on the two of you like he manages to every time Sanji gets his hands on you in the kitchen.

- Of course this man prepares a picnic for you, all your favourite cakes and pastries, lovingly made by his own adoring hands and tasting all the better for the amount of infatuation baked into them. He'll get to the deck an hour before you do, laying out a sea of blankets and cushions for the two of you to lounge on as you pass the night in each other's sweet company.

- Sanji is nothing if not open with his undying love for you, and it's more than a little fun to see just how dramatically this man will fawn over you. The way he gawps open-mouthed as you lick sweet frosting off the tip of a teaspoon while staring deeply into his eyes, watching his adam's apple bob as he gulps in anticipation, every ounce of self control holding his hands neatly by his side. Every happy hum and complement to his cooking only makes his heartbeat faster, the arm supporting his lounging frame scooting closer to you until he can almost rest his head on your shoulder.

- If there's one thing Sanji loves more than cooking for you, it's literally feeding you. He'll slowly raise a chocolate-covered strawberry to your lips, eyes growing wide as your lips graze his thumb when you take a bite, yours fluttering shut as you hum in appreciation. In an instant the rest of the berry is thrown haphazardly over his shoulder as he lunges towards you, bright smile across his face as he pushes you onto your back, his legs quickly straddling your hips to keep you pinned under him. He's practically trembling with excitement as his hands grab onto your waist, then run up your side until finally they capture your face, his lips crashing down on yours until he can taste your sweet kiss, mixed with chocolate and strawberry of course. Your back arches up to press against him, practically feeling his heart swelling in his chest as he squeezes you tighter, not sure he's ever going to be able let you go if you keep treating him quite so kindly.

- Every so often you have to pry him off of you to actually keep a little bit of a watch, but it doesn't take long until Sanji is scooping you up in his arms against, spinning you in circles, or pressing your back against the nearest surface until your legs wrap around his waist and your hands bury themselves in his blonde locks, surrendering yourself to his insatiable need for you. The morning can't come soon enough so Sanji can finally drag you back to his room and do exactly what you've had him dreaming of all night.

Nami

- The sneakiest cat burglar in the business, Nami takes pleasure in making you jump when she appears behind you an hour into your night shift. No matter how often she comes to join you, you never hear her coming, the rush of your nervous heartbeat not slowing when she gives you that wicked grin.

"Did you miss me already?"

- Nami doesn't have the patience for watching the horizon with you, after spending most of her day manning the wheel as well, so she quickly finds other ways to entertain herself. She'll start by placing a constellation of glistening wet kisses along your shoulder, nipping and sucking more intently as she reaches your neck, waiting until your eyes flutter closed and a small sigh escapes your lips to pull away.

"Eyes open pirate, you don't want to steer us off course." Her smirk spells trouble and you can only gulp as she starts toying with the hem of your skirt, stepping in front of you before sinking slowly to her knees. She never breaks eye contact as she nuzzles her nose against the inside of your thigh, devilish grin spreading across her cheeks. "You better concentrate. If you get us lost our navigator will probably have to punish you."

- Her lips replace her nose as she starts licking and kissing higher up your thighs, watching your chest rise and fall and your breathing gets more laboured. Concentrating on anything other than the featherlight touch of her fingers climbing the soft flesh of your inner thigh becomes almost impossible, and as they reach the edge of panties you have to bite down on your lip to stifle a moan you're sure would wake the rest of the crew.

"Let's see how much fun I can have before the sun comes up." She purrs as her fingers brush over the thin fabric she's sure will be soaked through and thrown overboard in no time.

Usopp

- This sweetheart is more than happy to spend a night in your company, feeling a little bit jealous whenever he has to share you with the rest of the crew, preferring to be the centre of your undivided attention.

- Usopp will start by putting on a one man show of some of 'his' greatest adventures, and acting out every single role in each of the tales. Every so often he'll start clamouring about the action of his great battles, and you'll have to interrupt him with a kiss just to make him stop talking, so you can remind him to keep his voice down so the rest of the crew can sleep. He'll quickly get distracted by the sweet, soft touch of your kiss, chasing that high again and again until he can't remember which story he was telling and he has to start over from the beginning.

- The minute he sees you fighting a yawn though, suddenly his action packed tale becomes much more soothing. He tells you gentle stories of a peaceful village life, the kind of life he hopes to have with you one day, when you've had all your adventures but you still can't bear to be apart from eachother. He stands facing you, running his fingers through your hair, drawing soft circles on your back, his voice gently drifting on the wind like a lullaby. He guides your head to land safely on his shoulder and holds your weight against his chest, until your eyes flutter shut and he can hear your breathing grow slow and shallow.

- With one hand holding you, the other will take the wheel, scanning the horizon with his whole world right in front of him. He always worries about you not getting enough rest, so he'll happily take your watch every chance he gets if it means he gets to feel you wrap your arms around him and melt against his chest, feeling safe in the company of your brave captain Usopp.

[knockoffheart]

Neuman’s Guard Dog (3/3)

summary: no better way to unwind after committing murder than getting absolutely destroyed by your morally grey girlfriend <3 god i wish that were me (minus the murder)

warnings: SMUT, fingering(r receiving), blood play (one small instance), fully clothed(victoria) x completely nude(r), fingering from behind, top Vic, alcohol ment. (red wine), proposal ment. , overstim, ment. of suicide (nothing serious), you could consider it angst if you feel so inclined, GENERAL ‘THE BOYS’ disclaimer

before you read: Reader is aware of Vic's blood powers. NOT aware of Vic's head explosions (ex. congress attack), relationship to Stan Edgar, The Boys (especially Hughie being involved). Sameer and Zoe do not exist in any of my AUs. Reader has been in life-threatening situations before, not a fan of them, but has been in at least two before.

|

A storm rages outside, its howling wind puts you on edge — something deep inside you stirs. Victoria senses your newly tensed state and rubs your shoulders.

“Why don’t I go get us some celebratory wine?” she chimes.

She takes your grin back at her as a ‘yes’ and starts downstairs. You stand and strip, the nightwear Victoria provided you is comfortable but it isn’t yours. The garments carry the weight of your temporary prison, a place you long to forget. You fold and set them on the dresser. Your girlfriend returns before you can open your pajama drawer.

Victoria stalks into the room, eyeing your nude body. She slinks up behind you and places an empty wine glass into your hand, you let out a sigh of satisfaction and lean back into her.

“Well now this is unfair,” you tease, “This is the second time today I’ve been completely naked while you’ve been in that damn suit.”

Victoria wraps her arms around your waist, one hand holds her own empty glass while the other holds the bottle of wine. She coos a fake apology into your ear. The scent of red wine lingers on her breath, you scoff and tap your empty cup.

“Double unfair!” you taunt.

Victoria laughs and raises the bottle to pour, you can’t see the roguish grin she wears behind you. She jerks her arm and the bottle tips, a stream of red wine splashes onto your chest and drizzles its way down your body. You gasp out and push her back jokingly.

“Oh! You so did that on purpose!” you accuse.

She laughs and sets the glass and bottle of the dresser before guiding you back against it.

“I did—“ she purrs, “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”

Victoria trails kisses from your collarbone to chest. She drags her tongue down the trail of wine. She kneels and places soft kisses at your stomach, leaving a smattering of lip prints as she makes her way down to your thighs. Vic laps at the wine droplets that have pooled on your inner thigh. Her licks and suckles are planned and precise, she’s toying with you. You bite down on your index finger, trying to compose yourself against her incessant teasing. Though, you’ve forgotten about your newly sharpened canines; a fang pricks the tip of your finger and a small droplet of blood starts to form.

“Ah-“ you wince and retreat back to your beside table to grab a tissue.

Victoria studies you curiously, she watches as a few drops dribble onto your palm. Slowly, she lurks beside you; practically purring in your ear as she raises your hand up to her lips. She licks across your palm before encasing your finger into her mouth, sucking on the wounded digit.

You gasp and an exhilarated chill runs through you. Her deep brown eyes meet yours as she pulls away. The corners of your mouth furl upward in astonishment.

“Fuck, Vicky….” you whimper.

“You know what’s unfair? Every part of you tastes so fucking good,” Victoria coos as she bends you down against the bed.

Her fingers rub in between your slightly spread legs. She mumbles praises under her breath as she watches how your body reacts. A moan of approval falls from her mouth when she pulls her fingers away, a sticky trail connects them to your core. Firm slaps against your ass causes pathetic sobs to spill from you. This display causes Victoria to purse her lips together in attempt to stifle a whimper. You feel her start to rub furiously at your clit. She slides two slender fingers into your sopping cunt and pumps with the same fervor from before.

You grab fistfuls of the bedsheet and bite down softly on your hand as Victoria fingers you from behind. Your attempts to self-control don’t go unnoticed.

“Awh, I don’t think so baby, don’t hide those pretty sounds — Hands behind your back” Victoria orders.

You obey and instantly Victoria locks your wrist together with her free hand. This position leaves you lying head first into the bed, your face is wet with your own tears and drool — Victoria wishes she could frame this view in her mind.

“Fuck-“ Victoria lays against you, pinning you down onto the bed. “You’re such a good girl,” she pants, “All mine.”

“Y-yes, yours… A-All yours! ” you stammer, “H-Hah… Fuck…”

Your brain feels fuzzy, like the static buzzing off of an old tv. Your body tremors, you’re about to reach your limit and all you can do is mewl and listen to Victoria’s moans flood your mind. She presses a sloppy kiss against your cheek and slides her free hand against your throat. She urges you to let go. You cry and spill into her palm, coating her fingers.

She rides out your high, relishing every twitch and whimper you produce. She smacks your cunt a few times, the wet slaps leave you in a trembling heap. The pathetic noises you make turn into choked croaks and she finally relents. You try to steady yourself, but your legs aren’t quite ready to support you yet. Victoria sprawls out on the bed, pulling you close to her, she has a thin layer of sweat on her forehead but the rest of her remains pristine. You’re a mess — Victoria strokes your hair and kisses your forehead anyways.

“You’re perfect,” she hums. “My perfect girl.”

Her fingers trail up and down your body. She takes in your figure and drowns in your half-lidded eyes. You look so fragile, sickeningly sweet.

“I really mean it,” she affirms, “If anyone hurts you, I’ll fucking kill them.” Her grip on you tightens slightly.

The statement reminds you of the incident at the hotel room. Your stomach stirs uncomfortably and you play with the hem of Victoria’s suit. You try and muster up the courage to speak your next words aloud.

“Hughie knows…” you trail off, “He saw me.” An imaginary news article flashes in your mind.

‘CIA Affiliate, Hughie Campbell, Found Dead

Suicide by two gunshots in the back of the head…’

The thought of your old friend being murdered by your girlfriend makes the hair on the back of your neck stand. Victoria still hasn’t responded.

“He helped me,” you blurt.

Anger boils in Victoria’s chest, she should have been the one to save you. She imagines the state he might have found you in and seethes. Would he use you against her? Expose your new power to the world to get back at her? He wouldn’t. Right?

“Vicky?” you whisper.

“He’s a good guy.” She states, “He wouldn’t do anything to harm you.”

“What about you?” you ask.

“You worry about me too much,” she teases.

She kisses you, mostly to get your mind off the topic at hand. She feels you start to melt into her, then she feels you fight against it. Her nails dig a little too hard into the flesh of your hips and you pull away from the kiss. She doesn’t acknowledge her roughness, instead she rises and pulls you up.

“We should really go to sleep,” she chides. “I’d like to get some sleep before the insanity of tomorrow…”

You nod and yawn, seemingly reminded of how tired you really are.

-

You grab a set of silk pajamas and head to the bathroom to do your nightly routine. Victoria follows suit. She opens her dresser drawer and grabs a nightgown; a small, sleek box stares back at her. It holds the engagement ring she’s bought for you, the black velvet void of the box calls to her — Do it, before it’s too late. She closes the drawer quickly and takes a deep breath before joining you in the bathroom.

Victoria will propose. She’ll tell the world about you; you deserve that. There are so many dirty secrets and she doesn’t want you to be one of them.

You fall asleep spooning her, your soft breath tickles her neck and lures her closer to slumber. But, there is an unrelenting, festering feeling in her stomach that won’t let her sleep. Her web of lies is caving in on itself and you’re tangled up in the middle. She reminds herself you are not hopeless prey curled up next to its killer; she will protect you.

The bloodied hotel room flashes in her mind — a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Her hand rests upon yours and she strokes the bare ring finger. Do it, before it’s too late.

|

<- previous page

authors note: omg it’s 5am and i finished this.. one very sleepy read through later… i’ll do a more focused clean up when i awaken. anyways i will be writing a sappy proposal fic me thinks… but im on a queen maeve kick rn so that’ll come later… PLS SUGGEST THINGS FOR ME TO WRITE in my ask box!! <3

fuel my writing -> tips or reblog,like,comment!

[lowkeyrobin]

still so disappointed that mr pennycrumb [fives dog in the comics] didnt rlly appear much in the show </3

ok ok so its the academy's birthday and the reader is insanely good at gift giving and never forgets to give presents if theres smth special happening. they hand out the gifts to everyone except they avoid five and disappear w/o them knowing where they went, only to come back at dusk w/ a larger box. obviously five went insane and rambles on how worried he was before the reader finally shuts him up by plopping the box on him, and boom. theres a puppy.

[loved the last viktor fic btw. literally bawled my eyes out]

- 🦇

OMG YES the only appearance we saw was in s3 when Luther went on a jog before he got napped :( ; and thank you!! I got bored and I couldn't extend it any further so it's kinda dumb but it's alr haha ; thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy! ; also sorry this is so short and dumb idk writers block is so picky

FIVE HARGREEVES ; mr pennycrumb

summary ; when the umbrella academys birthdays roll around, you get five a whole ass dog

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; some of the gifts are related to hobbies/interests that are more of hcs than actual canon

word count ; 738

masterlist

When you walked into Allison's with multiple boxes and bags for the Hargreeves, they all knew you were at it again with your insane yet accurate gift giving. They started with cake, then moved over to presents.

Gift giving in the family was like secret Santa in a way. Everyone would essentially get gifts for all the others, and they'd pass around gifts one by one, usually by number order. Luther was always first, Viktor always last. Lila usually snuck in around Diego, because duh. Viktor had gotten used to being last, the forgotten one. But around his family now, he knew it wasn't like that anymore. He'd rather go last so everyone else could have their special time on their special day.

So, the group sets the gifts tagged for Luther on the table in front of him. The kids halfway watch from afar, paying attention to the TV and their toys more than their celebrating parents, aunts, and uncles.

You were among the minority in the house that didn't share a birthday with them, thank God. You would've gone insane over big birthdays like this.

Five, meanwhile, was going insane over you basically ignoring him all day.

You'd gotten Luther some workout gear, knowing he'd taken up going to the gym within the past couple of years. Among other gifts were little trinkets and other things he wanted. He was a little hard to shop for, never really wanting anything, enjoying the quality time over any gift giving.

Next was Diego, and inside the gift you got for him, was a knife sharpening kit. He'd lost his old one just in time. Lila came up next, receiving a few nice outfits you found for her and a gift card to Cosmoprof, as she'd been thinking about re-dyeing her hair to white again.

Next up was Allison, grateful for the numerous acting job business cards you'd given her on top of a bunch of books that were on her Amazon wishlist. She was a serious reader who wanted to get back into acting, now.

Klaus was after her, ecstatic about a carry-around cleaning kit. You were going to go with a joint maker to make his life easier before he got sober. Now he wouldn't need a full bag of cleaning supplies, he'd have your perfect gift.

Five decided to go last, wanting to watch his family be happy more than open presents himself.

Ben was next, receiving some letters from modeling agencies. As he should.

Viktor was second to last, very appreciative for the new drink recipes you'd made and found for him atop the pile of clothes you'd gotten him.

You disappeared around dusk, leaving Five to open his presents without presence. He was physically eighteen, mentally sixty-two today.

As he looks up, seeing the lack of you around, he hides a soft frown. He noticed how you weren't standing near him all night, how you barely even spoke around him.

"Did you do something to Y/n?" Klaus asks out of the blue. "They just kinda... dissappeared"

Five shrugs. "I don't think I did. Even if I did do something, they'd talk it out with me"

Allison shrugs. "I think that's them" she comments, looking out the screen door to see you pull up in your car again. "Diego, could you get the door?"

Diego turns around, unlocking the door for you, holding it open as he sees you holding a big box.

"Why is that box bigger than you?"

"Also, why is it moving?"

You set the box on the table in front of Five, a wide smile on your face. "Open it"

He slowly sets aside the large box of coffee pods he received from Diego to the side, slowly reaching for the box flaps. As he pulls them to the side, out jumps a little dog.

"Oh my God?"

Five smiles, pulling the puppy into his lap. He looks up at you, a glimmer in his eyes. "Why did you get me a dog?"

You shrug, moving the box off the table. "You're a lonely old man, you need some company"

He chuckles, petting the pug's head.

"What're you gonna name it?" Ben asks, arms crossed.

"Him" You correct

"Mr. Pennycrumb" Five answers.

"Why?" Luther asks.

The physically younger boy shrugs. "Why not?"

"Interesting choice" Klaus mutters with a shrug.

Five smiles up at you, giddy like a little kid. "Thank you"

"I try"

[spurbleu]

few lucky men ✤︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. he convinces you, in the exchange of a drink, to be his luck charm, a rabbit's foot sewed in saccharine smiles.

warnings: mdi, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, hookup

word count: 3.2k

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

Drenched in ecstasy.

Partygoers moved in short bursts- their silhouettes collapsing and repairing in a drunken frenzy. Sudoric air settled in the pockets of in-between (gaps among a kissing couple, an open mouth smile, the space separating fingers), stealing the hot breath from the masses.

Did it make you better- to be an observer rather than a player? To watch from the ‘dimly lit bar’ (everyone writes about it one day- you’ve seemed to find it in penthouse of stranger), neck wet from your intervals on the dance floor.

You tried finding the answer at the bottom of a shot glass- so many times you’d forgotten if you had. The bartender seemed to have a taste for your saccharine smiles, charmed as he handedken you yet another drink.

Martini glass- even in the low light you could see the blushing pink of the liquor, an orange film resting on the surface. On a stick, a raspberry, which you popped in your mouth with relish.

“What is it?”

He shrugged, saying something you couldn’t hear as he corralled a drunken man off the bar table. You take an eager sip.

You could hear the liquor burning your throat, the acid settling in your stomach with a content thrum. The aftertaste came with a buzz- subtle tinge of berry and orange- sweeter than the liquor. You let yourself giggle over the drink- perhaps childish, but all the more honest.

“Oh my god…that’s so good.” It had been a long time since you actually liked the process of getting drunk over the feeling.

“Glad you like it.”

You turn slowly, partly because you needed to, partly because it felt sexy in the moment. The curve of your lips gave away your tipsy- an askew smile creasing the plush of your cheeks. It complimented the soft flush under your eyes- make up flaking. You were hopeful, positive, that it didn’t dissuade him.

Dark hair fell lopsidedly on his face, the roots flat with sweat. The curve of his cheekbones was sharp, but promising. They creased over his smile, sideways and charming. It looked familiar- then again liquor can do that- handsome faces always looked the same under dim lighting and vodka.

“Hey.” You said casually.

He chuckled, shaking his head. There was an air about him- definitely drunk- but not enough to make you nervous. “Hello.”

“I assume you bought this drink for me?”

“I did,” He leaned on the bar, and you caught the way his eyes ran up your figure (it felt like he was already undressing you- not that you minded), as he held out a hand, “Ken. Ken Sato.”

There was an attitude in the lilt of his voice. Confidence- borderline arrogance. He was definitely famous- judging by the way he carried his broad shoulders and low tone. He wanted you to know who he was.

You ran the cap of your tongue over the roof of your mouth before introducing yourself and shaking his hand. “Charmed.”

You took another sip of your drink, not loosing his eyes, “How did you know I liked fruity drinks?”

He laughed- a pretty sound. It swelled into the lighter timbres of his voice, harsh around the edges like the salt on a cocktail glass. You sucked in your bottom lip- you wanted to hear it again.

“Lucky guess.”

You took another sip, humming in reply. “You a lucky guy, Ken?”

There was a glint in his eyes then. The grey was sharpened (knife against a whetstone) into something more. It wasn’t more of anything- just more. Like when you breathe and you feel your chest expanding, or you look at the view from your window from a different angle, and it swells.

More.

“Depends…” A long finger came to trace the rim of your glass. The groove of his knuckles had you mused- observing the vein that crept from his wrist. You tilted your head, leaning further into the bar as you crossed your legs.

“On…?”

He gave you a wry smile- and for a foolish moment you thought it looked unpracticed. Genuine- a contentment pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“…if I get to take you home tonight.”

You blinked. It was rare for you to be caught off guard- and your laugh might’ve given it away, if you hadn’t turned towards the bar, your hair covered the deepening tint on your cheeks.

“So bold.”

“Is that wrong?” he asked, a subtle anxiety obvious in the falter of his shoulders and the shake in his voice. You gave him a smile, taking a final sip of your drink before placing it back on the bar.

“No, no I never said that. Just an observation,” you hummed, “in fact, I’m flattered that your luck relies on me.”

You could tell by the shift in his shoulders that he had regained his confidence, eyes meeting yours again. “Well,” his hand came up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. The moment felt strangely domestic for a bar in the middle of a party, the music in the background sounding much sweeter than you remembered it last, “want to make me a lucky man tonight?”

His hands rested by your ear, waiting for you to answer or for you to swipe it away. You did neither, and instead leaned in, nose to nose with a complete stranger. You saw the way his hand twitched (nervous- cute), and how his eyes remained unmoving but hopeful.

“Alright.”

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

“Fucking finally.”

He lifted you, holding your thighs and resting them on his hips as he pulled your face up to his and kissed you.

There was a frustration on his lips- undoubtedly caused by the way you palmed his trousers in the car, watching as he gripped the steering wheel in thin patience. But beneath it was fervor- not in the slightest sloppy.

But it wasn’t practiced, either. The plush of his lips against yours- the way his teeth occasionally nipped at your bottom lip or grazed your top one. It lacked a coordination that would have felt unnatural. He kissed you like he was sober- like even if liquor hadn’t been in your guts- he’d still want you.

The thought made you pant into his mouth, kissing him with a new ferocity as he carried you through the hall.

He laid you down on something soft. You watched him as he stripped, ignoring the urge to call out something filthy.

Wide shoulders capitalized his broad chest, held up by a collection of muscles- breathing in a hungry rhythm that made you clench your thighs. He looked taller than he did at the bar, pronounced by the reel of his shoulders and the way it rippled down his spine.

He must be some kind of athlete, based on his build. God, he looked near indestructible- even the small of his waist promising a reckoning. You bit your lip- mind wondering if the other parts of him held a similar weight.

He turned towards you, bare to his boxers, stepping over the bunches of clothing that rested on his feet.

There it was again- that lopsided smile. It was harsher now, the ends of it pulled tight into his cheeks, plump in red desire. The base of it wet and swollen- your doing. A surge of pride fuzzed at the base of your hips.

He crawled towards you, arms coming to rest by your shoulders, eyes curiously roaming you figure- still dressed. You swallowed.

You were no virgin- but men always moved fast. Hands shoving up your dress, clothes still on as you fucked half-minded and antsy. Their breath always reeked of alcohol or something stronger- forcing you from the sheets in the early morning before the light found your face.

You weren’t used to leisure- it felt near painful. Watching him see you- lacking a hostility and haste found in most sex. It was graceful without calculation- living in the way he kissed you (evidence enough in your bloated lips) and in the aphrodisia that fanned from the base of his nose.

It was all sobering- and you were still trying to figure out if you liked it.

“Do you like this dress?”

His question grounded you, and you glanced down before nodding slowly. “It’s my favorite.”

He grinned, pulling you forward by the small of your back as his hand found the zipper, eyes still searching yours. “I’ll be gentle with it, then.”

He slipped the zipper down and you shivered- unsure if it was the surge of cool air that assaulted the dip in your spine, or the way his fingers traced the curve of it.

He had that effect on you- it was maddening. To be unsure was unfamiliar. Night after club after party, expectations were met. Sloppy intimacy, driven by the liquor, hot on your tongues as you navigate the unlikelihood of orgasm.

It was the way he looked at you. Stealing (almost preserving, a romantic thought), eating precious time, knowing exactly what he was going to do and how aroused you’d be. He had the upper hand, held the cards, whatever analogy made it easier to swallow.

Your dress was off now, and he sat back on his heels, hands coming to hold the dip in your waist. His thumbs pressing into the supple of your skin, the pad of his print searing into the tender parts of you. Again, domesticity, falling somewhere between appreciated and perturbed.

“You’re beautiful.”

You laughed weakly, unwilling to admit his words tied knots in your stomach, “Then why aren’t you kissing me?”

He laughed (Martini- salt rim. Softer now, warm rum, firewood), coming off his heels before hovering inches above the plunge of your abdomen, leaning on his right forearm as he came face to face with you. “Impatient?”

“No,” you corrected, voice hoarse, “I’m just not used to men being this slow…”

His eyebrows rose, arch carving surprise masked by amusement, before his mouth came to kiss the space between your jaw and your ear, sensitive pulse thrumming humiliatingly fast under his palate.

“Slow? What’s wrong with slow, sweetheart?”

You closed your eyes, resisting the urge to moan as he made his way down your neck, kisses slowly becoming more intense, leaving bubbles of red and pink in their wake. A hand came to brace the base of your neck, holding you still as you tried to keep a semblance of sanity. “W-Well you…it takes you longer to…get to the point.”

He hummed, lips tugging into a smirk on the slump of your collar bone. His hand slipped down from your neck, palming your back as he unclasped your bra. The motion was done delicately, fingers fluttering over the gap in the center of your posture.

How easy it would be, you thought, for him to pull you from the seams.

Unravel the thick knots of arousal that held you together weakly as he cupped your breast with his free hand, navigating the sensitive flesh with eager teeth and tongue. You let a sigh escape the cavern of your lungs- relief. You felt his chest rumble over your stomach- laughter.

“You seem to be enjoying the slow approach.”

Your jaw clicked, your head lifting up- face chastising. He smiled, sitting between your breasts with a proud smile. You glared at him- secretly amused with his antics, “If I knew you were going to be this slow, I would have-hhhuu…”

You were quickly silenced as his tongue padded against your nipple, teeth grazing before moving down your stomach. You let yourself lean back into the pillows, soft fabric cool against your burning muscle. Maybe slow wasn’t…terrible.

His lips drifted until he met the base of your pelvis, a single hand coming to play with the band of your thong, the other sitting teasingly at the small of your back. You grit your teeth, blowing frustrated breath through your nose.

“Ken.” You said, warning.

“Magic word, sweetheart.”

His cadence was conceited- reeling in his own indecency- facing your wet cunt and deciding to wait. It was beyond you- to be patient. Anticipation wasn’t friendly. But the tug in your gut- the beat between your breaths as you watched him smile at you- wanted you to try.

You rolled your head back, avoiding the gaze that brought it out of you. “Please.”

He smiled, satisfied. He pulled the last remaining fabric aside, revealing your sobbing cunt.

You sucked in through your teeth. Cold air, vicious in degree, nestled in the clandestine cavity between your legs. It only amplified the slick, dripping from vulnerable corners in pleas of sticky respite. It leaked, rather unevenly, to the inside of your thighs, covenant to your impatience.

Despite the display, there wasn’t humiliation- only a rapacious desire as you bucked your hips.

Please.

You felt his nose grind into your mound, his tongue finding the fold of your lips. You gasped, rolling your hips forward. Shit.

Weighted lips on the base of your cunt, you scrambled for your dignity. Out of reach, knocked out of your hands- with each new wave of pleasure sent from the base of your spine to the tip of your head. He hummed against you, the vibration against sensitivity pulling your stomach forward in an arch spelling your surrender.

“Oh s-ssshit. Ohsh’it. Ken-fuck,” You were left damseled under his tongue, exploring the early sponge of your walls, “P-please don’t stop…feels…sogood.”

He tilted his chin, tougher bone now grinding against the polish of your lips, his mouth now entirely centered around your defenseless clit.

White knuckles came to grip his hair, a breathless moan rattling behind your teeth, digging into your bottom lip. Patience paid its due, your libido only expanding from your hips to your gut as he continued his slow assault.

Swallowing every ounce of you that slipped through your own breached barricade, staining his mouth with the stench of yielding. He must smell it- your admission of defeat, you confession that God, patience has taught you. Secretly, you hope he’s enjoying it- maybe even addicted.

“Oh fuck- Ken-“

Strangers- saying his name like a chorus. Repeating it until the syllables are sore and it doesn’t taste as sweet. Until it rots your teeth, palpable when your own name starts to sound unfamiliar. Until the underside of your tongue- soaked in drool, has it etched.

Your legs felt your oncoming orgasm first, the familiar shake in your ankle coming up to tense your calves. You pressed them into his cheeks, before he slotted his digits around the pudge of your thigh and pinned them to the bed with a gruff groan.

Don’t do that. It said.

It started to rise to the bed of your spine, and you moaned his name louder with each reckless kiss he laid against your swollen lips. “Ken…I’m close please….close…close...”

The grooves of his tongue worked harsher against the peaking bud, Go on, he wrote, do it.

Blooming in the filthier parts of you. From its spoiled roots, you can feel your orgasm rising and collapsing within the gardens of your stomach. It grows between the liquid bones of your legs, vines beneath coiled veins. In haphazard gasps, you can feel the coolness of petals slip along your tonsils.

Eventually, the garden withers- beautifully. Leaving you, shaking and bare in its wake. You crumple under the lost weight, whimpering when you feel the heat you had wished to memorized separate from the cleft between your legs.

You held a clarity in the moments after- free of allergens and bothersome thoughts- left in a still state of bliss. Where the body numbs, accepting the blunt of orgasm. Or, the state of complete fragility.

In it, you hardly noticed the way Ken stood, wrapping the plush of his palm against your ankle- until he yanked you forward, now flush against his hips.

He leaned over you, the curve of his back now abandoning the lesson he had seemingly been teaching you- patience. Instead, it held the virtue of a man starved- famished. He took a hand to cup your cheek, wiping the sweat that collected under your lashes.

“Sweetheart- you didn’t think we were done, did you?” To accentuate his point, he rutted his hip against you, and you felt the crest of his cock against your puffy lips, and you moaned, feeling the spindles and buds from the garden unearth themselves again.

His had came to grab your chin, squeezing your cheeks as he continues the torturous clothed rhythm against your beaten pussy. It was so vulgar, contrary to the gentleness that had your legs pressed together minutes ago- that, hilariously and pathetically, they began to spread.

(Patience has its limits, even for its preachers).

You bucked your hips, and he shook his head, grip tightening on your sore cheeks. “Use your words, what do you want?”

“M-mmore.”

Unsatisfied. “Of what?”

“Yyou…’ock in m’pussy…pleaseuh…”

There it was again, the sharpening of a knife. The more in his eyes- the lull of normalcy into something larger than words, feral and unkept. You knew he was famous in that moment- no man of the regular vitality would have so much to keep hidden behind the iris of his eyes.

He tore the band of his boxers down to his thighs, his cock flattening on your belly and you hissed, its pulse feverish against you. As he leaned his hips back, he took it in his hand, the other still holding your chin (albeit, tamer), pressing the tip against your weeping lips, still stingy from your orgasm.

You let out a strained gasp. “Fuck, Ken- j-just please fuck me al-“

The sound of him bottoming out was borderline obscene, his length slowly plunging into the stiff dough of your walls, his shuddering breath devolving into a husky moan. Your back arched into him, as if your body was trying to fill you up more than he already did.

Your cunt acted as your hands- feeling around the thick basin of his cock, memorizing the fat vein that slithered up the right side- the shroomed tip hitting your cervix. Just how full you felt then.

As he fell into a slow rhythm, you felt as though he was forcing you to rememorize every patch of flesh and ecstasy in your own cunt. Refamiliarize yourself with your walls as he battered them, the sound of your own body as it’s severed in two- it was all so crude.

His hips rolled into your own, heavy grunts peeling from the roof of his mouth. Empty mumblings and moans thrummed from your lips- nonsensical aloud- but it all felt right with him bruising your insides.

“Hah- this is what you wanted right? To be fucked? You feel good sweetheart?”

His voice was tilted, the grasp of your cunt slurring the modest inflections, defaulting his words to a shameless, pussy drunk husk. He knead the base of his palm against the cushy flesh around your pelvis and you nearly screamed- hand pressing his own cock deeper into you.

“Yes, please please don’t stop- feel so gooodd…so full…”

His pace seemed to push the honesty from your gut to your throat, coming out in spurs of confessionals. Tears pooled at the lining of your eyes, snot dribbling in an immodest drop over the crest of your lips.

Ken took his hand off your chin and swiped a thumb over the veil of sweat and tears from your cheek. “Look at you- such a mess. Such. A. Fucking. Mess.”

He punctuated each word with a particularly harsh thrust, and you could barely hear him speak over your own babbling. Your eyes struggled to see anything of detail, mind foggy in its own relish.

“Ken…Cu…cumm..uh..uh..”

He slowed his pace and you whined in protest, before he grabbed your hips, thumbs digging into the bluntness of your bone. “Not yet.”

Your mind was too murky to collect the next several seconds of movement, but suddenly you were on your face, shoulders hunched over your cheeks, your ass arched in a flattering angle. And before you could process any change at all, he pressed his cock deeper than you’ve felt it.

He must have been deaf to your moans at this point, you gripped the sheets in front of you- the white fabric memorizing the timbre and pitch of your voice as you screamed his name and other useless curses.

The sound of his hips connecting with the pudge of your ass was near sickening, and he bent down, holding your hands in one fist to splay in front of you. He leaned by your ear, his free hand digging a plum grip on your hips.

“Come’n, Sweetheart. Cum for me…you can….hah….do it.”

You did.

The garden was gone. Scorched by something so fiery hot you could barely see. It burned the tendons and muscles beneath your pulsing skin, renewing the flowers for stars. Spots in your vision- comets eroded into something rougher (beautiful, still), the constellations spilling from your drool as you muttered something incoherent and unimportant into the mattress.

He rode you out through your high, whispering your name, capitalized by curses and mutters.

“Hah…shit- fuck oh god I'm cu-uhmm..”

He slipped out, an unflattering sputter echoing somewhere behind you as you felt him drip out on the gaps of your back.

Your ass fell limp to the side, legs crumpling under the weight of your own pleasure- searing. It wasn’t a broken feeling however, being split in two. Your cells buzzed with a ferocity you had been unfamiliar with until now, euphoric, frayed ends playing at the fringes of your mussed hair, the corners of your mouth- lifted.

You shuddered. You weren’t sure what to feel- if anything. Exhaustion and arousal leaked from the intimate parts of you- but anywhere else it was a mystery.

It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand cradling your face that you registered what it could-should be.

Comfort.

“You alive?”

You snorted, sinking into the grooves of his palm. “It wasn’t good enough to kill me.”

Ken raised a brow, body curled next to yours in a position that felt, yet again, domestic. “Oh yeah? I recall you screaming my name loud enough that the neighbors might think I d-“

You placed a hand over his mouth, gentle enough that he could pull it away if he wanted too. You let out a quiet sigh, snuggling closer and laying your head on his arm.

“Shh. Don’t ruin anything by talking. You’re right- whatever…” you yawned, peaking one eye open, a butter smile creasing the base of your cheeks, “you feel lucky yet?”

His hand came to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear- a movement familiar enough you’re beginning to think he had a habit of it. He smiles at you, drowse pulling at the edges of his eyes.

“Yeah. I do."

[asharasasylum]

Return to Me ♡  Aegon Targaryen x Reader

author's note: before you think this is stolen work, it’s not. If any of you recognise this, yes it is me, squirm honey. I’m sorry I left and just deleted all my blogs and I have now put an explanation up on my account. But please enjoy this reworked fic. warnings: non con. dub con. dark. violence. chained up reader. smut. 18+

Feather light kisses ran along the column of Aegon’s neck. Innocent and unsure as they brushed against his skin until they were trailing across his face. He knew these lips, soft and plush, tickling him as they pressed against him again and again. It was only when they finally reached his lips, that he got a real feel of them, catching them between his own as he leaned further in. It was short as you pulled yourself away with that sweet giggle of yours, making him sink further into his sleep filled bliss. 

It was a dream. It always was. 

You weren’t here. You hadn’t been home in five years. His sweet sister. 

You laughed again, his name slipping past your tongue as your hand ran through his hair. He knew what you were trying to do but he knew if he allowed his eyes open, you’d disappear. 

One more moment, he pleaded as he sank further into your touch. 

But your voice grew louder, a croak at the back of your throat, and you gripped his hair, pulling at his fine platinum hair until strands tore from his scalp. 

Aegon. Was it even you that called his name? He barely recognised the voice that flooded his ears now. Had he forgotten your voice in the same way he had forgotten your beautiful face. 

Aegon.

He forced his eyes open, only to be met with the pale light of dawn that covered his room. 

You weren’t here but his mother was. 

“Mother?” Aegon pinched his brows together as he took the sight of her in. 

Alicent bit at the skin around the nail of her thumb, standing by the window as she stared out at something. 

“Mother?” He questioned her again. 

She turned, releasing her thumb from her teeth as she gazed upon him. “I see you did not try to escape.” 

He rubbed his eyes at that, refraining himself from rolling them. “Why are you here?” He sighed. 

“We have visitors,” Alicent said, her tone sharpening like it did when she believed something to be of importance. “They’ll be welcomed on their arrival and will greet their King in the throne room.” 

“Throne room,” Aegon mumbled in agreement. 

“Where their King will be waiting.”

Aegon looked up again, gaze falling upon his mother’s hardened gaze. He simply nodded, covering himself with his sheets as he made a point to move. Only then she seemed pleased, leaving through the door, only for servants to take her place. 

He was trying, no one could deny that. 

In the years he had seen his father act as King, he had been far too sick to even sit upon the Iron Throne. He barely had any idea of how he was meant to act and in his foolishness, he had hoped he would never need to. 

Each time he sat upon that throne, the cold eyes of his mother or grandsire staring up at him made him sink further into his seat. Eventually he’d find his attention drawn elsewhere, slipping into the dark spots in his mind. 

Today was no different. 

His mind elsewhere as the visitors were announced and footsteps poured through into the throne room. He wishes he didn’t hear them, thinking if he slipped into the darkest corners of his mind, the empty and quiet ones, he’d find himself free from here. An escape he so desperately craved. But his grandsire cleared his throat, bringing him back to the reality before him. 

Aegon looked over at Otto, giving him a curt nod and trying to pay no mind to the glare he was shooting his way. Instead he brought his gaze forward, drawing in on the sea of green flooding through the doors. At first he didn’t pay close attention, eyes running along the many unrecognisable faces. It wasn’t until silver cut through the mass of green that his eyes met something he did recognise. 

It was you. 

Silver curls fell out of your braided hair, framing your face as you drew closer to him. 

How could he forget such a face? 

A day of activities, and then a dinner filled with lingering glances had been tearing Aegon apart. His skin itched in all those moments to reach out and touch you, to land his skin on top of yours even in the simplest of ways. 

You were opposite him and Aegon couldn’t help but take in your face. The way you had aged gracefully over the five years, growing into your features. He squinted, taking in the sight of your lips pressed into a thin line, eager to know what you were thinking. Your gaze lifted for a second, flickering towards him and in the candle light he swore that your eyes seemed wet. You twisted your gaze elsewhere again, and he watched as you blew out a long breath. 

Did you feel the way he felt? The heat that coursed through his body as he noticed how you filled out your dress. 

He took another sip of his wine, trying to bury these thoughts that seeped into his brain as he sat across from you. 

It wasn’t until in the hours of the night that he managed to get a moment alone with you.  He managed to catch up to you returning to your chambers, snatching you away for a moment and pulling you into a dark corner of the hallway. 

His hand clamped itself around your mouth as you tried to scream, muffling any noise that fell from your lips as he hushed you. You calmed once you noticed it was him but still frowned when he took his hand from your mouth. 

You spoke first, only he wasn’t met with your voice as it left your lips.

“You reek of wine,” you hissed at him, grimacing as you turned your face away.

It was your mother’s voice. 

He had parted his lips but the words got caught in his throat as he tried to speak. But he couldn’t, taken back by the sudden disdain you had for him.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” You questioned, giving him a pointed glare. “To your family? The embarrassment you cause us.” 

He retracted from you, blinking away fresh tears. This wasn’t you. Not the woman who had been his sole comfort growing up. The only person that understood his pain. His hand reached out towards you, hovering over your cheek as he whispered your name. 

“The hour is late,” you told him, stepping away from him. “I bid you goodnight, brother.” 

That night your voice didn’t sing to him in his dreams, nor did his lips find yours. Instead the mere presence of you a few steps away ate away at him, till the very thought of you being so close gnawed at his entire being. He wanted to act on it, to drag you from your chamber and into his. The very thought had him drowning himself in his cups, battling the urge to have you laid bare on his bed. 

He couldn’t do that to you. Not to you. 

Days turned into weeks and the thoughts that seemed to eat away at him had been easier to ignore when he had duties to fulfil. 

It was only days after his son's death did those thoughts seem to return to him again. 

He didn’t want you. He needed you. 

He needed your delicate hands to cup his cheeks and your nails to drag themselves across his scalp. A moment with his head in your lap would be enough comfort to stop the agonising hollowness that sat inside of him from screaming. It would feed him, nourish him for days until he’d seek you out again. 

But you were nowhere to be found. 

Instead he had found barrels of wine and the streets of silk, something that always promised to be there. It wasn’t appetising, barely touching the sides as he drowned himself in over indulgence in the hope to find comfort there. However, it sedated him for a few hours though, finding himself inebriated to the point where his mind was no longer his own. 

Aegon stumbled upon you in the halls of the Red Keep, body working against him as it basically flung itself your way. It was as if he forgot the bitter woman you had become, his mind thinking you were still that sweet girl he had grown up with. 

“Your Grace,” you greeted, stopping in your tracks at the sight of him and his men. 

He practically collapsed onto you and even though you slipped backwards, you managed to catch him. He should be embarrassed but he couldn’t find it in himself, only wrapping his hands around your upper arms as he gripped onto you for support. He barely noticed how his weight threatened to pull you down onto the floor. 

You grimaced again, the way you did days ago as you got a whiff of him and something in him grew cold at that. That hollow space inside of him grew wider as it screamed at him to be fed. 

“Don’t,” he slurred, tightening his grip around you as he continued to look at you. 

You tried to hide your wince with a glare as you held his gaze. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” his voice was clearer as he hissed. 

“How can I not?” You snapped back at him, lips cruelly snarling at him. “When you debase yourself like this. When you seem to be hell bent on ruining yourself and this family.” 

Your words ran like ice through his skin and he found himself fighting between shoving you down onto the floor and yanking you closer. 

“Why do you do this?” You questioned him and for a moment he swore your eyes softened, voice almost pleading. 

“I am King,” He simply stated, his lips twisting into a crooked grin. “You should watch how you talk to your King, sister.” 

“I think I should return to my rooms.” You snatched your arms from him, allowing him to stumble forward. “Your grace.” 

Aegon caught your wrist again before you could fully twist away from him, yanking you right back. This time your bodies were pressed together, if one were to make a move the other would fall along with them. 

He swore your eyes were heavy with tears even with the façade of anger and hatred you were trying to hold. 

The Kingsguard behind you made a step to move but with Aegon’s free hand and vicious glare he stopped him. 

“You are sworn to me,” Aegon shouted, voice echoing through the empty halls. “Think wisely of your next steps towards your King.” 

“Aegon,” you whispered, frightful. 

Your eyes widened, lips parting as you looked up at him. 

He had seen that look a hundred times, the terrified gaze that everyone bestowed upon him. One he had hoped to never find upon your face. 

“You’re right. We should all return to our rooms tonight,” he said, nodding. 

You nodded with him, swallowing as he let you go. You really believed he was being serious, that he was done with you, he could almost laugh. 

“I think I should pay my wife a visit tonight.” He stepped away from you, only for you to catch him by his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. 

“You wouldn’t be so cruel,” you said to him, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“You clearly don’t know me at all.” He grinned wickedly at you. “Do you, sister?” 

“I grieve with you. I really do,” you told him, your tone became vicious and cruel, matching his. “But as King, I wished you’d bare this better.” 

You left him with that, not taking a moment to stop as you stormed away.

Aegon wasn’t sure how he got you there. His mind hazed from the abundance of wine he’d consumed. But it couldn’t have been that clouded, the chains wrapped around your wrist hadn’t stirred your sleeping form. You were completely oblivious to being shackled to your bed. Unaware of how vulnerable you were as he stood at the edge of your bed, unable to do anything but watch you. 

You seemed innocent like that, lips formed into a soft pout and your platinum curls free as they partially shaded your face. It reminded him back to when you had been close, the sibling he genuinely found himself drawn to. Bonded through the trauma from the neglect and cruelty of your parents, never knowing affection unless it was in one another’s arms. Yet in your place now was an imposter, a demon that had invaded your body and taken control. 

He needed it gone and there was only one way he would be sure to do it. Thick tears ran down his eyes as he ripped his gaze from you, the thoughts of what he had to do to you consuming his mind. The hollowness inside him that desired to be filled believed you deserved it to be subjected to any cruel torment he desired to give you. 

But there was also that thought in the back of his mind, the burning memories cursing him of a boy weeping for you. 

You were promised to him before he had been forced upon Helaena, you were the sister that had been made for him. Your sole purpose was to be his. Your lips meant to soothe him in his sleepless nights, your presence to shield him from your parents scornful eyes and your womb to carry his children. The Gods were cruel, and his mother worse when a marriage prospect had been given to you, one that would have the soldiers of Highgarden backing his corner. Which left you being sent to Oldtown and all your duties being passed onto your younger sister. 

Luckily for him you hadn’t been married yet and he wondered if a proposal would still be considered with your stomach swollen with his seed. 

The tightness in his breeches grew at the thought, the heat no longer simmering but a burning desire as he became desperate to touch you. Like he’d die if he didn’t. 

You didn’t stir when he crawled on top of you. He was careful though, spreading his weight out, not allowing the bed to dip under it. 

He was gentle- too kind towards you -as he cupped your face. 

He wanted to slap you, to mark your subtle skin with his bare hands and the rings that adorned his fingers. 

Even in the dark shadows of your room he could make out your face, a rage and sadness filling him as he thought back to all the days before. He collapsed onto you, turning into a sobbing mess as he nestled his head in the crease of your neck, tears pooling here. 

It must have been what woke you, not his trembling hands groping at you through your sheer nightgown or his body hovering over yours, but his tears gracing your skin. 

You didn’t even open your eyes before you breathed his name, knowing it was him. 

“Sister,” he sniffed, pulling himself together as he let out a harsh breath across your face. 

“Aegon,” you whispered, eyes fluttering open. 

It was dark in the room but the light of the morning sun was starting to peek through, just allowing him enough light to gaze upon you. 

Your voice grew worried, goosebumps covering your skin as you realised the position of his hands. “Aegon, what are-” 

He doesn’t want to hear what you have to say. He doesn’t care for it. So he finds himself burying your words with his lips, crashing his down against yours. 

You tried to pull away, only to notice your bound hands as the metal clanked against the wooden bedframe. The realisation of your situation had you parting your lips to speak again, only allowing Aegon to take advantage of your open mouth, sinking his tongue inside. 

Aegon enjoyed the way you squirmed against him, your body fighting to be free from him, only to find yourself caged in by him. He laughed into your lips at the way the heels of your feet dug into your mattress, pushing yourself away, permitting him to sink further between your hips. 

He was sure you could feel it, the way his hardened member pressed up against you and to make sure of it, he pressed himself harder against you, angling himself right against your bare cunt, only his breeches separating you. 

When you finally managed to yank your head free, twisting it to the side, you were breathless, heaving to find the air to speak. 

“You can’t do this,” you cried, tears of your own covering your cheeks. “Aegon, please.” 

He didn’t care for your pleading voice, and to show it to you, he grabbed your face with his hand. His fingers gripped your jaw, snapping your head back to him as placed his lips back on yours once more. 

Any words of yours were lost on his tongue as he fought to steal your very breath from your body. He couldn’t help himself, teeth nipping at your lips, going between biting at you to clashing your teeth with his. 

His kisses were hungry, full of years of longing and yearning for you. They were also full of anger that burned in his veins, one that came from the tortured soul you had moulded him into, regarding him with the same cruelty your mother had given him. 

He didn’t need to breathe, the air from your lungs that he took from you was enough to feed him for a lifetime. He was sure of it. 

But he still let your lips go, slipping them further down as he attached them to your neck. 

You gasped for air once your lips were freed from him. Only for your body to be subjected to them instead. 

“Aegon,” It seems like it's the only thing you were able to say. Had he succeeded in consuming all your senses like you had his. 

“You are mine,” he growled into your skin, teeth nipping at the bare skin of your chest. His hands were bruising as they gripped onto your sheer gown, tearing at the material without even meaning to. “Mine.” 

He spoke those words into the subtle skin of your breasts, not even allowing him a moment to look upon them before he wrapped his mouth around one of your hardening buds. 

Even he was shocked from the sound that left your throat at that, a deep moan breaking free as he sucked at it. He was greedy to hear more, his fingers finding the other bud as he pinched it. But there was no other reaction from your lips, even when he gently tugged on it. 

It was only when he detached himself, able to look upon your face, did he see why. You were biting down harshly on your swollen lips, drawing blood that dripped down your chin. 

Aegon was eager to clean it up, his tongue licking up to catch every bit of it before slipping back into your mouth. This kiss was gentler, short as he was quick to press his forehead against yours. 

“I am the only one that is allowed to make you bleed,” he told you, before he lifted himself from your body. 

You were a sight below him, nightgown torn down the middle from his tight grip, revealing your naked flesh underneath. He should have done this the day you arrived but it's better late than never. 

You called out his name again, eyes widening as he ripped at his tunic and the ties of his breeches. Until they were on a pile on the floor and he was left bare before you. 

“Stop,” you demanded of him, voice strained in your throat. “You can’t do this.” 

“I can do this,” he seethed at your resistance, pressing his body down on yours. “There is no one that could stop me.” 

“Mother-” 

He chuckled wickedly, pressing his hardened member up against you. “She is the dowager Queen. It is me that holds the power of the crown now.” 

You don’t say anything, you only let out a raspy breath as he positions himself against you. 

Aegon grins wider as he finds wetness there, sliding his tip up and down as he spreads the slick over your folds. But the amusement falls from his face when he presses his head against yours again, unable to shake the way you stare at him. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he commanded but his voice slips on a croak. 

You stared up at him with wet eyes that matched his and your lips formed a pout as you swallowed. He knew this look, one that haunted his every waking and sleeping moment in the first year you departed from him. 

“Don’t,” He warned. 

“I can’t.” Your lips trembled as you whispered to him. 

Aegon forced himself inside in one full thrust, your whole body becoming rigid and your face scrunching in pain. 

“It hurts,” you cried, unable to do anything but tense up. 

“Good,” Aegon said and he meant it. 

He was slow as he moved out of you and back into you, torturously slow. It was punishment, he wanted you to feel every part of him, every ridge and edge as he took up space in your heavenly walls. 

He’d be satisfied in your pain as he took his pleasure. It’d teach you your place, always one with him. 

But as you sobbed underneath him, he felt guilt seeping in and he was quick to shove it down as he pressed his lips on top of yours. He didn’t manage to muffle your cries, he didn’t have it in him. They will be a reminder, he told himself. For what he wasn’t sure. 

His lips remained on top of yours as he thrusted himself inside your walls, only they barely grazed yours. It was like they teased you, sinking down every so often in time to catch every gasp and cry that fell from your mouth. Until he was sure that all he could hear was your ragged breaths and sweet moans. 

“There she is,” he groaned, finally finding comfort in you as hips picked up in pace. “You’ve finally returned to me, sister.” 

“You can’t do this,” you whimpered, eyes sinking bank into your skull at the pleasure that you were clearly feeling. 

“I’m going to breed you in this bed,” Aegon declared, carving his hips upwards as he pushed himself deeper. “I’ll make sure my seed takes until your stomach is swollen.” He latched onto your lips again, another short kiss, only this time he was sure it was reciprocated. “They’ll find us here, tied together like we always have been. Like we were always meant to be.” 

HOTD - Aegon Targaryen. HOTD - Fem x Male character Insert Master List

(Dividers by @cafekitsune)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 20

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

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I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The crackling of the fire grows clearer as the tides of sleep swirl and still. Your eyelids part to the flicker of the hearth, a figured limned in the rustic haze, looming over you, lifting you, moving you with ease. You stir and fidget, pressing a hand to the firm wall against your arm. The woolly tunic scratches against your palm as you feel the pulsing of a heartbeat beneath.  

You look up at the square jaw of your accoster. King Geralt lays you on the mattress, your disposed clothes cleared away from the corner. He's gentle as he sets your head on the pillow, caressing your cheek and your hip as he draws away. He stands, looking down on you as his fingers curl and extend, a hot breath rushing from his nostrils. 

You watch him as the the world sharpens around you and a flow rolls over you like cold water. You push yourself up on your elbows as the king's eyes rove your figure beneath the thin shift. He sways and brushes his hand over his chest, letting out a deep rumble. 

You want to say something. Anything. Just a word to break the fragile tension between you. You can't get a single noise out. He stares down at you with his gold eyes, like coins shining, forged in flame. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, snug to you as he rests his hand on the other side of you, tenting his arm over you. His other crawls along your shoulder and down to your wrist, walking back up again. His fingertips spread goose prickles along your flesh as you lay frozen in his fiery exploration. 

The haze of the fireplace, the gleam of his eyes, and the dregs of your drowsiness make you doubt the realness of it all. Are you dreaming still? Everything is so much more than it should be. His heat, his touch, the way you can feel his need radiating from him. 

You fall flat, staring at him, entranced by him. He brings his calloused palm to cradle your face. You gasp and latch onto his wrist.He lets his fingers flutter away and turns his arm, looking down at your grasp on him, cautious but firm. You see how his cheek strains and he sits up, grazing his other hand over yours.  

He covers your hand with both of his and draws it up. He unveils it like some precious treasure and kisses each knuckle. You shake as each brush of his lips tingles through you. He pulls back and keeps hold of you, lowering your hand between you. 

"You fear me," he says, "you fear what I want from you." His voice is low and sonorous, "I want nothing from you. I only want you, my summer maid." He inhales deeply and lets it out with a quaver as you feel the tremor in him, "my treasure." 

Your eyes sting and tears soften the lines in your vision. You shake your head, a knot in your throat, a pinch in your chest. He brings your hand flat to one of yours and twines his thick fingers between yours. The difference is drastic, a reflection of your status. He is all-powerful and you are a speck in the wind. 

"I have worn a heavy crown, I have raised an army, I have bled in battle, and not of it can compare to this, my treasure. You are my greatest achievement. By fates, I found you. I thought that I was destined to sit the throne, to unite these peoples, to hold it all in my hand," he squeezes, "but this is all I need have in my grasp. This is what called me to your southern plains. All of it for you. I have won it and so quickly as you bid me, I would give it up." 

Your lashes flick as your heart swells. He cannot mean it. Not any of it. You are only a maid. 

"You have your fear, little maid, and I have mine. They are one and the same," he gazes down at you, eyes wrought in layers of pain, sadness, and longing, like the sediment of the earth, worn and weathered through the years. "I fear myself all the same as you. I have withheld myself for as long as I can and yet I feel myself dwindling. I feel the rope fraying." 

You sniff and shake your head, "your highness..." you croak and your voice seems to crackle in the air, "Queen Jazlene--" 

"Do not speak her name. I beg of you. Treasure, I beg. I will beg you anon." 

He keeps hold of you and shifts off the bed. He brings himself to his knees at the side of the bed, clinging to you as he once more kisses your hand. As you lay helpless to him. 

"Do not fear me. How can you when I only mean to worship you," he rasps. "As any treasure, I only mean to prize you, to hold you dear, to keep you from those who would steal you away. To keep you for my own. Treasure, you are mine, all mine. By rights, I, King Geralt of Rivia and the Hinterlands, claim you. No other shall have you. Upon my life, I could not bear it." 

You close your eyes, ice trickling into your veins at his declaration. He is king, he is the almighty, and you are his. You are sworn to serve and by rights of marriage, you are bound to him. Even if it wrong, even it transcends the vow he spoke to another, a king may bend the laws as serve his purposes. A maid may only obey. 

"You have forsaken me," you whisper. 

He kneels in silence, lowering his head to rest on your hand. You lay in tableau, strangled and solemn, as he prostrates himself at your side. As a mourner might do for some tragic corpse. Is that not what this is? Grief for the treachery of it all. 

"I belong to you," he speaks at last, rising as he releases you. Your eyes roll open and pinpoint on him.  

He turns away and pulls at his tunic, stripping it from his broad shoulders, revealing a back ridged with muscles. He drops it on the seat of a chair and sits in another. He is patient as he unbinds the straps of his boots and removes each in turn, placing them neatly aside. He undresses piece by piece, rapt in the task of his dissembling. 

He remains only in his braies, the short garment ending at the top of his thick thighs. His stomach is as thick as the rest of his, muscles wrapping around his arms and chest, fur like the very wolf he's sewn into his cloak. He approaches the bed and you steel yourself for him. 

He lifts himself over you, hovering just above, his hands above your shoulders as he holds himself on his knees, straddling as he once did in the moonlight of your unconscious. He peers down and breathes a scalding plume upon you. You shiver and meet his eyes, unable to repress the wash of terror that comes over you. 

He pushes himself to the other side of you, folding his arm to fall upon his side. His other stretches over your stomach as he nestles against your side. He lays on his shoulder, facing you, and his nose brushes your temple. You clutch a fold of the blankets in your hand as his traces the shape of your side, playing with the seam of your shift. 

His touch creeps over your stomach and his lips dance on your cheek. He exhales your name into your ear and his hand cups one side of your chest. A whimper escapes your throat as your nipple hardens, poking him as he fondles you. He is gentle but diligent, eager as he explores your body, as if you are another map to be conquered. 

He trails up to your neck and his thumb draws a line along your throat. You feel his gaze but cannot face it. It burns hotter than the heart. He touches jaw and chin, as if he's never seen anything like you; cheekbones, nose, forehead, as if he is an artist moulding a statue.  

He presses his straight nose to your cheek and drapes his arm around you once more. He embraces you from the side. He tucks his fingers under you and you bring your hand to his thick forearm, feeling the soft hair along it. You claps onto him and shudder at the ceiling. 

"You will not always fear me," he whispers, "when you see the world for what it is, when you see me truly, you will feel as I do." He snarls as he leans his weight into you. "You cannot fight fate, my treasure. Even a king cannot bid what is written by destiny." 

You let every ounce of strength drain from you. You sink into the mattress, surrendering to his will. Whatever he might do, whatever he might demand of you, you will give in. That is your duty. 

He purrs as his own body relaxes, "I only wish to feel you, little maid. My soul needs yours close." He closes his eyes and bows his head to rest against yours. You shut your eyes once more but know you will not rest.  

You are afraid. You are terrified. All your life you've served but this is more than you've ever been asked. The peril is all yours. A king would never face the same atonement as a maid. 

⚔️

The king enshrines you in his warmth. You examine the white strands of his hair as you lay in his arms. Your gaze wanders further to his rounded muscle, the unmatched strength woven in his body. His statue matches the intangible authority attached to his very being. He is power incarnate. 

You feel smaller as you lay beside him. The night passes, as it will not matter water. Time marches on like the very army that invaded your homeland at the behest of the man now clinging to you. Just a maid. Just a deceiver. 

You turn your eyes past the king's sleeping form. His rumbling snores underline the soft crackle of embers breaking down. You cannot remove the danger buried deep in your chest. Memories only drive it deeper and deeper. 

Your remember when Jazlene was only a girl. You've known her through every year of her life. You've seen her grow from cradle to crown. She might be flawed, she might be selfish and rotten and mean, but she is still that life you watch round the duchess' stomach when you were but yourself a child. She is still a living being. 

There was a time when she did not obsess over jewels and silks and bottle. When you both were just young and naive. When she counted and you hid, then switched places. When you revealed yourself form behind your hands and she giggled in amazement. That time is gone and you only see doom ahead of you. 

You can't lay there any longer. 

You move the king's arm off of you and sit up. You put your back to him and bend over your lap. How you could melt to a puddle like the icy outside those castle walls. How you might wilt away like a flower without shade. 

You do not dare leave the bed. Your emotions cannot overrule the man behind you. You flinch as he quiets and his snoring turns to a long groan. A tickle crawls up your back as he touches you. He pinches the fabric, tugging it as if to get your attention. 

"Are you well, treasure?" He asks with grit in his throat. 

"It is morning," you say, though the shutters block out the day, "shall I fetch you something to break your fast?" 

He sighs and his hand fists the back of your shift. He pulls until you twist to look at him. He props himself on one elbow, holding his head as he looks at you. His expression is not as stony as it usually is. He is not the statuesque king, he is just a man, entirely vulnerable in nothing more than a piece of cloth. 

"I don't want you to be maid this day," he touches your hip, his eyes dipping to watch his hand. "I want to... show you something. I want you to know this land. Once you do, you will know me." 

"As you wish, your highness." 

His brows lower and he pushes himself up, sitting against the pillows, "it doesn't need be. What do you wish, treasure? Tell me and I will grant it?" 

You push up one shoulder, "I wish for nothing. A maid does not..." 

"Not a maid," he insists again, "you, what do you wish?" 

You lower your head and turn back to the chamber, "I would see your land. Show me then what I have not already seen." 

His forceful breath uneases you. He is disappointed, though you say exactly what you should. What he should want. You will heed his desire, he only need declare it. 

"Very well," he jostles the bed as he moves to sit beside you, "you will need to dress warmly. I will have gloves and a hat. Some boots," his arm is snug to yours, " 

"Thank you, your highness," you utter. 

"No, Geralt. My name is Geralt." 

Your chest racks and your shoulders feel as if there are pins stuck in the joint. Your lips part then clamp together. You try to muster your voice but it catches like phlegm. You nearly choke. 

"Will you say it?" He asks gently. 

You turn to glance at him. It feels next to blasphemy. You blink and he reaches to frame your face with his large hand. 

"To hear my name on your lips would me like a sacred melody. Please, treasure, just for me, you can say it," he pleads. 

You take a breath through your nose and let it out in a wisp, "Geralt." 

He smiles and his thumb runs along your chin to your lower lip, "again." 

"Geralt," you say louder and he toys with your lip, his golden eyes narrowing on it, hungering for it as if a starving man looking upon a fine citrus. 

"Again," he commands once more. 

"Ger--" 

You cannot finish is name as he covers your mouth with his. He smothers you in his need, pulling you against him, snaring you in his arms. He brings you over him as he falls onto his back, moaning as he delights in the taste of you, nibbling at your bottom lip. He hums and draws away as you breathless stare down at him. 

"I have never known paradise, not in the hinter or the summer, but I find it here," he growls, "upon my very chest, in my very arms. If only it could be forever."