#it’s just so startling to here the place you’re from without seeking it out?

[robertsbarbie]

watching this youtuber who i’ve seen a couple of videos of and just something about him felt really familiar and we have similar mannerisms and are i think the same age but i thought that was purely coincidence. yall this man just said where he’s from and, i shit you not, a place about five minutes away from me the very real likelihood that we have met or have people we know in common is weirding me the fuck out

[gladiatorcunt]

- # GIVE A FLY SOME HONEY !!

all roads lead to death valley

cw: southern setting & accents, sui ideation/thoughts, protected sex (are you proud of me), dead dove ending and undertones, sort of ambiguous, virgin cowboy!anakin x virgin afab!reader, ROTS coded!anakin, r2’s a horse, the force is in place of the christian God and is referred to as such at times, star wars being a fictional franchise in a star wars au fic, weird mix of a farm and a ranch, spanking, clit slapping, biting, reader’s inner freak has some crazy thoughts, mentions of humiliation and collaring/choking, anakin murders somebody (one scene of violence), what a heat advisory and the south’s sex education does to a mf, implied plus size and neurodivergent!reader, kidnapping????????????, mention of drugs, reader has a lot of internalized shame about where they’re from

wc: 4.2k (unedited)

what if instead of star wars it was called 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 wars

consider commissioning me!

Your unlucky streak rears its ugly head yet again. June was already shaping up to be a hot month, and your junkyard car wouldn’t start. You’re used to driving long stretches of road with nothing but livestock in fields to gawk at, it comes with the territory. But you couldn’t afford gas and decided to push your luck on the way back home, nevermind that the drive would be at least 20 hours. Moving to the city had its drawbacks, the road trip to and back being one of them.

“No, no. Come on, please work. Do you need me to fucking sing to you or something?” You groan, fruitlessly twisting your key in the ignition over and over.

Nope, “Tough shit.” Your engine mocks, death coughs sputtering out one after the other.

“ ‘You havin’ trouble?” A masculine voice shouts from behind you.

You get startled by the sound and gracefully slam your head up into the roof of the car as you turn around. You must look like quite the sight, clutching your now throbbing head and stumbling out of your broken down hand-me-down car on a long open road. Once you’ve blinked enough to adjust to the harsh sunlight, your eyes land on a tall muscular figure riding a horse. The clip clop of the horse’s dirty hooves on the gravel pierce your ears but the gentle sway of the man’s fluffy hair softens the blow.

“Um…. yes, sir. I am actually. My…. my car won’t start and I’m all out of gas.” You burn with embarrassment as you get through your explanation, trying your hardest not to throw up from the sheer social anxiety.

“Well that ain’t no biggy, I think I can help with that.” The man cocks his head and hops down from the horse, a white stallion with a few faded black-gray spots here and there. “Stay here, R2.”

You’re standing there dumbly, ignoring the tiny rocks digging into your shoes and the pounding in your skull as the cowboy wanders up to you. The sun bounces off his dark hat in a way that gives him a sort of halo, and you gape like a fish when he tips it down at you in a silent greeting, reaching out to shake your hand after. The silver spurs on his boots reflect sunlight directly onto your face, so you miss his open palm the first time.

His hand is rough, you can feel numerous old scrapes and cuts when you accept the gesture. But it’s so much bigger than yours, and there’s strange heat coming from his skin that you’re hesitant to pin on the southern summer sun. Too handsome, in a way that just can’t be possible, you quickly swipe a fingertip over his ring finger during the handshake and The Force must be looking out for you because there’s no ring. Not that you’re seeking anything out, but in the town you’re from, you’re lucky if anyone makes it past 18 without having a baby and getting hitched as a result.

Anakin tinkers away at your car for over an hour, finding more problems than just a lack of gas. Eventually he determines that you’ll die in this heat before you can back on the road, so he asks you to accompany him back to his ranch and he’ll send out one of his employees to bring your car around. You try to show him that you’re listening by ‘hm’-ing and nodding every so often, but it’s hard to rip your eyes away from a very attractive man bent over and sweaty while he’s fixing your car. You definitely do not want to cry when his flannel lifts up as he wipes the sweat on his forehead away with his greasy hand, revealing the slight softness over his muscles.

Since your car was no longer an option, Anakin grins as he gestures towards his horse, “R2’s a good horse, won’t give you any trouble. He likes to make a lot of noise and has an… acquired sense of humor, but I reckon we’ll get back just fine.”

He has you practice getting off and on the horse for a good while, the next step is letting you adjust to the feeling of being on one. You’d be embarrassed that Anakin’s having to teach you how to ride but his hands curl around your waist, keeping you steady and whispering in your ear to not be so stiff. Horses can smell fear after all, it’d suck to not only have your car be broken but your bones too. It’s a scene straight out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind that’s a tiny yellowed book sold almost exclusively in run down gas stations with a cover not far off from a porno.

Your cheeks are burning the entire way to the ranch, you relax as much as you can on an animal that’s a few hundred pounds of muscle with a searing hot body pressed right up against you from behind. It doesn't take long to get to your destination though, and before you know it sprawling fields bracket a mid size homey wooden building. There are some smaller pens for the cows to stay in and you follow their movement as an employee unlatches the gate and leads them out towards the left most field.

“They gotta switch pastures every so often.” He informs you, urging his horse into an energetic trot, “And it’s a good rule of thumb to have about an acre per cow.”

You tighten your hold on the reins and try not to focus on your fear of falling off. The pace of R2 isn’t one that you struggle to match but then again this is the first time you’ve ever ridden a horse in a long time. You’ve always been too skittish to do it regularly, and when you moved you got rid of the hobby entirely. You take a deep breath and let the horse’s movements travel through you, coming to enjoy the gentle jostling as you go. Anakin keeps his hands around yours on the reigns, making sure you don’t panic and seize up. R2’s not really beginner friendly unless he likes his rider, he has a tendency to just whinny and take off when the spirit moves him.

“The Force has done me good and given me a nice house on nice land, but it don’t mean nothin’ if i’m all by my lonesome. Ever since my dad passed and my ma’ died a few years after that, the workers and the cows are all I got, plus R2 of course.”

All right, he sinks into the jargon a little too much, but the way the sun accentuates the scar on his cheek makes it a charming quirk. You want to lick his teeth when he smiles, you think, before blaming it on an oncoming heatstroke. You’re no better than a man in this moment, and if you had seen him soaking up all of the attention in a crowded room in a bar you’d have no business being in, you like to think that you could pull him. You play with the slightly waxy feel of the leather reins, allowing the sensation of coarseness in the stitching to overpower any coherent thought.

“Why’d you name your horse R2?” You ask, ducking your head as you feel him guide the animal towards the stables.

“Oh uh, I was real wild over these sci fi movies from back when I was a kid. The hero had this robot called R2-D2, and I guess it just stuck with me.” He answers you with a shrug and a mild blush, curving his fingers around yours.

Your stomach warms at the feeling, but you refrain from returning the gesture, he probably isn’t even thinking that deeply about what he’s doing. He’s not obsessing over every square inch of skin that comes into contact with his own, not like you. You’re already missing the comforting weight of Anakin’s herculean body when he’s pulling the reins to stop R2 and hopping off, clamping his big hands around your waist and helping you down. You wobble for a bit and find your footing before you can pick up on how he momentarily froze in front of you, anticipating an easy opportunity to touch you again. Force, you really are stupid, bless your heart.

You glance up at him and start to say something but then you hear rustling in the bushes, Anakin must hear it too because before you can tug on his sleeve and tell him, he’s pulling his revolver out from its holster and striding off towards the sound. You’re quick to learn that he has a bit of a one track mind, especially when it comes to indulging the serpent twisting in between his ribs like a switchblade.

“I’ll be damned…”

You’re supposed to head inside and awkwardly linger around until your car is in good enough condition to get you back to Coruscant. The only thing is, you’ve now found yourself without your new security blanket, and your curiosity agrees with how much you don’t fucking want to speak to any of the people here without Anakin to hide behind. R2 loudly chuffs at you from his stall in the stables, either saying “That’s just how he is, leave him be!” or "What are you doing? You should obviously go after him!” You choose to believe it’s the latter, so you wander off into the distance, following Anakin’s lead.

You catch up to him quicker than you thought you would, and you have half a mind to scold him like a child if you weren’t catching your breath. All you can see is his wide shoulders because he’s hunched over something, your heartbeat quickens when you spot his gun being pointed at something. You circle around him to find a man squirming on the ground like a toddler, twitching every so often. Anakin seems almost enthralled by the desperate display, so he doesn’t notice you until you gingerly place a hand on his shoulder, soft and looking to soothe. Later you won’t remember the blood on the man’s temple or the matching stain on the muzzle of Anakin’s gun, because you didn’t witness that part.

He snaps out of it, turning his head to nuzzle his nose against your knuckles, “ ‘s alright, sweetheart, just a meth head too out of his mind to watch where he’s goin’. Had a knife with him, probably lookin’ to rob somebody blind.”

Your eyes flicker between him and the man, fully aware of how common stuff like drug addicts trespassing is and the old fashioned black and red ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot On Sight’ sign. You’ve grown up around guns, you’re more used to hearing them in a hunting or taking shots at beer bottles kind of way, but it’s not like Anakin’s the only one to have that kind of self enforced rule when it comes to his property. Still… killing a human man is different than making use out of a successful deer hunt, right?

“Maybe we should call the cops, he can’t hurt nobody like that…” You try to reason, casting a pitiful glance towards the cowering man.

There’s a scratch on Anakin’s face that’s still bleeding from the knife the guy had used before Anakin took it, it just barely missed his right eye, he could’ve lost it. You’ll ask to help him with it when you get back to the ranch, but you know that there’s no seeing to it right now. You don’t want to risk an infection just so you could brush your thumb across the wound, you’re not even sure why you want to, it’s like the urge just materialized in your head out of thin fog. Anakin gently shrugs your hand off and uses his free one to pull you against his chest, and it’s like you’re back on his horse, that same fear entwined with exhilaration like barbed wire. Your hearts are beating at the same pace, some folks say that’s how you know it’s love, that’s how you know it’s fate.

“You don’t got the stuff in ya to be a killer, that’s just fine, darlin’. ‘Cause I sure do.” His words dissolve into a previously unknown to you cold sneer.

Anakin clamps a burly, sweaty hand over your eyes as he empties the entire magnum into the tresspasser’s skull. The bright sun bounces off the brim of his hat, casting a shadow over his stormy eyes. He may not have let you witness the massacre, but you will never forget the sickening yelps the poor bastard gave to Anakin like prayer. And then he got put down in a more inhumane fashion than if he were a rabid dog. To your gracious host, there’s probably not a whole lick of difference. Between a wanderin’ sap and a deranged mutt, that is.

But there’s a far off expression on his face, maybe he was once at risk of having two bullets in his temple at the hands of someone unforgiving.

“Welp.” Anakin exclaims, making a point of slapping his thigh as he holsters his pistol. “Better head on home now, I reckon. Come on, honey, don’t want to lose you to the coyotes.”

It’s said like “kai-yohtes.” You balk at his teasing and obediently trail after him, a vulnerable duckling staying in line. The storm is hitting hard by the time you’re out of the woods, and you briefly wonder if the Angels up in heaven are gonna start bowling soon. A saying that got passed around in your family, when you and the ones before you would stare up in wonder and shiver in fear at the thundering purple skies as kids. You remember being surprised that one of the Angels’ bowling balls never fell down to earth, maybe it’d be somethin’ like a meteorite.

As is the case with many things, it’s easy to lose sight of the fresh corpse in the dry grass. Once you turn around and thread your finger through Anakin’s, dirtying them, it’s almost like that man never existed. There must be something wrong with you, sure the situation is so unimaginable that it would be hard to cope with, but shouldn’t you be feeling more guilt than you do? You feel bad, of course, but ‘easy come and easy go’ has always been the way of things in these parts. God giveth and God taketh away.

You’re back where you should be, a narrow dirt path going under a wooden fence to the ranch. Grand trees line the road forming a moss green canopy. A few workers are goofing off and playing a very amateur game of football, blissfully ignorant to the fact that Anakin can obviously see them from his place next to you.

It would be a peaceful place to die, a bright and clear afternoon-evening in the way that the world can only be when you’re about to leave it. That’s how you’d want it to feel, like you’re rowing a boat across the lake you used to go fishing at to see people you’d never thought you’d see again waiting for you. Fall leaves, blinding pale sun, a serene and calming quiet. You’d be the happiest you’ve ever been, skipping even though you never could as a kid. There’d be no sadness, only relief and a memento of everything that’ll only make sense when it’s someone’s turn to see you again. No buzzing from mosquitoes or chirping from crickets, only little lightnin’ bugs. Maybe you only get that kinda ending if you’re good, in the godly sense, if you come from something worth remembering.

Anakin raises an eyebrow and gently jostles you, and just like that your train of thought is derailed. He chalks it up to shock, and nods his head towards a clearing behind the building. A change of plans. You follow, as you are wont to do.

“That rat bastard had it comin’ to ‘im, hun.” He tries to reassure and squeezes your hand, imploring you to see reason. “The Force decided it was his time, sweet thing.”

You shake your head, not disagreeing, just in utter disbelief. “I just… most everyone in my life I've known that’s died did it when I wasn't there. I’ve never had to actually be there when they… you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” And that’s all he says, regardless of the truth.

It’s what you need, somehow he just understands exactly what that is. You’re starting to think that you certainly don’t have a damn clue. You look up at him again, really drinking in every facet of his entire being that you can latch onto and obsess over. You’re remembering why you were so anxious to get out of this sinkhole, it’s a miracle you ever got out of it in the first place. His hair’s all messy, dark curls strewn about like a windswept bale of hay. A storm is brewing in his eyes, like he could Earth to rotate in the opposite direction if he wanted it to. He works his jaw around in a weird way to get rid of the soreness after grinding his teeth.

It’s tantalizing, being the hand holding a man on the edge back from wreaking his God given havoc.

You dot a quick peck on his cheek, scrunching your nose up at the barest hint of prickly stubble.

His eyes widen, and the sun itself shines brighter. The cutest light dusting of pink spreads across his face, so he one ups you by pressing your lips together. It’s exactly how a first kiss should feel, a simple gesture that leaves you breathless and with more butterflies than a flower garden swarming in your tummy. There’s no fireworks, but you can hear wind chimes and birds singing as your lips glide together, the meeting of your tongues is so natural that you won’t be able to remember when his slipped through the seam of your mouth. You want to keen as he maps out your teeth, his spit has to have some kind of aphrodisiac in it.

Anakin works your jeans open and off your legs completely, his pupils expand when he sees your thick thighs in all their glory but he keeps himself from slapping them and acting like they’re the only part of your body. There’s an ever growing to do list in both of your heads, your combined inexperience brings a flurry of perverted ideas and porn scenarios to recreate with it, and you’re sad that you’ll very likely leave with none of them being fulfilled.

He yanks the collar of your tank below your chest, immediately leaving over to bite your cute breasts with all the grace of a rattlesnake. He doesn’t try to make any marks, he just wants to bite wildly and with reckless abandon, like he’s using your tits to self soothe. You’d do the same if he let you at his pecs to be fair, his chest is practically as big as yours if not bigger.

“This means somethin’ to me, hear that? ‘m always gonna remember my first.” He spits, clutching onto your bruised tit like he’s a split second away from sinking his hand into your viscera and dumpster diving for your heart.

He pauses pawing at your tits to reach in his back pocket and pull out a condom. It’s crumpled and the packaging is worn by rubbing against the denim of Anakin’s jeans, you can tell that he’s excited to finally put it to use. You’re glad that there’s some safety measures being taken, but your heart swoops in disappointment at the dose of reality. It’s the kind of thing that calls for the most diabolical, unhinged, strings of goopy fluid hanging from his balls as they slap against your rippling ass, raw sex. You don’t let yourself pout, Anakin’s making good use of the only working brain cell between the two of you. You scoot back on his lap to give him room to pop to button on his pants and whip his dick out. It makes a heavy ‘thwop!’ as it slaps against Anakin’s abs.

Your mouth waters at the sight, so thick with the just right amount of curve, it would scratch your throat perfectly. His hands shake harder as he rips the condom’s packaging open with his teeth and rolls it on his twitching length. You take a deep breath, finding comfort in the tense muscles on Anakin’s shoulders through his warm flannel. He curls a hand around the base of his cock and grasps it tightly, positioning it right under your empty hole. You’re lucky he didn’t have to tell you what to do, because working yourself down every inch would’ve been much more painful if you already needed to be taught a lesson. It’s weirdly sweet, the chaste pecks he presses along your nose and jawline as you adjust to what feels like a tree log forcing your tender folds to stretch around it. Your slutty body tries to twist itself in a pretzel with the way you’re swiveling your hips, trying to get more of Anakin’s dick inside of you when you’ve miraculously already swallowed him to the hilt.

“I want this pretty pussy weepin’ for me, I’m awfully sorry honey but i’m not stopping till it’s gushin’ all over me.” He speaks in between wet kisses up and down the column of your throat.

“Mmm- It’s okay, I want it like that, Ani. Promise- oh my god, so big.”

You make him feel like a man trying to outrun a forest fire only to get swept up in a tornado. Like there’s a fever in his brain that’s gotten into his blood, black tar dripping into his liver. Drives a man to drink so he can have a sliver of that feeling, that scalding need not even God could give you. There’s no finesse or coordination to anything, his lips frantically scurry along random spots on your upper body. His upward thrusts are heavy hitting and wrangle your breath out in stuttered gasps, he moves as if he were riding a horse, following only the imagined scent of old blood. Anakin’s cock is so big your walls could rip if he wasn’t always keeping a sharp eye on how much he’s bullying you. He doesn’t try anything crazy like fucking your cervix, it might shock you so much that you remeber exactly how long it’s been since he’s had your car “taken to the shop”.

His spurs dig into the dirt as he slaps your ass, the material of his gloves adding an extra bit of ‘umph!’ to the resulting sting. Anakin’s jeans are so warm against your ass that it takes a few more spanks before you really get the urge to bend over his lap and tell him to just have at it until you sob. You’re on an ecstatic high, living in the present with a near stranger’s dick balls deep inside of you. His eyes gleam gold when you make eye contact, and you find it so easy to fall down the rabbit hole, letting this man burn away all your responsibilities until he’s the last one left standing in a sea of ashes.

You don’t mind that he stops talking eventually, switching to gruff grunts and harsh yells. ‘Don’t be so stiff, let the movement roll through you.’ Anakin digs his fingers into the meat of your jiggling ass and delivers a final smack to both cheeks. You sigh in relief, but then you snap out of your cockdrunk haze to yelp at the cruel hit to your swollen clit.

“Need ya to keep squeakin’ sweets.” He orders. “Don’t want the townsfolk to think I fucked your brain out your ears.”

It’d be polite to make conversation with the people you meet when Anakin parades you around with his hat on your head later, something of a pre engagement tour. If the Force is good, you’ll be willing, because rope burn isn’t something you want to become your new normal.

“Chin up, buttercup,” He says almost bashfully despite how hard he’s pounding your puffy cunt, “We can get some ice cream at the fair after if ya like, make it a cute little second date.”

You whimper and harshly pull his hair, earning you a throaty moan and another slap to your clit, saying yes to him like you’ve already done a million times. You thought that the pure social anxiety of being around so many of Anakin’s employees would be nerve wracking, it’s nothing compared to having to speak to them AND keep their boss’s cum from oozing down your leg. Anakin’s discarded belt catches your eye when a sharp thrust sends your head falling back, and you picture the scuffed up belt buckle as the O shaped ring of a more traditional collar. The black stains from working on your car only add to the appeal, it scares you exactly how much you’d let the man fucking you with a cheap gas station condom get away with. You’ve already heard him kill a man, finding yourself in a relationship is pretty much the natural next step.

When he cums deep inside with a hoarse growl, there’s the sound of a bear trap slamming shut on an unsuspecting bunny rabbit. Your simultaneous orgasm is the tiny squeal it makes before it dies.

“I forgot to ask, hun, what stuffed animal do ya want me to win for ya?”

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai

[azrielhours]

I want you to rest

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Synopsis: Reader has a nightmare while on a mission w the boys. Azriel comes to the rescue, brings her to his room to comfort her. She doesn’t want to sleep so he stays with her through the night.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhys! You shouted internally, paralyzed in your nightmare and unable to rouse yourself. Rhys!

A horrible oppressive weight pressed down on your chest, and you were glad for the darkness in the room blocking any potential sights to further scare you as you tried to keep your panic abated. A sinister force seemed to seep from the corners of the room, and you couldn’t even tremble from the paralysis. It advanced further and you wanted to shrink away—

A hand rested on your shoulder, startling you—breaking you free from the immobility. You gasped, head whipping to find the perpetrator as you yanked your body up the bed and away from—

“It’s okay,” a voice spoke calmly. Rhys. Thank God. “It’s just me. You’re safe,” he soothed. You halted your scrambling, eyes wide. Rhys stood by the side of your bed. Azriel was close behind, weapons drawn and his shadows snaking across the room, seeking the invisible threat.

“I—I couldn’t move,” you choked, searching the room for the things you felt, the dread milling in the air. “I’m sorry I called you, I couldn’t wake myself,” you explained, turning back to face Rhys.

“It’s okay,” he repeated. “Don’t be sorry.” His eyes scanned down your startled form, how you fisted the sheets. You turned to look at Azriel in question. Did Rhys wake him too? Your face burned in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” your voice shook, and Azriel stepped closer at the sound, concern furrowing his brows.

The two warriors exchanged a look before Azriel spoke softly to you. “Would you like to come sleep in our room?”

You stared at him for a beat, trying to find the courage to turn down his offer, to gather any semblance of shame and stay put, but your head dipped in a bashful nod.

Rhys squeezed your shoulder, stepping away to walk back to their room. Your group was staying at an inn during a long-haul mission with you situated in the room neighbouring theirs. Azriel waited patiently as you slipped out of your bed, bringing the sheet with you, and he walked behind you as you followed Rhys.

In their room, Cassian sat awake in his bed; his eyes surveyed your form for harm as you entered the room. More embarrassment coursed through you, but before you could apologize again, Azriel placed a gentle hand on your elbow; “it’s just warrior instincts. Don’t be embarrassed.”

You nodded without turning, trying to suppress your shame. Cassian offered a warm smile and a wink before returning to his slumber, though you suspected his haste was a means to soothe your anxiety more than a need to rest.

“I can bring your bed here,” Rhys offered gently. “Only if you’re comfortable with that.”

You scanned the room, weighing your options before shaking your head at the High Lord. “I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep tonight. I’ll just—I’ll sit on the couch til the morning. If that’s okay.”

Rhys’s worry was still visible, but he nodded, making his way over to his bed as well.

That left you and Azriel. You turned to face him, curious as to why he wasn’t retiring like his brothers. The crease between his brows was still visible. “You take my bed. I can sleep on the couch.”

You shook your head quickly. “No Azriel, please. I feel awful for—I’m sorry I woke you. Please, I want you to rest,” you insisted softly.

The Shadowsinger still looked troubled, and you fought the urge to thumb away the crease.

You stepped closer. “I really don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” you added. “I promise I already feel better being here. I’ll just watch the stars or read until the morning.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he dipped his head, reluctantly making his way to his bed, and you made yours to the couch. You did feel safer being in the room with the boys, but the vulnerability you felt had you tugging the sheet up further to self-soothe. After a few moments of breathing deeply to calm your heart, your eyes began drooping; but when remnants of that oppressive sensation trickled up, dragging you back into a nightmare, you snapped awake again. You clamped a hand over your mouth when a gasp escaped you despite your effort to be quiet.

Shit. It seemed like a long night awaited, and the last thing you wanted was to disturb the boys’ sleep. You covered your face with your hands, frustrated and restless. Should I leave the room? With your eyes closed, you missed the lurking shadows that noted your distress, that curled near the Spymaster’s ear.

Azriel silently rose from his bed and approached you. His shadows gently caressed your hands to warn you of his approach, lest he add to your fear by startling you. Your shoulders sagged in unexpected relief. His fingers gently curled around your wrists, tugging your hands away from your face. You looked up at him wide-eyed for the third time that night, a look that etched itself into his mind as he sat next to you.

You glanced at Rhys and Cassian’s sleeping forms. Azriel spoke softly. “I put up a shield around us. They can’t hear anything.” Your gaze returned to his, which was swimming with concern. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, but tears warmed your eyes. “I’m fine,” you whispered.

“You’re safe,” he whispered back.

“I know.”

“It’s okay. I get nightmares too.” He continued to speak gently despite the sound barrier up, and it somehow made it harder to keep the tears abated.

You nodded again, and neither of you commented as a few tears fell.

“I’ll stay with you,” he said.

“I want you to rest,” you said, but his offer was like a salve.

He shook his head. “I already made up my mind.” A kind smile graced his face, and if he was beautiful in the daytime, he was utterly devastating in the moonlight.

You didn’t have the heart to fight him on it. “I’m sorry I woke you,” you repeated, but your tears stopped.

His smile faded. “I scented your fear through the wall. I thought something happened to you.”

It was your turn to reassure him. “I’m okay. I’m safe.”

Your heart skipped a beat, finally not in fear as his gaze remained fixed on your face. You tucked away the thought of him being as comforted in seeing you as you’d been by seeing him before it drew up any hope in your heart.

Perhaps your vulnerable headspace inhibited your better judgement, but you reached forward and looped your hands around his elbow, tugging yourself closer to him. “You make me feel safe,” you admitted quietly.

His brows rose wistfully at your admission, fondness replacing any unease as he glanced at your linked arms. The relief softening his features soothed you as much as it tinted your cheeks pink.

“Are they really sleeping?” you asked, cocking your head in the direction of the other two Illyrians in the room.

Azriel grinned. “Not yet, which is why I put up the shield. Busybodies.”

You laughed, looking over their still forms. You knew they were feigning sleep for your comfort, to ease your embarrassment. You turned back to find Azriel surveying your face. “Thank you, Azriel. You’re the sweetest thing in the world.”

His head dipped bashfully, though you caught his small smile. “Most people find me intimidating,” he countered.

You shook your head, letting your adoration show as you smiled. “Well, you take my fears away, so everyone’s got it all mixed up.”

His look of reverence stole your breath. Then he chuckled. “Right. We’ll have to correct everyone, then.”

“Mhm,” you smiled cheekily. “We gotta tell everybody.”

You continued to smile at each other for a beat, the nighttime making it easier to bare the vulnerability at hand. Then you imagined Rhys or Cass turning and spying the sight, making you blush harder. “I still think you should sleep,” you murmured.

His teasing demeanour softened. “I’ll only sleep if you do.”

You playfully rolled your eyes but patted your lap brazenly. His gaze followed your silent proposition, then returned to your face, brows rising in question. “Bats sleep on their bellies, don’t they?”

He cracked another grin, nodding once wordlessly. But when he still hesitated, you continued. “I feel wide awake now, I don’t think I’ll get a wink of sleep. But I really want you to rest.” His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “Please, Az,” you whispered.

The edges of his mouth tugged up in an involuntary smile. You thought your heart might burst from the softer side he reserved for your eyes. “Okay,” he whispered, shifting to rest his head on your lap at the end of the couch. He brought his legs to lay on the remainder of the couch, wings dropping to either side of his body. Immediately, you carded your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails gently across his scalp. His eyes fell shut, and a breath of contentment huffed out of him.

You continued to stroke his hair, watching as he fell asleep. You truly intended to hold up your end of the arrangement, basking in his security while he willingly rested, but the peace his presence brought quieted your mind. You couldn’t tear your eyes from his face, the elegant planes softening as he was slowly lulled to slumber at your hands. His shadows began stroking down your neck and arms. Then Azriel’s hand grasped your ankle, and he traced gentle patterns into it, not letting up even as his movements grew slower when sleep claimed him at last.

The fear and panic from before were a foreign contrast to the intimacy soothing you at Azriel’s hands, the shelter he brought bodily and in spirit. You watched his back rise and fall deeply, watched the space between his wings, freed up by their spread. You didn’t fight the drag of sleep, not when the world tipped on its axis as shadows guided your heavy head down to the guardian angel in your lap.

~

Cassian woke to sunlight filtering through the room. He sat up, searching for his friends when he noted Azriel’s empty bed. He found the two of you on the couch before the window, and Cassian’s eyes widened.

Azriel lay across the couch with his head resting on your lap; your legs hung off the couch, but your upper half was folded delicately across Azriel’s back with your head resting between the base of his wings. One of your hands lay on Azriel’s head, the other clutched the projecting curve of his wing near your head. Azriel had one hand cradling your ankle while his free arm was snaked beneath your knees near his head, holding your legs to him like a pillow.

He couldn’t tell who was shielding who, with the way both your bodies rested on each other. Gone was any trace of the subdued panic he’d noted on your face the night before, no more wide-eyed fears or trembling hands. Even Azriel—Cassian couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen him appear so young.

When Cassian turned, he found Rhys wide awake, perched on his bed contently watching the sight of his brother letting his guard down, cushioned between your smaller frame over and under him. Rhys simply winked at Cassian, the two sharing a smile at the sight. Rhys held a finger to his lip. Let them rest, Rhys spoke in Cassian’s mind. The lovesick fools might finally realize how they feel when they wake up.

~

taglist:

@iimisty-a @feyretopia @aroseinvelaris @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @emotionless-lover @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123 @banasheefan56 @nyotamalfoy

[leona-hawthorne]

happy 1k!! may i please have latte art? ☕️🫶🏼

i’m a ravenclaw, fave class is probably charms with mattheo 💕 eeeek i’m so excited!!

thank you for requesting pookie, i love u sm 😚🤍 i loved writing this one, hope you like it 💌

1k celebration navigation latte art

ミ★ FEEL IT… mattheo riddle

You stumbled through the damp underbrush of the Forbidden Forest, mittens clutched in one hand, the other holding your wand to light the narrow path. You weren't expecting to run into anyone out here, especially this far from the castle—unlike you, most students didn’t seek solace in the quiet of the woods after sundown. That’s probably why you were surprised to spot a familiar dark-haired figure standing alone beneath a patch of moonlight, his wand raised as he muttered incantations under his breath.

Mattheo Riddle.

You’d seen him around—a Slytherin with a reputation for being brooding, intense, maybe even a little intimidating. But right now, he didn’t look intimidating. He looked… frustrated, wand aimed forward as though he was attempting something challenging. Curiosity got the better of you, and you stepped closer, careful not to make a sound. When he attempted the spell again, you caught a glimpse of silvery smoke swirling from the tip of his wand, a Patronus charm trying to form.

It flickered, then faded, leaving him scowling, muttering a curse under his breath.

Without thinking, you cleared your throat. “You’re close, you know. But you’re missing something.”

He startled, eyes flashing as he turned to face you before he sighed in exasperation.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm, though you could sense a flicker of embarrassment beneath it.

“Not much,” you replied, stepping closer despite the warning look he gave you. “I just thought I’d offer a suggestion. Charms is… kind of my thing.”

He scoffed. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “No, not really. But I do know that if you want to cast a Patronus, you’re going about it all wrong. You’re trying too hard. A Patronus requires more than technique—it’s about feeling. You have to immerse yourself in your happiest memory. Like, really feel it—imagine it in detail, every single sensation.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking half-amused, half-irritated. “What makes you think I have any happy memories?”

“Come on, you must have at least one,” you replied, stepping closer. Without waiting for permission, you reached out, gently adjusting his hand to tilt his wand up. The brush of his hand against yours was warm, steady, but you felt him tense under your touch. His gaze flickered to where your hands touched, and you could practically feel the shift in his breathing. He was trying to keep his cool, but you caught the way his shoulders squared, the faint flush in his cheeks.

He was looking at you now, something unreadable in his gaze, as if he was trying to figure you out. “This doesn’t feel like Charms class,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

“It’s not,” you replied, holding his gaze with a playful smile. “But let’s pretend it is.”

He breathed in, then closed his eyes, his face softening as he focused. You watched as his fingers tightened around the wand, as if gathering his resolve, and then—suddenly—an enormous, shimmering silver lion erupted from the tip, prowling protectively around the two of you before disappearing into the trees.

For a moment, he stared at the place where the lion had been, a little awestruck. Then, slowly, he turned to look at you. 

“A lion?” you said, arching an eyebrow. “Interesting for a Slytherin.”

Mattheo chuckled, a warm sound that somehow felt as intense as the rest of him. “I guess there’s more to me than meets the eye.” He hesitated, glancing at your hand still resting on his. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” you replied, stepping back to leave.

“Wait,” he called after you, his voice low, but with a surprising urgency. “What’s your name?”

You looked back over your shoulder, giving him a small smile as you replied, “Y/N.” And then, before he could ask anything else, you turned and disappeared into the shadows of the forest path, leaving Mattheo staring after you, utterly spellbound, his Patronus glowing softly in the moonlight as he watched you disappear.

[the-kaedageist]

It is years before her hard work pays off. The time is worth it.

She’s done her homework well. She figures out the best time to approach, when her son will feel least threatened. Not when he’s alone. Preferably when he’s in a public place, providing as much safety to him as to her. After five years, the last thing she wants to do is spook him badly enough that she has to track him down again.

She has lived over a millennium. That doesn’t stop her from pausing outside the crowded tavern in Ank’harel, shrouded in the image of a high elf, her heart echoing in her ears. A millennium of life has been nothing without taking risks – but it has been centuries since she’s risked her heart.

She takes a final breath and ducks inside.

The tavern is loud. A band in the corner plays a Taldorian jig, which she recognizes from her three months spent negotiating a trade agreement in Whitestone. Raucous chanting rings from the opposite corner, where a halfling woman and a purple-skinned tiefling are chugging from enormous mugs. She’s so appalled by the drinking competition that it takes her several seconds to turn her attention back in that direction, realizing that they’re exactly the group she’s looking for.

“HA!” shouts the halfling, audible even over the band as she slams down the ceramic drinking mug; it’s a miracle it doesn’t shatter on impact. “Suck it, Kingsley!”

The tiefling lowers his mug half a second later, groaning. “You’re cheating.”

She takes a moment to survey the rest of the group. There are nine of them in total, gathered around a long rectangular table running along the length of the side wall.

Next to the tiefling, a dark-skinned human woman in blue waves a similar mug, shouting, “it’s my turn next! Bring it on!” A larger woman with striking hair is staring at this next challenger with clear fondness as she sips from a clear glass. On the other side of the table, a tall pink firbolg and half-orc are deep in conversation, ignoring their companions. A blue-skinned tiefling woman braids the firbolg’s hair and cheers at the drinkers.

On the halfling’s other side, a redheaded human man is tapping his fingertips to the music. He leans against the man she seeks.

She takes a moment to study her son. He’s completely undisguised, his hair a tad longer but just as carefully styled as she remembers, his ears dangling with silver jewelry. From her surveillance, she knows he ordinarily operates in disguise; he clearly has decided to forgo caution here, on another continent surrounded by his friends.

She expects him to look uncomfortable or displeased at the antics of the group – but he is laughing, leaning his forehead into the redheaded human’s shoulder, a flash of fang revealed in his open joy.

In over one hundred and twenty years, she’s never seen him smile like that. It is startling, unbalancing; had she ever truly known him?

Read the rest on AO3 (4,793 words)

[seoltzuki]

Full circle

sana x afab reader

angst, smut

Sequel to Sorbet

despair, infatuation, sorrow, devotion, all over again

It’s been weeks since you last saw Sana, weeks of no contact, until last night when she suddenly appeared again. The ache in your chest grew, the uncertainty weighing on your mind. You’re not sure if it’s a good idea to see her today, right after the gut-wrenching night you had just endured.

You closed your eyes and sighed, the long day pressing on your shoulders. As you walked towards home, your eyes drifted to a familiar streetlight. It was the same one where Sana used to wait for you after work, her smile bright and a bag from your favorite bakery in her hand. She’d wave, jumping in place and calling your name, and you’d hug and kiss like nobody cared, her laughter echoing in the air.

But now you stood still. There was no one there anymore. You looked up and watched the mosquitoes and moths flying around the light, colliding with it, seeking clarity. The street felt emptier without her, the silence pressing in. A car honked, and you snapped back to reality, the sharp sound jolting you. You took a deep breath and kept moving, your feet feeling heavy as you continued your walk home, the memories lingering like a ghost beside you.

You reached your apartment building and climbed the stairs quietly, lost in thoughts of her. When you finally reached your door and unlocked it, the familiar scent of home surrounded you, but it offered little comfort that night. You tossed your bag aside and moved through your evening routine mechanically, shedding your work clothes and exchanging them for comfort.

You wandered to the living room and glanced out the window. The sky was dark, heavy with clouds, and the air felt electric, as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break.

Just as the first cracking of thunder startled you, there was a sudden knock at the door. Your heart skipped a beat. You approached the door cautiously, unsure of what to expect. Opening it slowly, you were taken aback to see Sana standing there in the hallway. She looked breathtaking, her hair in beautiful waves and her makeup perfect, but her eyes were clouded, distant, and filled with a sorrow you had never seen before. Despite her physical perfection, she was still unrecognizable, like the first day you both fell apart.

Where did you go?

“Can I come in?” she asked softly, her eyes searching yours with uncertainty yet a flicker of something familiar.

You hesitated briefly, then nodded silently, stepping back to allow her entry. As she walked past you into the room, you closed the door behind her.

She leaned forward to kiss your cheek, and you involuntarily flinched at the unexpected touch. Pulling back, she gave a fleeting, sad smile. Despite the distance and time that had changed her, there was a hint of the old Sana in her eyes, a flicker of warmth and familiarity that once defined her.

“Why are you here, Sana?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and a hint of frustration.

“I wanted to ask if you could come over to my place tomorrow,” she said, her tone tentative.

“You could’ve just texted,” you sighed, feeling the weight of the past weeks. “But sure, I’ll be there around 10 PM.”

“No, I want you to come during the day. Maybe around 2?” she said, surprising you with her request. Sana had never invited you over during the day before.

You both moved to the kitchen, the silence between you heavy and charged. You gestured for Sana to sit, and you took the seat opposite her, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. The storm outside still held its breath, the air thick.

"So, why now?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. "Why do you want me to come over during the day? Thought I was just a nighttime thing."

Sana looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting nervously. "I... I just thought it would be nice to spend more time together," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

You sighed, the frustration bubbling up despite your efforts to stay calm. "Sana, you've been so distant. You've changed so much. I don't even recognize you anymore. I look at you, but it's not your face. It isn't you. I don't know you at all."

Tears welled up in Sana's eyes, and she shook her head, her voice breaking as she spoke. "Don't say that. Please, don't say that."

"But it's true," you pressed on, your own voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. "You've pushed me away, shut me out. What happened to us? What happened to you?"

"Don't say that," she repeated, her tears spilling over. "Please."

Her repeated pleas cut through you, each one more desperate than the last. "Sana, I need to understand. I need to know why you've changed."

Where are you hiding?

She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. "I don't know. I don't know why," she cried. "I'm trying, but I don't know how to fix this."

You reached across the table, taking her trembling hands in yours. "I miss you, Sana. I miss the person you used to be. But I can't keep doing this if you won't let me in."

"Don't say that," she whispered again, but this time her voice was softer, more broken. "I can't lose you."

As she looked up, her eyes drifted to the necklace around your neck, the promise ring resting against your chest. Her gaze lingered there, and you noticed the flicker of recognition in her eyes. You gently tugged at the ring, your own emotions spilling over.

"I'm so attached to you, Sana," you began, your voice trembling. "I have so much love for you. But this," you pull at the ring, "is stopping me from moving on. The day you closed the door, the day you went hiding, was the day a part of me died too. You took my love away from me."

Her tears fell harder, her sorrow palpable. "I never meant to hurt you," she choked out. "I thought I was protecting you, protecting us."

"But you weren't," you said softly. "You were shutting me out, pushing me away. And it broke me, Sana."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the distant rumble of thunder. You squeezed her hands gently, hoping to bridge the chasm that had grown between you.

"Please don’t leave me," she whispered.

You remained silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air. The pain she’s caused is still fresh, and you couldn’t bring yourself to promise anything. Her plea lingered, unanswered.

"Please," she begged again, her voice breaking. "Don’t leave me."

You took a deep breath, your heart heavy with conflicting emotions. "Sana," you said gently, your voice so incredibly small. "I need you to leave. I can't keep doing this. I need time for myself to think. I don't know if I can ever give this a chance again."

Her face crumpled at your words, tears spilling down her cheeks. She looked at you, searching for any sign of hope, but found none.

“I understand,” she hiccuped, her voice trembling. She released your hands and stepped back, her movements slow and hesitant. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes clouded with regret and sorrow.

The first raindrops began to patter against the window, the storm finally breaking.

And now you stand at her doorstep, exactly at 2 PM. The old wooden door feels solid beneath your fingertips, and you hesitate, unsure if it's even worth knocking. You're conflicted, grappling with the idea of giving another chance, yet again. Despite the hurt, you can't help but see the lingering goodness and love in Sana.

Finally, you muster the courage and rap your knuckles against the door. The sound echoes through the silent afternoon, mingling with the distant hum of traffic.

After what feels like an eternity, the door creaks open slowly. Sana stands before you, her eyes red-rimmed. She looks fragile, as if the weight of the world rests on her shoulders.

"You came," she murmurs softly, her voice tinged with a mix of emotions—surprise, relief, and perhaps a hint of optimism.

"I came because I believe in love," you confess wearily, your voice carrying the weight of exhaustion and uncertainty.

Sana's breath catches in her throat, her eyes welling with tears. She steps back slightly, silently inviting you in. You follow her into the apartment, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.

Inside, the atmosphere is calm and serene, a stark contrast to the stormy night you both endured recently.

Sana leads you to the balcony, where a gentle breeze ruffles the curtains. The sky above is a clear, soft blue with just a few wispy clouds drifting lazily. The distant chirping of birds and the laughter of children playing in the street below make everything so peaceful.

She turns to face you, her eyes searching yours with uncertainty yet a flicker of hope. Without a word, she gestures towards a small table where a tea set is laid out. You both sit down silently, the only sound the faint clinking of cups as Sana pours the tea.

As she hands you a cup, her hand trembles slightly. She meets your gaze, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of everything hanging heavy in the air.

"I didn't know if you would come," Sana finally whispers, her voice barely audible above the gentle rustling of leaves.

You take her hand in yours, offering a reassuring squeeze. "I had to," you reply softly. "I had to see you, to understand."

She nods, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her emotions. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice choked with tears. "For pushing you away, for not letting you in."

You reach out and gently wipe away a tear from her cheek. "I understand why you did it," you say gently. "But I need to know if we can move forward, if we can find our way back to each other."

Sana looks at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and hope. "I want to try," she says, her voice trembling. "I want us to try."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sana," you say softly, cradling her face gently in your hands. She looks up at you, her tears flowing freely now, but there is a hint of relief in her eyes.

Leaning in closer, you press your lips tenderly against her forehead, then kiss away the tears that stain her cheeks. The gesture is soft and comforting, and you feel Sana melt against you, her breathing slowing as your touch calms her troubled heart.

She wraps her arms around you, holding you close as she slowly stops crying. The weight of the past weeks begins to lift, replaced by a fragile sense of hope and renewal.

You hold her tenderly, feeling the tension slowly ebb away from her body. She pulls back slightly, her eyes meeting yours, still glistening with tears but now also with a hint of something more—something hopeful.

Sana takes a deep breath and looks at you with a newfound determination in her eyes.

“I… I want to try something,” she says quietly, her voice tentative yet filled with a quiet resolve.

I want to try for you.

You tilt your head slightly, curiosity piqued. “What is it?” you ask gently, ready to support her in whatever way she needs.

Sana closes the remaining distance between you, her eyes fluttering shut as she leans in. Your lips meet in a gentle, tender kiss that quickly deepens as you both surrender to the moment. Her hands glide to your neck, fingers threading through your hair, while your arms encircle her waist, pulling her closer.

The kiss intensifies, filled with a passion that leaves you both breathless. Her lips move against yours with a newfound confidence, and you respond in kind, losing yourselves in the sensation. The world around you fades away as the kiss becomes more urgent, tongues dancing in a rhythm of their own.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you panting softly. Sana’s eyes shine with a mix of desire and determination.

“Come with me,” she says softly. She takes your hand, leading you back in, down the hallway to her bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, and the room is filled with a comfortable intimacy.

You look around, noticing the way the sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on everything. “It’s so different seeing you in the light of day,” you murmur, your voice filled with awe. “We usually only have these moments at night.”

Sana smiles, her eyes softening. “I know. I’m sorry… but it feels special, doesn’t it?” she replies, pulling you close again.

As she resumes kissing you, her hands begin to move with deliberate care. She slowly starts to unbutton your shirt, her fingers gentle and reverent. Each piece of clothing is removed with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. Her eyes never leave yours, filled with adoration.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers. “Like the most precious thing on earth.”

Her hands glide over your skin, cherishing every inch of you as if committing you to memory. The kisses deepen, becoming more intense, as she holds you close, making you feel treasured and loved beyond measure.

Sana's gaze is tender as she guides you down onto the soft expanse of the bed. There's a gentleness to her touch, a devotion in her careful movements, as she slides a pillow under your head and another beneath your hips. The fabric of her blouse brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to your own state of undress, but she doesn't seem to mind—her focus is entirely on you.

"Comfortable?" she whispers, her voice a gentle caress that mirrors the touch of her fingers trailing along the bare skin of your thigh.

"More than," you reply, and the corner of her mouth lifts in that familiar half-smile.

Her fingers, light and precise, trace patterns over your skin, igniting trails of heat wherever they roam. She leans over you, her lips barely grazing yours as her hand ventures further, exploring the heat between your thighs.

Two fingers spread you open and you can see the restraint in her eyes, the way she holds back her own desire, biting back a moan. Her movements are deliberate, intent on drawing out every shiver and gasp from your lips, her fingers dipping into your wetness.

"So perfect," she murmurs, almost to herself, at the sight of you, laid bare and the feeling of your soaked sex on her fingers.

She shifts then, positioning herself so that her mouth is inches away from where you ache for her most. Her breath is hot against your skin, her fingers still teasing you as she watches your face intently.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she engulfs you with her mouth and lets her tongue twirl around your clit. Humming as she suckles on it, savouring her favourite thing.

Your taste.

You.

The sounds are so obscene and wet, but she doesn’t care. Her focus is all on the singular point of desire pulsing between your legs. Her mouth is insistent, loving, worshipping with every motion.

She teases your entrance with two fingers, tracing up and down. But just before she can enter you, her face dips lower. Her tongue slips inside you, her kitten licks spreading your wetness across her tongue, her nose gently bumping against your clit repeatedly.

"Look at me," she whines against you, and your eyes flutter open to meet hers. There's a raw need in her gaze, a hunger to witness every moment of your unraveling.

With one hand, she grips your hip and gently nudges, signaling for you to take control. To use her face as you wish, to chase for your own pleasure. A few rolls of your hips against her face and you gasp, already so close to your release. She moans long and deep against your cunt before returning to your clit, sucking eagerly as her fingers slide inside you. She uses them in tandem, a rhythm designed to push you over the edge.

“So sweet, my love… so perfect,” she murmurs, almost breathless as you tighten around her. Her mouth opens in a silent moan at your needy whimper. Leaning her head against your thigh, she admires you, breath caught at your breathtaking sight — so gorgeous with your arched back and flushed cheeks, calling out her name as you grip the sheets. Your fingers then reach down to comb through her hair, anchoring yourself in the moment.

Your world narrows to the push and pull of her fingers, the relentless pressure building low in your belly. With each stroke, she whispers, "I love you," the words igniting sparks within you.

"Close," you manage to choke out, and she understands.

She shifts again, rising to hold your face with one hand, her fingers still working their magic below.

"I love you," she repeats like a mantra, each declaration punctuated with a kiss—a kiss to your brow, your cheeks, your lips. With each utterance, her fingers work you closer to release, her eyes alight with adoration, desperate to capture every nuance of your expression.

A deep stroke, a curl of fingers and a palm hitting your clit, release crashes over you in waves.

I love you, y/n.

As you float back down, Sana stays close, her forehead pressed against yours, her breathing synchronized with your panting breaths.

"You are so much more prettier in the sunlight, my angel." Sana whispers against your lips before locking them with hers in a slow, wet kiss.

You close your eyes, letting the kiss consume you. Sana's hand reaches for the necklace, her fingers brushing against the promise ring. She gently follows the loop of it, fingers grazing the golden band warmed up by your heated skin. Her eyes momentarily clear before clouding over again, like a storm that never truly left.

I love you so much, y/n.

But I don’t know.

You smile, feeling a flicker of hope, too naive to see the familiar pattern repeating itself. Sana's slight change gives you enough reassurance to stay, unaware that you're both bound to repeat the same cycle.

As you drift into sleep, Sana's eyes change, clouding over completely. A single tear falls from her eye because she knows she’s bound to break your heart again, but she also knows you’re not going anywhere. The realization stabs at her, but she can't help the pull of the cycle, just as you can't help your love for her.

In that moment, as your breathing steadies in sleep, the tear rolls down her cheek, and she whispers into the quietness of the room, "I'm sorry." But you don’t hear it, and even if you did, you wouldn't understand.

The cycle is unbreakable, and both of you are too lost in it to ever truly escape.

"I’m so sorry."

I don’t know if I’ll ever make it back, my love.

[chaoticrockmusic]

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤

Synopsis; After a nightmare brings Kurt's painful memories of the circus flooding back, he seeks comfort in your presence. Through gentle words and unwavering reassurance, you remind him he’s safe, loved, and finally free of his past.

Warnings; None, enjoy kits!

Requested by @hulkingharbor

A soft whimper stirs you from sleep, faint yet unmistakable. Blinking, you sit up, the dim light from the hallway spilling just enough into your room to reveal a figure curled up in the chair by the door. Even in the shadows, the familiar silhouette—his curled tail, his fur-covered arms hugging himself tightly—tells you it’s Kurt.

“Kurt?” you murmur, voice soft so as not to startle him.

He flinches, his head lifting slightly as his golden eyes meet yours, still clouded with remnants of whatever nightmare had him in its grip. His hands shake, gripping his arms as though grounding himself. His voice is barely a whisper. “I… I did not mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not disturbing me,” you say, easing yourself off the bed and crossing the room. Kneeling down in front of him, you reach out, gently resting your hand on his. “Did you have a nightmare?”

He nods, looking away, shame edging his gaze. “It… it was about the circus,” he admits, voice tight with remembered pain. “Sometimes, it still haunts me. The cage, the… the crowds, their faces full of fear and hatred. They treated me like an animal, like a… monster.” His voice cracks, barely able to hold back the shame that lingers from all those years.

You squeeze his hand. “Kurt, you’re not a monster. You never were.”

He closes his eyes, as if the words are something he wants to believe but hasn’t fully accepted. “It was not just their words,” he says, his voice strained. “They—there were nights I would not get food, times I was… punished. I still feel the ache from it sometimes, like phantome in my bones.”

Your heart aches, and without a second thought, you pull him into a gentle embrace, wrapping your arms around him. He tenses, surprised, before finally allowing himself to relax into your touch, his breathing gradually evening out as he settles in your arms.

“They were wrong,” you murmur softly against his shoulder. “Those people were cruel, Kurt. But you’re safe now. You’re with people who care about you, who see you for who you truly are.”

He sighs, his head leaning against you, seeming to absorb every word. “It is… hard to remember that sometimes,” he says softly, his voice vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely heard before. “I know I am here, but… it is easy to feel like I am back there again.”

You run your hand down his back gently, hoping to chase away whatever ghosts linger there. “Then I’ll be here to remind you,” you say firmly. “Whenever you need, I’ll remind you that you’re loved, that you’re worthy of kindness, of respect, of happiness. I won’t let you go back to that place—not in your mind, not ever.”

He looks at you, and this time his gaze holds something like hope. “Danke,” he whispers, voice thick. “I do not know what I have done to deserve someone like you.”

“You don’t have to do anything, Kurt,” you say, giving his hand one last squeeze. “You just have to let yourself be loved. Can you do that?”

After a moment, he nods, leaning into you a little more. For tonight, the shadows from his past fade, and as he drifts back to sleep beside you, his breathing finally at peace, you know he believes—if only a little bit—that he’s safe and loved.

Plz do not copy or translate! -Callme_Bunni

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Gargoyle/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 6,091 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist Part 1 (here), Part 2 (coming soon!)

You're a new volunteer at the halfway house and a dear friend of Esmeralda; you expected working here to be tough, but you didn’t expect to fall in love with one of the monsters seeking shelter here.

The halfway house loomed in front of you like something out of a gothic novel, all sprawling stone and ivy creeping up the walls. The rain had turned to a light drizzle, just enough to make the night feel colder than it should.

Tugging your jacket tighter, you glanced up at the carved arches of the doorway, wondering—not for the first time—if you were out of your depth. Then the door swung open, and there she was.

“Finally!” Esmeralda’s voice carried like a warm embrace. Her smile flashed sharp and bright, and even though you knew what she was, it still startled you to see her teeth. “You’re late.”

You laughed, stepping into her embrace without hesitation. Her arms were cool against you, but that was Esmeralda—cool to the touch, always warm in her way. “Blame the weather,” you said. “The train was slow, and so am I when it comes to resisting bakery stops.”

She pulled back and gave you a knowing look. “I told you to bring something. If you didn’t, I’ll be forced to scold you.”

You reached into your bag and produced a paper-wrapped box. “Raspberry tarts,” you said smugly. “Because I know you too well.”

Esmeralda’s grin widened as she plucked the box from your hands. “You do, darling. This is why we’re friends.”

Friends was a soft word for what you were. Not many humans knew what Esmeralda was, and even fewer stuck around once they did. You’d never cared. She had saved your life once, and you owed her for that. Besides, the world was far more interesting with a vampire for a best friend.

She stepped back and gestured for you to come inside. The house was just as impressive on the inside as it was on the outside. High ceilings, dark wood, and the kind of place that felt like it should come with a ghost or two.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here,” she said, leading you down the wide hallway. Her dark hair bounced as she walked. “The timing is perfect.”

“It always is. Sometimes, I think fate brings us together at just the right time. Every time.”

The place buzzed with quiet energy. You caught movement from the corner of your eye—something tall and shadowed slipping into another room.

Esmeralda waved a hand dismissively, either at your comment or whatever you thought you’d seen. “This time, it really is. I have some associates who could help us secure long-term funding, but they’re going to need convincing.” Her heels clicked against the floor, echoing through the hall as she stopped by an arched doorway and turned to face you. “That’s where you come in.”

“Me?” You blinked. “You want me to dazzle some vampires into handing over cash?”

“Not quite.” She smirked. “You’re a journalist. I need you to help record the residents’ stories. Show the work we do here—how important it is. You’re good at that, and the residents need to socialise with someone they don’t see day in, day out.”

You hesitated, looking around again. The house had a strange, quiet pull to it. “You think they’ll open up?”

“They will.” Her smile softened, just enough to feel genuine. “They just need a reason to.”

Esmeralda gestured for you to follow her further into the house, her heels clicking rhythmically on the wooden floor. “I think you’ll find the residents are more varied than you might expect,” she said, her voice tinged with pride. “This place doesn’t just offer shelter—it’s a second chance for some, a lifeline for others. If we’re going to convince my associates to fund us, they need to see the real impact we’ve had.”

You nodded, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “You think their stories will do the trick?”

“They will,” she replied firmly. “Though it depends on how well you can connect with them. Some are easy to talk to. Others... less so.”

Before you could ask what that meant, a blur of movement caught your eye. A small figure came rushing down the hallway towards you, barefoot and clutching something to her chest.

The girl skidded to a stop just inches from colliding with you, her mossy green hair clinging damply to her face. Wide, watery grey eyes darted between you and Esmeralda, her pale cheeks flushing an earthy pink.

“Oh! I-I’m sorry!” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. She shifted nervously from foot to foot, clutching what looked like a shiny silver trinket against her chest. “I didn’t mean to... I wasn’t looking where I...”

“It’s alright,” you said, smiling to put her at ease. You crouched slightly, meeting her eye level. “No harm done. You all right?”

The girl nodded quickly but didn’t speak again. Esmeralda placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, her tone soft. “Maisie, this is the friend I told you about. She’s here to help us tell our stories.” She turns to me. “I thought you might like to start with Maisie?”

Maisie’s mossy hair swayed as she shook her head rapidly, eyes wide with alarm. “Oh, no, no. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Maisie’s an open book,” Esmeralda said to you, ignoring the girl’s protest. “Shy, but sweet as they come. Or,” she added with a hum, “you could start with Laurent and Olivier. They’re the oldest residents, so they have the most history to record.”

“Oldest?” you asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

Esmeralda nodded. “And the most stubborn. Olivier can chat for hours, but good luck getting Laurent to open up.”

Before you could respond, heavy footsteps thudded from the opposite direction, drawing your attention. Two towering figures appeared at the end of the hallway, their presence as imposing as it was magnetic. One was slightly darker in tone, his grey-green skin like moss-covered stone, his massive frame a wall of muscle. The other was a shade lighter, with a more angular build and sharp amber eyes.

“Maisie,” the darker one rumbled, his voice low and steady. “Give it back.”

The lighter one sighed, crossing his arms. “You know stealing isn’t a game, right?”

Maisie squeaked, thrusting the trinket forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Esmeralda leaned in. “Meet Olivier,” she said, nodding towards the lighter figure, “and his twin, Laurent.”

They strode closer, the hallway seeming to shrink under their sheer size. They were massive, nearly seven feet tall, with broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the very definition of imposing. Their skin, textured like weathered stone, shimmered faintly in the dim light.

Your gaze caught on Laurent first, the larger of the two. His face was broad, with a wide, squashed nose, sharp, heavy brows, and tusks that curved slightly from his lower jaw. The glow of his amber eyes cut through the shadows, steady and unreadable, but there was something about the way he carried himself—stiff, upright, every movement deliberate—that made your chest tighten.

He looked like he’d been carved from stone itself, all strength and immovable purpose, and yet the detail of him was captivating: the faint cracks across his forearms, the way his massive wings, folded tightly against his back, curved with a natural grace.

For a moment, you forgot to breathe. He was terrifying. He was magnificent.

He was staring right at you.

You forced yourself to focus on Olivier instead, who offered a crooked smile as he took the trinket from Maisie. His features were similar to Laurent’s—squashed and intimidating—but there was a softness to him, in the way his golden eyes glinted and the slight curve of his lips. “I hope we didn’t scare you too badly,” Olivier said, his tone teasing as he turned the trinket over in his claws.

You shook your head, managing a smile despite the fact that your pulse was still racing. “Not scared. Startled, maybe.”

Laurent’s low, rumbling voice cut in, deeper and rougher than Olivier’s. “You looked scared.”

The words hit like a challenge, his gaze boring into yours with a quiet intensity that made the air feel heavier. Your throat tightened as you tried to find your footing again. “First time meeting a gargoyle,” you said, keeping your tone light despite the unease creeping into your chest. “I wasn’t expecting statuesque giants in the hallway.”

Olivier’s laugh broke the tension, his grin widening. “Statuesque. We’ll take that as a compliment.”

Laurent’s expression didn’t shift, but something in the flicker of his eyes told you your attempt at humour had landed poorly. He glanced briefly at Esmeralda, then back at you. “We’re not statues, that’s a myth.”

It wasn’t quite defensive, but there was a weight to the statement, a quiet correction. Your cheeks warmed under his scrutiny, though you weren’t sure if it was embarrassment or something more disconcerting.

“Well,” Esmeralda interjected smoothly, her tone placating, “I think introductions are overdue. Laurent, Olivier, this is my friend. She’s here to help us with some important work.”

Laurent’s stare lingered for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to Maisie. “You need to stop taking our stuff.”

Maisie mumbled another apology, clutching her mossy hair nervously before darting down the hallway toward her room. Her bare feet barely made a sound as she vanished into the shadows. You watched her go, relieved that she seemed more embarrassed than upset.

Laurent and Olivier lingered for a moment longer. Olivier gave you a small, hesitant smile, the kind that seemed polite but guarded. “It was nice meeting you,” he said, his tone warm; but still laced with caution.

Laurent, on the other hand, didn’t bother with any pleasantries. His amber eyes flicked over you briefly, unreadable, before he turned and walked away. Olivier followed a moment later, the two of them moving in sync, their massive wings shifting slightly as they disappeared into the house.

You exhaled slowly, the tension in your chest easing now that they were gone.

“I’m sorry about Laurent,” Esmeralda said softly, drawing your attention back to her. Her dark eyes held a mix of amusement and sympathy. “He has... a way of putting people on edge.”

You crossed your arms, still feeling the weight of his gaze. “He’s intense - and intimidating. Is he always like that?”

Esmeralda tilted her head thoughtfully. “Most of the time, yes. Laurent is...” She paused, searching for the right words. “Complicated. Fiercely loyal, deeply protective, but also very guarded. He doesn’t trust easily, especially humans.” Her lips quirked into a small smile. “Don’t take it personally. It’s not you—it’s everyone.”

You raised an eyebrow, still curious. “Olivier? He seemed... nicer.”

“More approachable, certainly,” Esmeralda agreed. “Don’t let his smile fool you. Olivier is just as wary as his brother. The two of them are inseparable. They’ve been through too much together to let anyone else in easily.”

“Oh?”

Her tone shifted slightly, quieter, more serious. “I could tell you more, but it’s not my story to share. That’s for them to decide.” She gestured down the hallway, as if to indicate the direction the gargoyles had gone. “If you want to understand them, you’ll need to hear it from them. Separately.”

You frowned, puzzled. “Separately?”

Esmeralda nodded. “Laurent and Olivier rely on each other. That’s not a bad thing, but it’s... limiting. They rarely speak to anyone else, and I think it would do them good to branch out. Even if it’s just for this project, talking to you individually could be important for both of them.”

You hesitated, unsure if Laurent’s gruff demeanor was something you could break through. Still, there was something about him—and Olivier—that intrigued you. You wanted to understand why they were here, why they stayed when so many others seemed to move on.

Esmeralda smiled, her sharp features softening. “Take your time. They’ll open up eventually. Just be patient… and persistent.”

You nodded slowly, already thinking of how to approach them. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said warmly, motioning for you to follow her further down the hallway. “Now, let me show you where you’ll be staying.”

***

The room Esmeralda had set aside for you was beautiful, in a way that felt almost too much. The ceilings were impossibly high, the bed large enough to swallow you whole, its dark wooden frame heavy and ornate. A tall wardrobe sat in the corner, its doors slightly ajar, revealing neatly folded blankets that you didn’t need.

The entire space was cold; not freezing, but just enough to keep you shifting under the covers.

Then there was the snoring. It rumbled low and steady through the wall, like some great beast slumbering on the other side. You guessed it might be one of the residents—a werewolf, maybe? Whoever it was, they were sleeping far more soundly than you.

Frustrated, you kicked the blankets aside and padded over to the tall windows that opened onto the balcony. The latch creaked faintly as you slid it open, stepping out into the night. A chill breeze hit you immediately, raising goosebumps along your arms, but it was a relief after the oppressive stillness of the room.

The view was eerie. Beautiful. The sprawling grounds of the halfway house stretched out below, dark shapes of trees swaying in the faint wind. Above, the moon hung bright and full, casting everything in a silvery glow.

There, perched on the roof like a gargoyle carved into the building itself, was Laurent.

Your breath caught. He was perched on the very edge of the roofline, his wings partially unfurled, silhouetted against the moonlight. His massive frame was still, his head tilted slightly as though he were watching the horizon. He looked like part of the house, his dark skin blending into the stone.

You took a quick step back, hoping he hadn’t seen you. The last thing you wanted was to disturb him—or worse, have another uncomfortable interaction like earlier.

The faintest movement of his head confirmed he’d already noticed you. His glowing amber eyes locked onto yours, even from a distance. There was no going back now.

After a moment’s hesitation, you decided to take a leap of faith—literally. Climbing up onto the roof seemed like a terrible idea, but staying silent felt worse. You couldn’t explain it, but something about Laurent’s presence pulled at you. You grabbed the nearest part of the latticework and started to climb.

The wind picked up as you scrambled higher, the cold biting at your fingers. The angle was steeper than you’d thought, and halfway up, your foot slipped.

A startled gasp escaped you as you lost your balance. Before you could fall, a massive hand closed around your arm, pulling you up with startling strength. Laurent’s grip was solid and unyielding, his claws barely brushing your skin as he steadied you.

“Careful,” he rumbled, his voice low and rough. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

Your legs trembled as you clung to the edge of the roof, heart racing more from the near fall than anything else. “I-I wasn’t—”

“You’re scared,” he interrupted, his gaze sharp, almost accusing. “You shouldn’t have come up here if you’re afraid of me.”

“Afraid of falling,” you snapped, your voice steadier than you expected. “Not you.”

His expression flickered, surprise flashing across his heavy features before settling into something unreadable. Slowly, he pulled you fully onto the roof, setting you down with more care than you’d expected.

“Hmm,” he muttered, his deep voice more thoughtful now. “You’re braver than you look.”

You sat smiled and carefully, legs crossed, and your hands braced behind you for balance. The roof slanted enough to make your stomach churn if you looked down too long, so you fixed your gaze straight ahead instead. The cold stone beneath you seeped through your clothes, sharp and uncomfortable, but Laurent’s steady presence made the discomfort bearable.

He hadn’t moved far, crouched on the edge of the roof like he belonged there, his wings partially spread to balance himself. The moonlight outlined him in silver, catching on the rough texture of his mossy-green skin and the faint cracks that ran across his arms. His claws flexed once, idly, before going still again, his focus still somewhere in the distance.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and unfamiliar. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, watching the way his sharp, angled features caught the light. His face was undeniably strange—his nose wide and squashed, his jaw prominent and square. His glowing eyes were the most striking, unblinking as they reflected the faint light of the moon.

Odd, you thought. Odd, but not unattractive. Certainly unconventional, but there was something compelling about the strength in his features, the way his stillness made him seem carved from the roof itself.

When he finally turned his head to look at you, the weight of his gaze knocked the breath from your chest. He wasn’t just watching you—he was studying you, those amber eyes sharp and expectant.

You fumbled, sitting up straighter. “I—uh...” The words caught in your throat as his expression remained unreadable. “Esmeralda thought I should talk to you.”

His brow furrowed slightly, one of his wings shifting closer to his body. “Why?”

You rubbed at the back of your neck, feeling the cold bite of the wind there. “She’s... She’s hoping to get funding for the house. She thought that if I recorded the residents’ stories, it might help convince the people she’s reaching out to.”

For a moment, Laurent didn’t respond, his gaze sweeping back over the horizon. You wondered if he was ignoring you entirely when he finally said, “I know she’s been struggling.”

His voice was low, rough, but there was something softer beneath it. You tilted your head, surprised by his honesty. “You do?”

He nodded, still watching the trees sway in the distance. “She tries to keep it quiet, but it’s obvious if you pay attention. Fixes that don’t get finished. Rooms that stay empty longer than they used to.”

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. He wasn’t wrong—Esmeralda’s determination to keep the house running sometimes masked just how precarious things had become.

“She thinks your story could help,” you said quietly.

Laurent’s jaw tightened at that, his claws flexing again. “I don’t tell my story.”

It wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t exactly welcoming either. You braced yourself, determined not to retreat. “Maybe this time, you should.”

“No,” Laurent said flatly, his gaze cutting back to you.

The weight of the word hung in the air, as immovable as the gargoyle himself.

You hesitated, frustration bubbling under your skin. “I’m not asking you to bare your soul or anything,” you tried, keeping your tone even, calm. “It’s just—Esmeralda really believes this could help the house. You’re the oldest resident. Your story matters.”

“I said no.” His wings flared slightly, a restless motion that seemed involuntary, and his claws scraped faintly against the stone roof.

Your irritation flared, pushing past the unease in your chest. “Why; what are you so afraid of? Esmeralda has done so much for you, she deserves—”

“Enough!”

His voice cracked like thunder, louder than anything you’d heard from him before. It rolled over you, heavy and full of raw anger. Laurent turned toward you fully now, his massive frame towering in the moonlight.

“Do you ever shut up?” he growled, his tusks catching the faint light as his upper lip curled. “Take the hint and fuck off!”

The words hit like a slap, sharp and final. For the first time since arriving at the house, you felt real fear, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. The sheer size of him, his claws flexing at his sides, the tension radiating from every inch of him—it was overwhelming.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled to your feet, stepping back toward the edge of the roof. “I’m sorry,” you stammered, barely managing to get the words out. You turned, gripping the stone ledge as you clambered awkwardly down to the balcony.

When your feet finally hit solid ground, you turned back instinctively, catching sight of him still standing on the roof. The shadows draped over him like a second skin, his wings tucked tight against his back, but he didn’t look at you. He stared straight ahead, as if you’d already disappeared.

The knot in your stomach tightened further. You wanted to call up to him, to try again, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the flicker of guilt in his eyes, the one he tried to mask with cold indifference. Or maybe it was the sharp edge of your own fear.

You turned back to the hallway, your chest still tight as you opened the door quietly. You hadn’t made it far when a vaguely familiar voice stopped you.

“Are you alright?” Olivier stood just ahead, his expression a mix of concern and something softer. He glanced toward the balcony, his wings twitching faintly. “I was looking for Laurent. Did something happen?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “We talked. Or... tried to. He got angry. I pushed too hard, and he told me to leave.”

Olivier’s brows furrowed, and he stepped closer, his broad shoulders hunched slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “My brother... he has his reasons for being the way he is. That’s not an excuse, but I hope you understand.”

You nodded, still rattled. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

Olivier gave you a faint, apologetic smile. “He knows. He just... needs time.”

You smile awkwardly, trying to stuff down the flicker of guilt growing in your stomach. “Yeah, I know.”

***

The next few days passed in a blur of activity. You kept yourself busy, determined to avoid crossing paths with Laurent. If he didn’t want to talk, fine. There were plenty of other residents willing to share their stories, and you threw yourself into listening to them.

Maisie was the first. The young kelpie was painfully shy, her mossy hair dripping faintly as she sat across from you in the sunlit sitting room, her knees drawn to her chest. She’d come from a small loch in the Scottish Highlands, the last of her kind in that area. Her voice wavered as she explained how the world had changed too much for her kind to survive, her watery grey eyes filled with a sadness that seemed far older than her youthful appearance.

“Humans don’t leave offerings anymore,” she murmured, twisting a strand of mossy hair between her fingers. “They drain the lochs... build over everything. There’s nowhere left for us.”

Her words stayed with you long after she returned to her room.

Lucas was a different story entirely. The boisterous werewolf cornered you in the kitchen as you were grabbing a drink, pulling you into a sprawling conversation over a shared pot of coffee. He was charming and open in a way that felt effortless, leaning against the counter as he recounted his life before the halfway house.

“I used to live in the city,” he said, stirring sugar into his cup. “Worked construction, went out on weekends, the usual. Then I met someone—human, obviously—and things got... complicated.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “Complicated how?”

Lucas’s grin faltered, his golden-brown eyes dimming slightly. “She found out. Couldn’t handle it. One night I shifted in front of her by accident, and that was that. She told people. I had to run.” He shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t quite mask the tension in his shoulders. “Esmeralda found me before things got worse.”

It struck you how casually he spoke about something that had likely upended his entire life. The ease in his tone felt practiced, a cover for something far deeper.

You wanted to press him further, to ask how he’d really felt when everything fell apart, but the slight twitch in his jaw warned you to tread lightly.

“Well,” you said instead, offering him a small smile. “It sounds like you’ve found a place here. Even if it’s... not what you planned.”

Lucas exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah, it’s not bad. Esmeralda runs a tight ship, and the residents aren’t half as scary as they look.” His grin returned, broader this time. “Most of them, anyway.”

He didn’t say it outright, but you could hear the unspoken Laurent in his words. The conversation drifted to lighter topics after that, but even as Lucas returned to his usual charm, his story lingered with you.

Later that evening, as you wandered the hallways, you found yourself drawn to the little-used staircase that led to the third floor. You’d avoided it until now; Esmeralda had casually mentioned that only one resident stayed there, and even she hadn’t offered much detail.

The stairs creaked under your weight, the air growing cooler as you ascended. The third floor was darker, the faint scent of dust and something older curling in the still air. Shadows clung to the corners, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d imagined the faint movement flickering just out of sight.

Then a voice, low and whispery, broke the silence.

“You’re brave... or foolish.”

You froze, your breath catching. The shadows shifted ahead of you, curling and stretching until they coalesced into a shape—not quite solid, not quite human. A pair of faintly glowing eyes blinked into existence, and you realised you were face-to-face with something dark and shadowy.

“I heard you don’t like visitors,” you said carefully, your voice steady despite the prickling unease that crawled up your spine.

Rio’s shape rippled, his outline flickering like smoke caught in the wind. “Most of them don’t try to talk. They... avoid me.”

You took a tentative step closer, tilting your head. “Why’s that? You seem... well, intimidating, sure, but not terrible.”

A sound that might have been a chuckle escaped him, soft and dry like paper crumpling. “That’s... generous. What do you want?”

“I’m recording stories for Esmeralda,” you explained, watching the shadows shift around him. “About the residents, their lives. She said it might help the house.”

Rio was silent for a long moment, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. “A human,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She sent a human.”

Despite the odd flicker of fear still clinging to your thoughts, you crossed your arms. “Are you going to let that stop you?”

His form seemed to grow taller, darker, before shrinking back again. “No. Ask.”

The exchange was brief, fragmented, but he answered you, his words drifting like smoke in the quiet hallway. When you eventually thanked him and left, you couldn’t shake the sense that you’d just glimpsed something rare, something no one else had seen.

Esmeralda’s delight later was almost infectious, but even as she praised you for managing to talk to Rio, your thoughts wandered. No matter how many stories you gathered, one glaring absence loomed in your mind.

Laurent still hadn’t spoken to you, and you were starting to wonder if he ever would.

***

Maisie sat cross-legged on the couch, her mossy hair draped over one shoulder as she carefully plaited it into thin, uneven braids. You were perched on the other end, notebook in hand, jotting down details of her story between her shy pauses.

“I suppose,” Maisie murmured, her voice as soft as the brush of water against stone, “I was lucky Esmeralda found me when she did. I didn’t... I didn’t know where to go.”

You glanced up, offering an encouraging smile. “You’ve been here a while now, though. Do you feel safe?”

Maisie nodded, her fingers still working through her damp hair. “Safe, aye, but it’s... different. Always worrying someone will notice something.” Her gaze dropped to her lap, her voice quieter now. “People don’t like what they don’t understand.”

Her words sat heavily between you, both of you lost in thought until the murmur of voices from the next room pulled you back.

Esmeralda’s voice, low and sharp, carried through the doorway. “You don’t think they’ve figured it out, do you?”

Maisie froze mid-braid, her watery grey eyes snapping to yours. You shook your head slightly, motioning for her to stay quiet as Lucas’s reply drifted through the air.

“It’s just talk, Esme,” Lucas said, his tone calm but edged with unease. “People in small towns gossip. It doesn’t mean they know anything.”

“What if they do?” Esmeralda shot back, her usual poise slipping. “What if someone’s realised what we are? You’ve heard the rumours as much as I have. Strange sounds. Lights at night. The halfway house full of strangers. They’re putting things together.”

Maisie’s hands trembled, her braid forgotten as she leaned closer to you, her voice a whisper. “Are they talking about us?”

You pressed a finger to your lips, trying to focus on the conversation.

“They’re always going to talk,” Lucas replied, though his voice sounded strained now, the usual easy charm missing. “It doesn’t mean we’re in danger. We’ve dealt with this kind of thing before.”

“This is different,” Esmeralda insisted. “I know when someone’s watching. I know when someone’s looking too closely.”

There was a pause, the kind that felt heavy with things unsaid. Then Lucas spoke again, softer this time. “If someone’s onto us, we’ll deal with it. We always do. You’ve been keeping this place running too long to let a few nosy villagers bring it down.”

The tension in Esmeralda’s voice didn’t ease. “I won’t let them hurt anyone. Not again.”

Your stomach tightened at her words, and you could see Maisie clutching her knees, her knuckles pale against her mossy skin. You wanted to tell her everything was fine, that it was just paranoia, but the edge in Esmeralda’s tone made it hard to believe even yourself.

Maisie’s whisper barely broke the silence. “Do you think... they’ll come here?”

You didn’t have an answer. Instead, you closed your notebook and gave her a reassuring smile you didn’t quite feel. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” you said softly, though the uneasy knot in your chest told you you’d both heard enough to worry.

Maisie’s fingers fidgeted with her braid, unravelling it as quickly as she’d plaited it. Her watery grey eyes darted toward the doorway where Esmeralda and Lucas’s voices had been, their absence now replaced by an uncomfortable stillness.

“Maisie,” you said gently, closing your notebook and setting it aside. “We can pick this up another time, yeah?”

She blinked, her mouth forming a small o of surprise before she nodded quickly, her mossy hair swaying. “Aye, I—thank you,” she mumbled, standing so quickly that the hem of her long skirt caught on the couch. She tugged it free and all but darted out of the room, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floors.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stood. You didn’t blame her. Whatever Esmeralda and Lucas had been talking about had set both your nerves and hers on edge. There was no use pushing her now.

Stepping into the hall, you nearly collided with someone solid—someone massive. Your heart skipped as you looked up to find both twins standing there, blocking most of the narrow hallway with their combined size.

Laurent, as always, looked like he’d been carved directly from the walls—stoic and unmoving—while Olivier’s brows rose slightly, his expression more open but just as unreadable.

“Sorry,” you said, stepping back and trying to gauge whether they’d heard the conversation too. From the way Olivier’s amber eyes flicked toward the sitting room door, it was clear they had. Neither of them said anything, and you felt the awkwardness thicken around you.

“So, uh,” you started, fumbling for something to say. “What brings you to this end of the house?”

Olivier gave a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just stretching our legs.”

Laurent, on the other hand, didn’t so much as blink. He stood there, his wings tucked close, a hulking silhouette against the dim light of the hallway.

You cleared your throat, glancing between them. “Well, nice to, um, bump into you. Again.”

Olivier’s smile widened just a fraction, but Laurent simply turned, his massive frame moving further down the hall. Olivier followed without another word.

Later, when sleep refused to come, you found yourself wandering into the kitchen. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound at first, until a low, familiar voice startled you.

“You’re up late.”

Laurent was standing near the counter, his hulking frame somehow looking out of place amidst the cosy clutter of the kitchen. His wings shifted slightly as he turned, glancing at you with those glowing amber eyes.

“So are you,” you replied, leaning against the doorway.

For a moment, you thought that was the end of it. Then, awkwardly, he gestured toward the kettle. “Tea?”

The word was stilted, almost uncertain, and you blinked.

“Sure,” you said, your voice softer now.

Laurent reached for a small container, and your eyes widened as he set it on the counter. It had your name written neatly on the label.

“You knew where my tea was?”

He shrugged, the movement oddly stiff. “Esmeralda said it was yours. You leave it in the same spot.”

You stared, caught between surprise and something warmer. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

His claws brushed the edge of the container as he opened it. “I notice everything.”

You didn’t comment, instead watching as he ambled about the kitchen.

Laurent moved with a quiet efficiency that seemed incongruous with his size. The kettle hissed softly as he poured the steaming water into two mismatched mugs, his massive hands surprisingly deft as he worked. His shoulders hunched slightly to accommodate the low cabinets above him, and every shift of his wings made the kitchen feel even smaller.

You watched him from your spot near the table, caught between awkward silence and an inexplicable pull you didn’t entirely understand. He seemed too big for the space, too solid, like the room itself might give way before he did.

Yet, there was something mesmerising about the precision of his movements, the quiet strength in the way he handled something as simple as making tea.

The air between you was heavy, uncomfortable. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words refused to come. Laurent didn’t seem inclined to break the silence either, his amber eyes focused on the mugs as he let the tea steep.

Your fingers tapped absently against the edge of the table, the tension stretching taut. “I, uh... I didn’t mean to push you before.” The words slipped out before you had time to second guess them. “When I first got here. I just… I was trying to help, and I think I overstepped.”

Laurent didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached for the mugs, his claws brushing the handles as he turned to hand one to you. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, the glow in them unreadable.

“I don’t like being pushed,” he said finally, his voice a low rumble that resonated through the small kitchen.

The sound sent a shiver down your spine, something deep and instinctive that wasn’t entirely fear. You nodded, fingers wrapping around the warm mug. “I get that. I just... wanted you to know I’m sorry.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his tusks catching the faint light as his jaw shifted. “You meant well,” he said eventually, his tone gruff but not unkind. “It’s fine.”

The tension between you didn’t entirely dissipate, but something in the air felt different. You took a deep breath, lifting the mug to your lips—

A sudden crash from somewhere in the house shattered the quiet, the sound sharp and violent enough to make you jump. The mug slipped in your hands, hot tea splashing onto your fingers and sending a spark of pain through you.

Before you’d even registered it, Laurent was already moving. His wings flared slightly, casting shadows across the walls as he straightened to his full height.

“Stay here,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Another sound followed—a muffled shout, unfamiliar voices carrying through the hallway. Laurent’s head snapped toward the doorway, his body tensing like a spring ready to release.

“Who the hell is that?” you whispered, your heart pounding as the voices grew louder. Laurent didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped toward the door, his massive frame blocking your view as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed closer.

[owlespresso]

idk if i'll finish this but i missed him.

Leander keeps his eyes on you.

His gaze pries into the back of your skill. He exudes a pressure that only you seem to feel. It drapes across your shoulders like a shawl. It’s not habit for you to talk to random patrons or even Bloodhounds. You like to keep to yourself, but you can’t solve the riddle of your accursed existence without the help of others. Ears, eyes, and occasionally mouth open for clues, for hints.

The man across from you, however, is offering none of what you seek.

“I’ve never seen you around, before. Are you new to Eridia?” He gave you a name you’ve already forgotten. His eyes are cornflower blue. Pretty.

You don’t want to tell him anything. So he receives short, clipped answers for his troubles. The noise in the bar swells as the minutes tick by. Your palms sweat. Leander’s behind the bar, but it feels like he’s stood right behind you, like you’re in his shadow. 

He doesn’t frighten you, you tell yourself. He has no stake in who you speak to or what relationships you develop. He can look all he likes. You refuse to give him the pleasure of acknowledgement. Looking back would be like losing. Maybe it’s immature of you to think that way. You can let yourself be childish, just this once.

Until the stranger’s amicable questions grow too tiresome for you to handle. Every tentative answer pried from your tight lips feels like another finger curled around your throat. When your temples start to throb, you stand with an abruptness that startles even yourself. 

You mumble something about getting a glass of water and make for the bar. The crowds swell over the space you left behind, and for once you are thankful for their presence. 

Leander doesn’t feign nonchalance when you approach him by the bar. He looks at you unabashedly, with nothing but the purest concern.

In the distance, the raucous noise of the bar swells and throbs heavy in your temples. The sea of voices and stroked, twanging strings and glasses knocked together forms a relentless cacophony that you had to escape from. 

“What do you want?”

“You’ve been staring holes into the back of my head for the past ten minutes,” you grumble. It’s not an accusation, because it’s true. 

“I can’t help it. You’re so easy on the eyes,” Leander blandishes blatantly, smoothing over your concerns with the dulcet tones of his voice. “But that guy sitting across from you wouldn’t leave you alone, right?” 

“No. He was fine,” you insist. It’s half a lie. “If anything, he was bothering you.”

“I don’t even know the guy. How could he have been bothering me?” Leander asks, a tinge of amusement to his voice. His lips curl into the barest hunt of a smile, amused, like you’re the silly one here. “Are you alright? You look a little clammy.” His hand is on your forehead before you even realize it. Your periphery has become smudges of colors and fuzzy shapes. “Maybe it’d be a good idea for you to head up early.”

Your jaw grinds, because how dare he try and turn this on you. But you know to pick your battles. Leander holds the key to your current lodgings. He feeds you, shelters you and hell–he’s even shown you around parts of the city. To upset him gravely, before you have the requisite funds to purchase your own apartment, would be to cast yourself onto the unforgiving streets. 

So you settle. “...Yeah,” The words pry themselves out of your throat, tinged with slight bitterness. You hasten up the stairs, eager to leave the crowds and the stranger and Leander’s prying eyes far behind you. 

But Leander follows you. You hear him before he even reaches you. The stairs creak under his additional weight. His long fingers close firm around your wrist, holding you in place, “Wait.”

[testrella]

princess protection program⋆⁺₊❅ s.todoroki x reader

chapter 1 ⋆⁺₊❅ the leaves unfold, the king lies cold

series masterlist here!

content warnings - includes depictions of violence, mention of death, family loss & k!llings / executions

six months ago…⋆⁺₊❅

the kingdom of virelia was known for its jewels found around the kingdom. it was a prosperous place that many rich and noble people enjoyed. but with prosperity came inequality.

the whispers of a rebellion flooded the streets of the poor. within a few years, a secret resistance group emerged from the shadows, attacking the royal palace during one of their infamously known galas. galas that held tables full of five star meals and champagne while the common folk died of starvation.

the attack came without warning. it started when women were protesting in the morning against unfair pay. what was meant to be a peaceful protest turned violent. the protest was hijacked by resistance fighters, encouraging officers to abandon their posts and join them. by the time night fell, the so call officers and soldiers found themselves against the tyrant king.

the grand halls of the palace echoed with chaos. gun shots, cries for help and an angry mob filled the empty rooms of the palace. the once glittering ball room, full of golden and encrusted diamond chandeliers was now a scene of a massacre.

you clutch onto the pearls around your neck before asking in a trembling voice, “father, what is happening? why is everything burning? there’s so much fire…” you stared in horror at the chaos unfolding around you. a garden that was built for your 7th birthday, was now being burned to ashes before your eyes.

from the reflection of the window, you see your eldest brother approaching you. before you could seek for further reassurance, your eldest brother drags you away from the sight.

“we must go immediately, n/n.” he urged with the hint of fear in his voice. you could see past his facade of bravery, and saw his terror.

he draped a coat over your head shielding you from the rebellion that now reached the palace walls. despite his efforts, you peaked your head out. your heart drops at the sight.

nobles were herded like sheep into separate groups; men, women and children were all separated. you watched in silent horror as the rebels slowly raised their guns to their heads.

the deafening sound sound of gunfire filled the palace, each shot was followed by blood curdling screams of terror. the ones who survived the firing squad were shot once again. you cling onto your brother tighter.

“get on this train, you’ll have someone waiting for you at the end of the ride,” your brother said, his voice firm but trembling. you felt yourself being pushed onto the train along with the other commoners.

you reached your hand out, “please! please, come with me!” you begged as your voice broke.

his hand was hesitant to reach out but he decided against it. he shakes his head and steps back as the train began rolling. through tears, you watched as his figure grew smaller and smaller.

just as the train was to turn the corner, you caught a glimpse of his final moments. two men, holding him by his arms as another brought a gun to his head.

present…⋆⁺₊❅

shoto had just finished a semester at ua. he was exhausted and dreaded coming home for the winter break. but alas, the universe was not on his side once again!

shoto stood in the doorway of his room, throwing the suitcase to the side before being startled. an unfamiliar girl, sitting criss-cross on his bed. you turned her head towards him and gave him condescending look.

“you’re in the wrong room,” he said with no particular emotion behind it.

you tilted your head, “actually, i’m not. this is where they told me to stay.”

shoto frowned, “they?” was this one of natsuo’s girlfriends? perhaps a family friend?

“your family,” she replied, her voice steady but full of frustration. “they insisted i stay here until… until it’s safe for me to go home.”

he sighed, already feeling his patience slipping. “and why aren’t you safe to go home?”

she’s the first to break eye contact as she looked down at her hands. “it’s really none of your concern,” she mumbled. suddenly, her false confidence she previously had was gone.

shoto crossed his arms, “it is when you’re in my room.”

he flinched at the harsh glare she gave him, her condescending tone slowly creeps back. “do you think i want to be here?! do you even know who i am? i wouldn’t be caught dead sharing a room with somebody like you!”

his brows furrowed. “someone like me?”

she scoffed, standing up and brushing past him. “forget about it, you commoners wouldn’t understand.”

she walked out, leaving shoto with a confused and irritated feeling in his chest. whoever the girl was, she clearly had issues. and he was stuck dealing with it.

his thoughts were cut short by a gentle knock on his bedroom door. he lets out a weary sigh before opening the door. in front of him stood his older sister, fuyumi, with an apologetic look.

“shoto, i’m sorry we didn’t necessarily tell you about y/n and about her situation..” she began as she allowed herself in, closing the door behind her.

“y/n?” he questioned as if the name rung a bell. he mutters your name over and over again while he walked over to his bed. where has he heard the name?

“who is she? and why was she in my room?” he interrogated.

he could feel the hesitation radiating off fuyumi as she struggled to say the right words. “she’s… she’s a prin- or was the princess of virelia. her kingdom got overthrown, and father agreed to take her in. she’s been staying with us for about six months..”

shoto stared blankly, unresponsive. fuyumi fidgets with her hands before speaking up again, “father said she’ll stay with us until they find a safe way for her to live on her own.” she had hoped that shoto would’ve given you some sympathy points and let her slide.

“that still doesn’t explain why she’s in my room. why my room?” he asked bluntly, completely ignoring your tragic backstory.

“we’re short on space. apparently were going under renovation..!” she mentioned as an attempt to lighten the mood. “father said it’d be fine since you’re only here for the break. how long is that? a week? two?”

“try three months.” he snorted as he contemplated his life decisions. he runs his hands through his hair and looks over at fuyumi, “there’s no way you expect me to share a room with her. her attitude is terrible, her perfume reeks off my bedsheets and she’s practically renovated my room.”

“shoto, can’t you try and be a little be more understanding? she just lost her entire family, her home and she’s grieving.” she explains, “plus, she’s not used to this world. she doesn’t know any better.”

“grieving or not, she had no right to give me an attitude. or takeover my room!” he retorted.

fuyumi takes a few breaths before responding calmly, “grieving or not, she’s still in pain. don’t be like him, you’re better than this.”

with that, she left shoto alone in his overwhelming thoughts. he sits on the bed that you were once on moments ago, thinking of the kind of life you left behind.

‘i guess we’re both uncomfortable with this..’

tag list (open) - @wonlluvie

[subtle-edge-of-rot]

This is a rewrite/reimagining of my story, Heat. I've grown as a writer and decided to take on the task of "fixing" all of my stories I have posted.

My links are all broken I think, but I'll be reposting and making a separate masterlist post.

Please enjoy!

michael myers x afab reader

NSFW, MINORS DNI

a beast in repose

In winter, Michael gets restless. With all the snow and ice, it isn’t easy to go out on hunts without leaving tracks in his wake and alerting the community of a prowler on the loose. Getting caught and returned to Smith’s Grove isn’t on his list of things to do, so he’s essentially trapped in the house and boiling hot with unsatiated bloodlust, and because he can’t kill, he seeks release through your body – the only way to keep him calm enough to tide him over until the winter thaws and gives way to spring. Needless to say, it’s a long couple of months, and by the end, you’re exhausted, emotionally and physically. 

But you’ll do anything for him, even to the point of pain. 

It’s been a particularly rough week. You’re sore everywhere, and your body has been pushed almost beyond your absolute limit and you’re exhausted. You were forced to take a leave of absence from work, unable to perform your duties due to how raw and broken you felt. Bruises are scattered over your body in various stages of healing – a macabre rainbow dancing over your skin. Bite marks litter your body as well, purpling over and bleeding. Your cunt is raw, throbbing with pain alongside the aftershocks of your last, painful orgasm. 

Michael lays asleep beside you, napping after taking you for the third or fourth time today – you’ve lost track. You struggle to sit up silently, your teeth grit so hard so as not to make a sound and wake him. You need a break, just a little bit of time alone to relax and recuperate, and a bath sounds like the most amazing thing in the world right now. You manage to sit up, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. 

You rise on shaking legs, and shuffle your way to the bathroom, shivering at the feeling of Michael’s spend smearing between your mangled thighs with every step. After what feels like an eternity, you finally reach the bathroom, slowly closing the door behind you with a quiet click. You let out an exhausted sigh, and sit down on the toilet to relieve yourself with a small, pained whimper, and clean yourself gingerly after, so as not to further harm the tender flesh of your most vulnerable areas.

Once you’re cleaned up, you stand up and flush the toilet, placing the lid back down before washing your hands and shaking them off as you shuffle over to the bath. You twist the faucets and let the water heat up to your liking, plugging the tub and waiting for it to fill up. You go back over to the sink, and get your lavender scented epsom salts, and dump a generous amount into the rapidly filling tub. 

When the tub is full, you turn off the water and sink slowly into the hot water with a relieved groan. The hot water is heaven on your battered flesh, the heat sinking under your skin and easing your muscles. You ease back, stretching your legs out and leaning against the slant of the tub. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you slip into a quick and easy slumber, cocooned in comforting warmth.  

You are startled awake by the sound of the door slamming against the wall with so much force that the entire room shakes. You scream, instinctually covering your nakedness with your hands and cowering as you look towards the door with wide eyes. Your gut fills with a combination of dread and overwhelming desire when you notice that it's Michael, and he’s hard and wanting, his cock an angry shade of red bobbing with every beat of his heart. His gaze is heavy, and he’s looking at you like he’d very much like to eat you alive. He ducks down to pass through the doorway and beckons you to him with a come-hither motion. You know exactly what he’s saying. 

Come here. 

You wordlessly respond, helpless but to obey his every whim. It comes second nature to you – obeying him is as easy and as necessary as breathing. You stand up on shaking legs and carefully step over the edge of the tub, careful not to slip on the slick tile floor.

You shiver, both from the cold air on your wet skin and from being in his presence. He hums approvingly, a low sound from the back of his throat, his good eye scanning over your body as you approach him. 

When you’re close enough, you expect him to reach out and grab you roughly by the hips, but instead, he rests his hands on your hips in his version of ‘gentle’, and drops to his knees onto the hard tile without a single flinch. He presses his face against your abdomen, brushing his full lips over his initials carved into your skin. He inhales deeply as he pulls you closer, humming low in his throat again. 

Michael’s hands ease up on your hips, sliding down your thighs and back up again as he looks up at you from under his heavy eyelashes. His good eye has a flicker of affection in them as he gazes up at you, only to be gone as quickly as it came, and replaced with a look so predatorial that you freeze, genuine fear filling your chest. 

Before you could even make a sound, he has your hips in a vice grip, and he's pulling you down to the ground. The collision of your body on the tile is painful, but Michael catches your head before it could smash onto the floor as he shoves his way between your thighs. He’s hard and heavy against your thigh, and your abused cunt clenches around nothing, eager to be one with him again. 

He uses his hold on your head to pull you up, your body as limp as a rag doll, and attacks your mouth with his. It’s too feral to be called a kiss. It’s hot, wet, and demanding – all teeth and tongue as he bites down on your swollen lips and laps up the blood that beads up from inside your mouth, his body shivering when the taste of your blood floods over his tongue.

He lets your lip go, and brushes his lips from the corner of your mouth, down over your jaw, down the column of your neck as you gasp for breath. When he reaches your throbbing pulse point, he bites, sinking his teeth into the delicate skin until you’re screaming. Even with the intense, sharp pain, you are absolutely desperate for him, your body longing for his, the intrinsic link between the two of you so strong that you’re always ready for him. 

Michael’s teeth sink through your sensitive flesh, and he growls, unhinging his jaw and drinking down the blood that trickles from the wound as he ruts his cock against your thigh – hot and hard and demanding. By the time he’s done consuming you, you’re a writhing, soaked mess, your body begging for the relief that only he can provide. He gives one last lick to the wound, and pulls away, his eyes following the trickle of blood from where he bit you, and onto the floor, his eye dilated wide enough that it eclipses the blue of his iris. 

He puts your limp form back down onto the tile, and his attention shifts to your breasts, swollen and bruised and heaving under the force of your desire for him. He greedily grips at them with his giant hands, rolling the soft mounds under his calloused and scarred palms, squeezing down on your bruised flesh as you cry out in both pain and need. He leans down, and sucks a dusky nipple into his mouth, sucking and gnawing at it until you’re actually crying, tears rolling down your cheeks at the pain with an edge of pleasure. 

Michael mercifully releases your nipple with a pop, and hikes your legs up over his thighs, to where you’re completely exposed to him. A pleased rumble leaves his throat as he examines his handiwork on your thighs and your raw cunt, still wet and dripping for him. He reaches down and grips himself by the base of his heavy cock, lining it up with your slick entrance. You whine in pain as he pushes into you again, but the pain is quickly replaced with the sheer relief of your body being reunited with his. He rumbles, deep and pleased, in his chest as your walls flutter around him in welcome. 

He doesn’t give you any more time to adjust, he immediately sets a rough pace, chasing the relief that he craves. His cock is rock-hard, his crown slamming into your cervix with every thrust of his hips. It hurts in the most glorious way, and you cry out, reaching your hands up to grip at his skin, your nails digging in around your initials carved into his skin over his heart, and he shudders, gripping your hips roughly with one hand, and using the other to toy with your swollen, abused clit, making you sob – you don’t think that it’s possible for you to orgasm again, even though what he’s doing to you feels amazing. You’re overstimulated, too raw -- it’s nearly too much. 

“Michael, I can’t, ‘s too much,” you plead, your voice thick and slurred as you half-heartedly try to push him away. He grips you harder, pulling you down into each thrust so that he’s so deep, you can practically feel him in your throat. 

“You will,” he commands, his voice raspy and deep, so full of authority, and so beautiful that it has you shaking. His fingers move over your clit faster, and you can feel your orgasm building. His touch, his cock jackhammering into all of your sweet spots at once, your inability to say no to him, and his rare voice seal your fate – you fall over the edge, and into white-hot oblivion. 

Your legs raise up, and your spine arches, and your inner walls spasm, your liquid release splashing out around his cock. Your whole body shakes as a delayed scream is ripped from your throat. Michael snarls, grabbing your hips savagely and fucking you through your orgasm, his teeth clenching together in exertion as he chases his own end. His hips still, and he comes with a low groan, his release blooming warmth within your core. 

He rides it out, giving one last thrust to shove his spend as deep inside of you as he can get before pulling out, making you whine and shiver – you hate it when he pulls out. His chest swells with pride as he looks you over – under him, covered in his markings, and his come trickling from your poor, raw opening.

He scoops it from your flesh and presses it back inside of you, making you flinch and whine. You’re simply too far gone to go any further, and Michael takes notice, removing his fingers and stroking them across your thigh soothingly as you drift off. 

You’re in and out of consciousness as he drains and refills the tub, adding more bath salts and making sure the water is just how you like it. You moan weakly as he gathers you into his arms, and settles the both of you into the tub, holding you snug against his chest as you doze off, lulled to slumber by his heartbeat, rhythmic breathing, and the warmth of the water. 

Michael watches you sleep, tracing invisible patterns onto your skin as he enjoys the quiet in his mind until the water grows cold, and you start to shiver. He jumps to action immediately at your discomfort. He scoops you up and steps out of the tub, holding you effortlessly with one arm while he grabs towels with the other.

He dries you both off and carries you back to bed, laying you down and climbing in next to you. He gathers you to his chest and pulls the duvet over you both. His mouth twitches into an almost-smile when you let out a pleased sigh in your sleep and nuzzle into his chest with a sleepy hum. 

Michael’s mind is blissfully quiet, no more demands for blood and violence and death. He focuses instead on the feeling of your skin against his, the sound of your breathing, and the sound of the winter wind blowing against the house.

The beast inside of him is sated for a little while longer, sustained by the body and blood of its faithful mate. It will be back, but for now, it goes back into hibernation, content.

[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 2 - Collaring

Another different fandom that has caught my attention is Obey Me! What can I say? I'm a monster fucker through and through and have a soft spot for anime men. ^^; Enjoy!~

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

No matter how many times you were summoned to the Demon Lord’s castle, a wave of nervousness would slither down your spine. Were you in trouble? Or was this simply your beloved demon prince seeking your company once again? Either way, you had no idea what to make of the situation you’d found yourself in now.

Neither Diavolo nor Barbatos had asked any overly strange questions to you that week. Maybe you should’ve seen a red flag when the heir to the Devildom’s throne asked if you knew the circumference of your neck. But the man was full of odd questions about seemingly random topics all the time with you. This wasn’t too far outside the realm of possibility. 

So here you were in the prince’s room, trying your best not to shake like a leaf. “The young master will be in shortly,” Barbatos informs you before quietly shutting the door. You fidget quietly with the little keychain Asmo had gotten you for your DDD. It felt like an eternity, just sitting there waiting in the quiet of your lover’s room.

You jump slightly when the door opens again, regardless of how soft the sound actually was. “Did I startle you?” Diavolo is across the room with a surprised look. It’s true that since you began your residency here, you’d become arguably less startled than you used to be. You’re sure you had the seven brothers you lived with to thank for that amongst other things. “Forgive me, I know this summons was sudden.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, despite all evidence to the contrary. Diavolo slips into the room fully, an arm hidden out of your line of sight. You lean a little to try and see, but the prince follows your movements, keeping his surprise hidden. 

“In time dearest, in time,” he assures you. You offer him a small pout that he has come to know as teasing before he comes to rest on his knees before you. A small blush rushes to your cheeks at how intimately close Diavolo is to you. Sure the two of you had been intimate before, but…this felt beyond different. “You have drawn me in further and further with each passing moment. Every instance we share together, I will treasure, even once I take my father’s place.”

You watch with awe as the demon prince produces a box from behind his back. Without even noticing, you noticed his shift to his more demonic appearance. It was one you were far more familiar with these days than his day to day appearance. Velvety wings as dark as the night sky fluttered softly against his darker skin. You could see his amber eyes watching your expression closely from behind cherry red locks.

“But I don’t want the memories to make to stay here, within the confines of your exchange program,” Diavolo continued. Perfectly black painted nails tucked under the lid of the box to open it slowly. Inside, resting against beautiful scarlet velvet was, what you could only describe to be, a collar. An obsidian chain that would rest around your neck and come to sit just between where each of your clavicle. At it’s center point was a lock that would serve to hold the two ends of the chain together.

“I need only know that you feel the same.” The heir’s voice, soft yet somewhat eager pulls you out of your trance. Your eyes meet his; the demon before you is borderline buzzing with anticipation. A sad mixture of hopefulness and fear should you turn his offer down. It’s all so overwhelming, you can’t help but let a few tears streak down your cheeks.

Just as his smile starts to fade, you lunge forward, arms wrapping tightly around Diavolo. Not expecting your affection, he topples backwards, nearly dropping the box in the process. “Oh Dia!” You cry against the crook of his neck and shoulder.

As you pull back, you can’t help but notice the confused look on your prince’s face. You can’t help but chuckle; some things still really were a mystery to him. “Of course I’ll accept,” you tell him, wiping tears from your eyes. “This…this has a whole different meaning to humans. And it’s really sudden, but…I’d be a fool not to.”

That eager puppy-like smile is back in an instant as the demon prince now embraces you oh so tightly. You feel a few pops along your spine and can’t help but laugh. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would fine someone as precious to me as you are,” you hear him mumble against your chest. “And to think, you’d feel the same…”

Strong yet careful hands take the chain out of it’s box, fingers tender as if he fears it will simply break under his touch. You try to stop crying as Diavolo unclasps the lock at the front, gently laying the cool metal against your skin before the lock is clicked shut. “I’m having Barbatos find someone who can make me a matching chain so I can keep the key safe with me always,” the demon informs you. “I am yours, as you are mine.”

You take his much larger hand in yours and place it against your cheek, leaning in to press a kiss to his palm. The action always managed to bring a rather noticeable blush to the demon prince’s cheeks. “You know…” you start, briefly considering not telling him this. “In human terms, you basically just proposed to me. You know that, right?” 

Diavolo flashes a cheeky fanged grin, despite the blush remaining. “Well, you did say ‘yes’, didn’t you?” And now it’s your turn to blush, chuckling softly in response.

“Til death do us part.”

[mythicamagic]

Death Comes Knocking

AN: Not finishing projects seems to be the norm right now- so just take this lil 1,000 words of Lobo/Muerte x reader bc he gave me brain worms okay? Puss in Boots The Last Wish was so good you guys omg.

Pairing: Muerte x Female Reader

Rating: T

Summary: She's given a stern warning. 'No more of your kind are allowed' so she extends an offer to Death in return.

---

She’s seen him before, on the faces of those she’d loved. Their eyes would glaze over and become empty, void of all animation, becoming quiet and still as they took their last breaths. There- in the right hand corner of that glassy void in their pupils- the shadow of Death could be briefly seen, passing over and stealing all light.

The silk spinner has witnessed this countless times- from the luxury of these people’s bedsides as they peacefully passed, to freak accidents involving one too many drunken unicorns and a travelling puppet show. The world she inhabited was colourful, vibrant and endless- so it stood to reason that in this world, Death himself could be a real, breathing creature.

She just never expected to gain a personal audience with him.

“You’re becoming lonesome, inmortal.”

The woman jumped, startled so badly she lost grip on the white sheet she’d been taking down. A large hand snapped out to catch it mid-air, slowly lowering it back down to her in offering. It took a moment for her frozen hands to accept it, gazing up at the creature looming over her washing line. His shadow swallowed her whole. He gazed at her with a kind of unblinking- red eyed fixation- the kind that betrayed his identity before the suffocatingly still atmosphere did, as if time itself had frozen.

A wolf had entered her garden.

“Hate to be a bother…but when you get lonely it becomes a problem for me,” he continued in his perfectly polite tone. There was a faint, gravelly edge to his voice, but it hummed pleasantly in her ears rather than frightened her.

Recovering from her shock, the silk spinner folded her sheet and placed it atop a waiting pile.

“How so?” she found her voice.

“Well, you repeat the cycle, of course- the one that led you here,” he wandered around her humble garden, taking care to weave around bird feeders and windchimes without so much as a strand of fur brushing them. He moved on two legs like any human, not an odd sight. The graceful fluidity of his movements was alarming though. Deliberate and predatory. He was looping around her in a lazy circle that was slowly tightening. “It’s only natural…everyone’s predictable in a few certain ways: one of them is the universal truth that when you get lonely, you seek company,” he mused, finally stopping before her. “And the company of mortals just isn’t cutting it anymore, is it? Hm, my friend?”

He stood a good several feet taller than her. Not even attempting to crane her neck up, the woman tidied her basket and lifted it as if readying to walk back into her tiny cottage. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone. They all die eventually, I’m not sure why you’re worried.”

With that said she took a step, only to find her wicker basket snagging on something- a sickle. The wolf practically used it as a fish-hook, turning her back to face him, and this time she had no choice but to gaze down the grey expanse of his muzzle straight into those vibrant red eyes.

“You’re not listeniiing~” he sing-songed in a gentle, cajoling tone full of too much teeth. He tilted his head with a patronising smile. “What cycle led you here?”

As if she could forget. “My creator was…lonely,” she murmured. “So, he made me, and eventually more of my kind.”

“Right you are! And I’m not such a big fan of that. Of your…kind,” a single deadly claw skimmed her cheek in a whisper of steel on flesh. The suggestion of it sent her heart racing. “You’re all so heavy. I can feel you.” All at once the playfulness vanished from his expression, leaving only a quiet sense of malice and frustration in his tight whisper. “The world won’t withstand the weight of too many of you.”

“So you’re here to stop me before I can even think about creating more immortals, is that it?”

“Bingo! My work here is done,” the wolf leaned back with satisfaction, and it felt like the garden could breathe again. Air entered her lungs, and the silk spinner shuddered quietly when his shadow drew away, allowing sunlight to kiss her skin anew.

With his silent warning given, the wolf swung his previously concealed sickle up onto his shoulder and happily strolled toward her humble gate, whistling an eerie tune.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she murmured, so quietly it was a surprise he heard her at all. But he halted immediately in his tracks. She could see his hackles rise a little just beneath the folds of his hood. “I’m not afraid, so there’s no reason for me to listen to you- Muerte.”

Death turned and met her even gaze. His silver fur fanned gently in the breeze, his tail flicking with agitation.

“Oho I really don’t think you want to go there,” light glinted off his sharp rows of teeth, the points glinting like treacherous mountain peaks. “True I can’t harvest your soul, but you’ve seen the life flashing before people’s eyes as I’ve taken them.”

He was suddenly there before her again, tilting her chin up with the flat of his blade. Her body automatically tensed, watching as the black specs of his pupils shined white, two moons hanging in a blood-soaked sky. “You were there, just as much as I was. You know- cordera- how painful it can be. How painful I can make it,” hot, panting breath fanned over her upturned face. Those rows of teeth were now inches from her ear as he leaned in close. “You won’t die, no- but are you really prepared to suffer me, over and over again, for breaking the rules?”

She swallowed. It was impossible not to picture the numerous grizzly ways she’d seen or heard people die.

Satisfaction leaked into his animalistic features. “Heh, thought so. Be seeing you.”

But I…I’m still alone.

Before he turned away, Death seemed to notice her expression. “If you’re really that hungry for company, then find the other heavy ones weighing this world down.”

“I don’t uh- get on well with the others,” she admitted weakly, knuckles relaxing from her death grip on the wicker basket. “We’d be living together if we enjoyed each other’s company.”

“Touché.“ He shrugged his large shoulders, resting a sickle on one with a bored look. “Well it’s not my problem, figure it out on your own time.”

Alarm flashed through her chest inexplicably as he finally turned away.

“Wait-“

“Carajo!” he hissed, glaring at her like she’d overstayed her welcome despite him being the one to approach her home. “What is it now?”

“Since you’re the one who has a problem with me creating fellow immortals- but I’m still hungry for company- the solution is right under our noses, no?” She smiled and dropped her basket to spread her arms wide, gesturing to the humble space situated on the mountainside. “You will become my companion.”

It amused her to see his dark features become blank with genuine surprise. His triangular ears perched upon his head flicked and flattened to his skull as if he’d tasted something sour.

“Cómo fue?”

“You are Death incarnate,” she said, confidence filling her tone the more she spoke. Yes- why hadn’t she thought of it before? This was perfect. “You won’t die- and I can’t be killed and won’t age. It makes sense to keep each other company.”

“You want…my company? Mine?” He shot her a look like she was crazy.

“Is that a problem?”

He tilted his head, falling silent for a long, silent moment. His eyes narrowed, sweeping over her frame as he stalked closer. “…You must be starving very badly, if your need has driven you to beg for me to be in your midst. Only the souls of the suicidal and desperate call for me.”

“I’m not quite that far gone in my apathy for life. I’m 500 years young,” she smiled, offering her human hand out to his monstrously large, silver furred one to stop him from baring too harshly down on her, stopping him in his tracks. “But yes, I am…famished,” the admission slipped out oddly breathlessly, though she was uncertain why.

His mouth slowly upturned, sizing her up in an entirely different way from before. Intrigue, perhaps? He looked just as hungry as she felt.

“Well, well. What big eyes you have,” he purred, gazing at her intently with a wicked gleam in his own red hues.

She returned his smile with one full of teeth as her hand became engulfed in fur and warmth.

From that day on, Pygmalion’s immortal bride kept Death’s company whenever he had a moment to spare.

---

End

[through-the-seas-to-valinor]

Maedhros NSWF Scn

As you woke up, you shivered from the chili breeze that passed over your skin from a nearby open window. In your half-asleep state, you tried to ignore it and laid back on the pillows seeking warmth. After a few moments of failing to get back to sleep, you turned over seeking familiar warmth only to be met with a cold bed.

Sighing you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Your husband may not be in bed, but you have a pretty good idea of where to find him. Putting on a light night robe, she walked over to the open window and shut it before lighting a candle. An elf would have no issues seeing in the dark, but as she was human, her eyesight was no match for theirs and she needed light to see the way. She closed the door behind her and made her way across the hall to her husband’s office. When you reached the door of the office you didn’t knock and instead walked in as quietly as you could. Sure enough, he was there, hunched over his desk, working on a pile of papers and looking tired.

“Mae?” You gently called out to him, hoping not to startle him. At the sound of his name, he looked up at you, surprise showing on his face, “y/n? What are you doing here?” You came to stand beside him, placing the candle you were holding carefully on the desk and away from the paperwork. The robe you wore was very thin and despite the thick nightdress you wore you still shivered at the coldness of the room, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm. Medhros quickly noticed this and pulled you into his arms, “You’re freezing.” He muttered disapprovingly and held you tighter, in an attempt to warm you up with his body heat. Although you weren’t short, he was almost eight-foot and covered with muscle, making your frame look small and frail in comparison; it was at times like this that it had its advantages though. “What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night.” He pulled away slightly to look at you.

“I woke up because the room and the bed were cold and then I noticed you were gone so I came to find you. Will, you not return to bed with me? You need rest from constant work and the bed feels cold without you.” You finished looking hopefully at him. You knew the importance of his work and helped whenever and wherever you could, but you knew there was more to him being awake tonight than paperwork. Ever since Fingon brought him back from the dark lord he was often plagued with nightmares, some nights worse than others.  He didn’t reply instantly, just nuzzled his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent. “Yes, let us go. I’m sorry I left you alone.” With that, he leaned over the desk, blowing out the candles, and picked you up into his arms.

Once in your bedroom, Maedhros didn’t put you down and instead leaned down to kiss you, gently and softly until you leaned into him, deepening it. He gently laid you down on the bed and started trailing kisses down your neck, causing warmth to spread through your body. He slowly took of your robe and started pushing away the fabric of your nightgown, allowing his lips better access to your skin. Once you were bare of any cloth covering you, you started undressing Maedhros who was still fully dressed; you were grateful he was wearing nightclothes which made the task much simpler. Once you were both completely bare, his lips returned to yours with rising passion and his hand started to roam over your body, caressing every inch. Once his hand made his way over your breasts, applying just a bit more pressure as they passed over the sensitive area of your nipples, you sighed and leaned your head back against the pillows, from the pleasantness of the sensations. Soon his lips left yours and replaced his hand on your breasts, sucking and gently biting on the already hardened peaks, causing you to moan and bury your hands in his hair, in an attempt to keep him there. You could feel his hand sliding down your leg, coming closer to there area which was heating up from his ministrations. Teasingly, he gently runs his hand over your bundle of nerves, causing you to whimper and moan out in impatience. From there he runs his fingers down your outer walls, opening them and collecting the wetness gathering there. Soon, he pushed a finger inside, massaging it against your inner walls, causing you to cry out in surprise and pleasure. Soon he pushed another finger and made a scissoring motion, causing sparks of pleasure to shoot through your body. Your breath was coming out in short gasps now and you attempted to thrust into his hand, but he withdrew his fingers, causing you to groat at the loss of the touch.

“P-please! Mae!” You stuttered out through your breathlessness, wanting to feel him inside you. He leaned down and captured your lips with his, before pulling away and leaving his forehead resting against yours, his hot breath fanning over your face. He gripped your hips with his one hand, using the stump of the other to support himself on the bed. He lined himself up with your entrance and swiftly pushed in, sliding in with ease due to the wetness present. You both groaned at the feeling of being connected with each other. As he pulled out and pushed back in, you couldn’t help but cry out at the intense pleasure it shot through you. Maedhros kept thrusting his hips against yours, gently and steadily as he feared to hurt you with being so much larger than you.  “Mae! Harder! Please!” Trying to show him you wanted-no needed to feel him move faster against your walls, especially as he was hitting the sport inside you that caused you to cry out continuously.

Maedhros looked at you warily, but at your pleading expression, and a flush present on your face, he pulled out and thrust back in with more force, causing the both of you to cry out from the pleasure. As his thrusts got faster and he kept hitting that spot inside you, your voice increased in volume as you drew closer and closer to your pleasure. You could feel Maedhros’s thrusts becoming sloppier, symbolising he was close to his release as well. With one final well-aimed thrust, your walls constricted and you cried out as pleasure washed over you, and coupled with Maedhros’ swift thrusts, you found yourself writhing in bliss. With a final thrust, Maedhros came, burying his head in your neck to take in your scent, while the two of you rode out your pleasure, causing aftershocks of pleasure to shoot through you at the remaining sensitivity. Eventually, Maedhros pulled out and drew you into his arms so your head was resting on his chest.”Are you warmer now?” He asked teasingly as he drew the bedsheets over you both. You made a noise in agreement, too spent from the recent activity to talk. He smiled at your asleep form and kissed you once more, before giving in to much-needed sleep.

[elenavr13]

Echoes of Old Friends

Darkiplier x DA

Warnings: swearing

After the events of WKM, the DA attempts to move on & create a life for themselves despite being trapped in the mirror. Against their hopes & wishes, their past seeks them out in the form of a familiar face.

*What Could Have Been- Sting*

*I may expand this & turn it into a complete story in the future.*

--------------

            Daylight filters through the cracked glass reflecting the main entrance of the decrepit, forgotten manor. Mindlessly flipping through the pages of one of the books I have read a thousand times, I suddenly feel a chill crawl down my spine. What the hell? The physical feeling startles me back to reality because I haven’t felt anything like that in years. Immediately, I close the book & scan the room, nothing not even in the outside world. Faint tapping screams through the silence-drowned manor. Probably just the weather. After a few seconds, it occurs again. This time I realize the odd sound is coming from inside the house. My mind starts spinning with ideas of what type of animal has climbed through a broken window or one of the rotting walls. Maybe it’s another raccoon coming to search through the rubble or maybe the squirrel I saw the other day has come back. Excited to see a living creature, I get up to find it. Before I can even travel to the next reflection, a voice freezes me in place.

            “Y/n, I know you’re in there. Come out.” There’s people here!

            “Y/n?” I whisper to myself. Something about that name tugs at my heart. Then again that voice is also eerily familiar. I jump from reflection to reflection searching for any sign of the people with no luck. Suddenly, the realization hits me. Y/n, that was- is my name. My name is Y/n. I haven’t heard that name in years. The last time I…that voice…Damien?  Appearing in the mirror that holds my soul hostage, I see the man who used me & shattered my heart. Sorrow in addition to hope consumes me upon seeing him but it quickly gets replaced by bubbling rage.

            “Why are you back?” I seethe.

            “You don’t seem very pleased to see me.” His smooth voice provokes me.

            “& why should I be? You’re the last person I ever want to see.”

            His jaw clenches but he continues. “I can get you out of there.”

            “I don’t want your help.”

            He smirks. “Stubborn as always but I can give you what you want. All I’m asking is that you…”

            “I want you to leave.” He appears taken back.

            “Even after all these years you still blame me. We were happy before that night & we can still be happy if you will only listen to me.” Anger emanates from his voice as it increases in volume.

            Unfazed by his temper, I snap back. “We? There is no ‘we’ not after what you did, Damien.”

            “It’s Dark now.” He sneers

            “Oh, I apologize, Dark.”

            “That snake took everything away from me! I was merely protecting you from him. It was for the best.”

            “You know what would have been ‘for the best’? If I had never agreed to your fucking deal. I trusted you & you betrayed me. Mark may have been the cause of all this but he never did anything to me. You on the other hand took everything away from me! I don’t want anything to do with you anymore. Just leave me alone! Leave me alone like you have for the past however many years it’s been.”

            “91” My anger immediately dissolves from his simple answer. 91? It’s been 91 years since that night? I’ve been trapped in a reflection utterly alone for nearly a century?

            “You just expect me to agree to your plan after you abandoned me for a century? I’ve managed to make some semblance of a life without you- without anyone for that matter. I Don’t Need You. Why do you even want to ‘help’ me? I don’t have anything anymore. I am just a reflection of a person because of you. So tell me, what are you going to gain from ‘helping’ me? ”

            He continues to stare back with a blank expression which only ticks me off more. Before I do anything irrational –like I could– I begin to leave to another reflection in the manor. “I miss you.” His baritone voice stops me.

            Without turning back around to face him, I say, “Little late for that, Damien.”

            A deep growl keeps me in place. “I tried to play nice & you still view me as the bad guy. I thought you were better than that.” This time I spin on my heels to face the man I used to believe was my friend.

            “& I thought you were better than to destroy what we had.”

            “I didn’t destroy…”

            “Go ahead, keep blaming Mark for your actions.” Suddenly he takes a hold of the frame surrounding my vision of the outside world & rips the mirror off the wall.

            “I have heard enough of your insolence.”

            “Put Me Back! Damien, put…”

            “Stop calling me that name!” I glare daggers at him but he seems to be amused by it. “How are you even going to stop me, doll?”

            “I’m not your doll.” Rage gets the best of me I throw a punch which would have made contact with his smug face if not for the glass separating us. Instead of flinching, his smirk just grows as he leaves the manor with me in tow. I attempt to jump to another reflection but some force keeps me tethered to the single, wretched, glass prison. Knowing there is nothing I can do, I fall silent, exhausted from my outburst. Why can’t I just be happy? I was just starting to get better & move on. Now Damie- Dark is back to remind me of the life that was stolen from me. What did I do to deserve this endless suffering?

[awriterliveshere]

Act 1: An Introduction

Halsin x f!Reader

I'm normally a reader, and after reading some GREAT stories out there, I wanted to write my own. I've never done this before so I'm open to feedback, and would love to make this a series.

fluff, yearning, suggestive

Wordcount: 2.3k

After making your way through the entire hoard of goblins, you finally reach a door that leads you down a stairway, the chamber echoes as you hear the goblins, “Maybe I should go check on ‘em, yeah? She said she’d be back in a jiff but it’s been 45 minutes,” You, Astarion, Karlach, and Shadowheart quietly make your way down the stairs, you hear the large growl of a bear, it’s claws clanging against the metal bars. All directions pointed to here for the druid…where is he? Descending down the stairs, you see four goblins, and a bear, caged behind them. No sign of the druid anywhere…before you know it, the goblin catches a glimmer of your armor…chaos ensues.

Amidst the battle, the bear breaks free from its cage - immediately jumping at the goblin in front of you. You’re taken aback, did this bear just help you? Why…strange. You make eye contact with the bear, an understanding exchanged. You fight alongside eachother to exterminate the remaining goblins. Suddenly…you see a burst of golden energy erupt and behold, the bear you once saw in front of you is no more - instead this being – this large man stands before you, you can almost feel the heat coming from him even though you are five feet away from him, and you catch his scent - an earthy, scent mixed with the sweet scent of berries and eucalyptus.

“Oh –” You pause as you realize the druid’s large figure in front of you, losing any and all thought you had just momentarily held in your mind. Your eyes look through the man’s face, his large shoulders - so round and big, his chest wide, his brown hair falling gracefully at his shoulders. Astarion gently touches your elbow as to snap you out of it, “My sweet? …Are you alright?” 

“The man pauses for a moment, his eyes locked into yours, trying to read your body language before he begins and you find yourselves talking at the same time, 

“I’m Halsi-” 

“Are you-” you stop mid sentence, still captivating by the man.

“Sorry, go ahead” You internally scream, your choice of words echoing in your head ‘‘go ahead??? My god, I don’t get nervous, there’s no need to get nervous’ 

You can feel Astarion’s crimson eyes on you, reading you, noticing your rapid heart beat, ‘hmph’ he lets out.

“I am Halsin, Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, I did not mean to startle you but I sensed you were here to help and well, please…you are?” His voice almost feels like a rumbling of thunder, powerful yet soft and kind in his tone.

“y/n, I’m relieved to have found you…our group, we encountered the grove and set out to find you, the grove is in quite the state without you, we should get you back”

“Honorable of you to seek out a man you have never met. It seems you’ve cleared out the place,” titling his head to the others, you had forgotten yourself -  the state you were in, sweat dried on your face, dirt and grime stuck to you, blood scattered on you, in your hair. You finally felt the weight of the fighting you and the others had just gone through��your shoulders aching from the repeated swift and hard swinging of your sword, manuevering against your enemies.

“Yes, I…we…are glad you’re safe, and indeed - this place has been cleared out, how about we escort you back to the grove? It’s the least we can do” 

“Very well…” 

You sit back while Halsin and the others introduce themselves properly, discussing the ailment of the tadpole and your adventures so far. Astarion slows his stride to walk beside you and whispers, “Something on your mind?

“Hm? Oh - uh - no, why? Something on yours?” You’re quick to reply, wanting to avoid any interaction that could reveal your scattered brain.

“Only wondering - will I see you tonight?”

In the last week, while you and the group have been trying to stock up on camp resources, and find any leads to a healer you and Astarion have been meeting eachother at night, indulging one another, breathing eachother in.

“Yes, of course - I’ll come find you” You can’t help but stare at the druid walking ahead of you, you want to talk to him - alone, you can’t help but crave his presence, to hear his voice upclose and feel the deep rumbling in your chest when he speaks. You quickly break your glance to avoid entertaining the thoughts any further. You just met this man, control yourself.

~~ LATER THAT EVENING ~~

Upon your arrival to the grove, the entire party is welcomed - the tiefling refugees packing for their journey to Baldur’s Gate, Halsin’s fellow druids welcoming him and lavishing praise upon the party for his safe rescue. Once everything settled at the grove, you stayed behind to gather additional resources for the camp while the rest of the group headed back - they insisted…afterall, unbeknownst to you, the group was preparing a fine celebration.

The sun had settled when you finally left the grove, you took the opportunity to shower, and change into some more comfortable clothes. You wore a cropped linen shirt that sway above your belly button - , sheer enough so that the outline of your breasts were visible to any who glanced, and linen pants, the night’s have been humid by the ocean, your only respite loose linen clothing and Astarion’s icey skin.

As you get closer to camp, you can hear the loud carousing, lively music being played - a party? I wonder if Halsin will be there… you try to shake the thought from your mind, you remember your commitment to Astarion, hopeful seeing him tonight will quell any desires held in your body.

“Soldier! You finally made it, took ya long enough, come - drink” Karlach hands you a glass of red wine, you can smell the alcohol on her breath, Shadowheart snuggled up to Karlach as close as she can - the two have been smitten for days now. You accept the glass of wine, putting down your belongings and scanning the camp for Halsin as you slam down the glass of wine.

“Erm…another?” Karlach offers you another glass and then turns her attention back to Shadowheart. 

 You finally see him, he’s hard to miss…his large figure towering over everyone, it seems - he’s in the middle of explaining the cycle of hibernation  to Lae’zel - who seems to be half-listening, stuffing her face with a turkey leg once of the tiefling’s prepared. You turn to find Astarion, you can feel the druid’s eyes on you. You ignore all desires to glance at the druid, instead locking onto Astarion, who watches you approach, his focus on the swaying and jiggling of your chest. “Gods, you’re beautiful, I can hardly wait to see you later…we are still meeting together, yes?”

“Yes, we are…” You brush one of his small white curls out of his face, letting a smile run across your face and leaning in to kiss him on the nose, caressing his cheek in your hand before you turn away again. You felt restless, you cannot get the druid of out mind, and can hardly contain the urge to look at him every five seconds…

Your legs having a mind of their own and before you realize it, you’re headed toward the druid, making eye contact with him as you approach.

Halsin’s face flushed as he can’t help but notice your figure outside of your armor, the way he can notice the slight jiggling of your breasts, your curved thighs. He lets out a stifled exhale through his nose as to avoid his slightly obvious…member awoken, beginning to bulge through his pants. 

“The grove is saved, their noble leader returned to them…I hope you’ll consider joining us? I heard you earlier with the group…this Moonrise Towers, the shadow-cursed lands…”

“I am eternally grateful for your help in rescuing me, and ensuring the safety of the grove as well. Indeed, I have been studying these tadpoles for some time, I believe Moonrise Towers holds some answers, not only for your condition but also as the key to restoring the shadowcursed lands…if you’ll have me in your group”

“We would be most grateful for your knowledge and help…”Gods his lips are perfect. You watched them as he spoke – soft, slightly pink…waiting to be kissed.

“It is the least I could do, there is more to discuss - in the morning. You should go, enjoy yourself”

You’re confused, and suddenly feel smaller than you already were beside the druid…you’re so stupid - of course he isn’t interested, he is a dutiful man, respectable and not interested in insignificant affairs of lust.

“Well, I was hoping we could share a drink, together…later? I know a place nearby…” Your voice now low, tinged with insecurity. The confidence you initially felt has all but disappeared. Your eyes flitting around him, never looking into his eyes, the vulnerability could almost kill you.

The druid’s eyes stay on you, “Perhaps another time, you should celebrate with your group, I should not wish to keep you to myself…” Halsin looks away,  pursing his lips as if trying to not say another word.

You nod and slowly turn, your ears, face, chest is on fire. You continue feeling embarrassment as you walk away from him, your back to him, slamming down another glass of wine, and another, and another… until you can no longer feel the embarrassment on your body. The world is spinning, the music louder than ever, you walk into the woods to get some quiet, to hear the crickets sing, to feel the leaves against your skin. You find a small creak nearby, and sit by it – letting your feet soak in the cool water as it runs down. You lay back, your shirt now hardly covering your chest at all…staring up at the stars, why me? You think to yourself.

Suddenly, you hear a crack of a twig, someone’s approaching. Before you can sit up, you see the druid standing over you.

“hi…” you let out a swirl of giggles, and raise your hands above as to touch the out-of-reach druid.

“I apologize, I did not mean to intrude, I was only…trying to find something” The druid keeps glancing away, as to avoid staring at your exposed breasts, your blushed nipples hard.

You finally sit up and turn to face the druid, “No, no I’m sorry…for being here!” You stumble as you try to stand, eventually tripping over a branch,  before you can hit the ground, Halsin quickly grabs you, cupping your waist in his arms, now holding you upright.

You are weightless in his arms, you let out a deep exhale…man, you’re wasted. And he looks soo beautiful, his hazel eyes glisten  in the moonlight, looking up at him, you feel safe.  You don’t even realize you’re smiling until it’s too late…you’re obvious.

Halsin quickly props you over his shoulder, holding your legs steady with one arm, his hand groping your outerhigh.

“I’m fine…I can walk myself, y’know? …You smell really good, by the way”

“We will get you some water, and you will rest…druid’s orders.”

The rhythm of his pace lulls you to a sleep, you wake to the druid setting you down in your tent, his hand cupping the back of your head, pulling your shirt down to avoid any slips, and tucks you under a blanket. Worried you may become sick in your sleep, he finds a chair in your tent and sits, diligently working on one of his wooden sculptures while watching you rest.

Quickly, Astarion enters the tent- expecting to find y/n waiting, “I’ve been waiting for 20 minutes, what are you - “ He stops once he realizes Halsin’s presence “ Oh? Did something happen? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine - I could not leave her in the woods, she is in a vulnerable state - perhaps come back in the morning? Once her head is clear” Halsin lowers his gaze, exuding a sense of authority. He is not asking. He is directing. 

Astarion cocks his head slightly back, who the hell did this druid think he was? He knew y/n longer than he had, he had bed her, he had shared his past with her…”I’m only leaving because she is sleeping,” Astarion nearly hisses and turns back, letting out a growl.

There the druid continued to sit, watching over y/n…working steadfast on his sculpture

~~ A NEW MORNING ~~

In the morning, you awaken alone in your tent – your head throbbing, throat dry, aching for water. Once you lean over to drink some, you try to recall the events that lead you to the tent. The last thing you remember is seeing the druid by the water, his beautiful brown hair, it smelled like a mix of eucalyptus and sandalwood, his warm skin...the touch of those big, heavy hands felt so gentle wrapped around her. You can still feel his touch if you think hard enough. CRAP…Astarion, he’s going to be upset. 

You change into your armor, and step outside your tent, trying to avoid eye contact with the group as they sit together enjoying breakfast and coffee. 

You see Shadowheart approach from the corner of your eye, “Okay…what happened?” She takes you by your hand before anyone can notice and drags you back inside your tent. She practically forces you to sit down as she begins brushing your knotted hair, a common occurrence with your long, thick hair. She begins sectioning your hair, as if to begin braiding. “I saw you with that druid last night, I also see how you look at him…do tell”

“Nothing, nothing happened. Beside’s he’s not interested. Not to mention I’m seeing Astarion…most importantly.” You almost sound sad that nothing happened, but you quickly stiffen your body as to ensure you are fine.

“Hm..shame…I did not think you the…self-limiting type.” Shadowheart takes her leave, joining the others to wrap up breakfast.

You roll your eyes, “whatever…” you whisper under breath. “Thanks for the braid, it’s lovely”

Before you step back outside, you glance and see a wooden flower sculpture, small enough to clasp in your fist. You thumb runs through the etchings of the sculpture, smooth against your fingers. On the underside, you see a small “H” inscribed…you place it in your backpack.

.

To be continued…