#just laying there like a dry fish

[cambion-companion]

Knot

Alright, it was put in my head that devils knot when mating/having sex. So...had to write this little ficlet.

Raphael x f!reader/Tav | SMUT | 18+ only

Scorching tension, the aching coil of your muscles as they stretched and clenched to accommodate him. Your fingers sought purchase, something to tether you to reality as ecstasy rocked with every thrust.

“Raphael.”  His name tasted like honey, burnt like whiskey upon your lips.  Your tongue felt leaden as he claimed your mouth, swallowing your pleading as he claimed you.

Amidst the haze and the heat, you noticed what a mess you were making of the cambion’s lush bed. “The sheets…”  You murmured, attempting to sit up and regain some semblance of control.

Your hair stirred in the rush of wind the sudden beat of his wings created, the leather appendages stretching wide as Raphael pushed you by the throat back against the mattress. “Are replaceable.” Raphael’s sharp claws dug against the tender flesh of your thigh as he dragged your body closer to him, drunk on the sensation of you so pliable and wet around him. He grinned down at you before a rumble of pleasure dragged from his throat. “So willing, little mouse.”  He leaned over, the skin of his wings turning the ambient firelight into a red haze. “Take all of me.”

Your eyes widened, feeling the flush of heat and heady lust his words aroused. Your body became taught as a bowstring seconds before the kill, his name spilling from your panting mouth, sweet to the taste.

Raphael fought to keep composure, failing spectacularly, burying himself deep within you, his sinful orisons of pleasure echoing your own cries. You felt his seed spill, the painful heat of it overshadowed by the pleasure as your body drank him in.

Your skin stung and broke as Raphael’s teeth pierced where your shoulder and neck joined, marking you as his own outside as well as within. He continued rutting into you, stretching you as the infernal knot took hold. You whined and he silenced you with his fingers pushing into your mouth.

Hellfire eyes found yours, your foreheads pressed together in a semblance of twisted intimacy as you nearly choked on his long digits. “Good, little one. Take me.”  

You wanted nothing more than to give in. To whatever end. Pain and pleasure mixed, your whines muffled around his fingers until he withdrew them only to replace the void with his lips and tongue. He was anchored inside, the languid thrusts of his hips sent spasms along your spine as Raphael pressed your legs down against your chest.

The two of you remained interlocked, twin flames made one, until Raphael was satisfied you’d been properly mated.  When he finally withdrew, he dragged a single nail down your chest to your navel, pressing almost until he drew blood over your womb. His tail flicked against your side as he gave you a lazy, self-satisfied smile. “You’re the image of sin, my dear.”  His palm flattened against your abdomen possessively. “Now, go clean yourself.  I will join you shortly for a thorough examination of your progress.”

[nap-thym3]

Sebastian Solace(Pressure) x Reader/Self-Insert 🌊

Part-One /Fluff/1,886 Words

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Synopsis: In which when I first played pressure I just stood and stared at Sebastian’s character model for a solid five minutes. So this was born. yayayaya

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Army crawling on your knees and elbows, your chest rattles with your wheezing breaths. Truth was, you’d never been an active person. The most legwork you’d gotten in a day was typically at work, and even then, that was minimal. Suffice to say, being thrust into this shitshow of a scenario where running from constant threats was the norm, the situation couldn’t be anymore dire.

You wave a hand about in front of yourself, fanning away the disrupted layers of dust that fluttered in the cramped ventilation shaft as your rasping coughs bounce off the walls and create a cacophony of god-awful racket. You mutter a slew of curses to yourself, clapping your palm over your nose and mouth in a pitiful attempt to stifle your coughing fit. It would be just your luck for a nearby eldritch-horror to overhear your pathetic, asthmatic-self in the vents and drag you out by the ankles. The thought alone brings an electrifying jolt of anxiety through your person, and if you had the space you’d be looking over your shoulder in paranoia. Alas, the best you could do was put your jittering nerves to use and crawl just that little bit faster. Honestly, it was an accomplishment in of itself that you managed to shimmy-shammy your adult self into such a claustrophobic passage in the first place. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve just marched straight past the most convenient and inviting looking vent in the world. Probably assuming it to be a blatant trap. Except, you did know better. Just a few feet ahead lay maybe the only place in the entire bowels of this hellscape where you felt you were well and truly safe.

Crawling out of the shaft like an NYC subway rat, you’re finally free to hack up your lungs in peace without fear of death by angler. At least, no death from this one in particular. Blindly you lean back to sit on your haunches, eyes straining to pick up any movement in the darkness.

“Oh. It’s you.” Your shoulder’s jump as a voice drawls from the far-side of the room. Soon after, a gentle glow begins to illuminate the occupied space.

Now with your gracious host offering you visibility, you blink your adjusting vision over to watch as Sebastian seemingly just wraps up whatever file he’d been perusing in the dark. Before you can even attempt to try and sneak a peek at whatever he’d been reading, said folder closes shut with a swift snap. The merchant then carefully tucks the item away into his inner-coat’s pocket. A shame, your snooping has been so swiftly shut down before it ever had a chance to begin- you pout at the missed opportunity. Sebastian catches your longing gaze fixated on his coat, and gives a condescending little pat to the area where you know the concealed document is to be hiding. Wordlessly daring you to even try. Cheeky fish.

“Not even a ‘Hello’ or ‘How are you’? I could’ve been dying in there!” You bemoan in a familiar way of greeting, gesticulating between yourselves wildly as you saunter forward. Sebastian, unphased by your usual eccentricities, drags an unimpressed eye over your much smaller form. Analyzing. Probably looking at your absolutely filthy diving suit- sweat-drenched and caked in dust, grime, and maybe even a little bit of blood as it was. At least you assumed so, if the distaste visibly evident in his features was anything to go by.

“I was hoping whoever it was would die a little more quickly.” Was his dry response, before turning his head in indifference; seeming to have found whatever it was he was looking for on your person.

You scoff, “I see chivalry really is dead.” You gripe without any real bite in your voice. Already beginning to survey the merchant’s wares. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him as he begins to preen over his nails, pretending to be checking for dirt. Or blood, you didn’t know the guy well enough to say for certain what he did in his free-time. Your attention travels upwards, from his large hands up to his round face. The light emanating from his angler’s bulb casts an almost ethereal glow to his features. Especially with the way his eyes gleam that cerulean blue that’s quickly becoming a favorite color of yours. In addition to these qualities, there’s a very light sprinkling of bioluminescent freckles smattered across his cheeks. Sort of reminiscent to that of stars. Idly your fingers twitch, the sudden urge to reach up and map them like constellations startlingly strong. All these qualities make Sebastian feel so surreal, so out of this world. In juxtaposition to all of that, you’re confident to say that if he had the means, he’d be snobbishly turning his nose up at you right about now. The mental image brings a small, secretive smile to your face.

Sebastian rolls his eyes- or at least, you get the impression that he does. His lack of distinctive pupils makes it hard to tell.

“Are you going to actually buy something today?” He snips, cocking out a hip. “Or are you just going to keep gawking at me?” The merchant sneers through grit teeth(or maybe that was just his face?).

Snapping out of your reverie, caught with your hand in the proverbial cookie-jar, blood rushes to your head as you grin sheepishly up at his accusatory glare.

“Sorry, you’re just…” you wave a hand up beside yourself, willing the right words to come to you. Sebastian, amused by your silent floundering, quirks a knowing eyebrow at you. As if saying ‘Go on?’ The soundless goading sends you into a mental spiral- what did that mean? What did he think you were going to say? God- you don’t want to accidentally offend him, but you also don’t want to sound like a complete idiot. You gulp, mouth opening and closing a few times as you attempt to formulate words that will appease him.

Seemingly tired of you embarrassing yourself, Sebastian moved to speak, assumedly in an act of mercy from this sad display. Quickly, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, before he could beat you to the punch.

“You’re just really pretty.” Mortified, you clap your hands over your mouth. Yup. Those are. Definitely words that you just said. To his face.

Muscles tensing, you brace for his reaction. You’re not sure what you’re expecting, disgust, maybe? Mocking laughter, most probably. Any and all situations your brain can conjure up are absolutely humiliating in equal measure. However, as one moment drags into two, and the silence has still yet to be breached, you cautiously look Sebastian’s way. The sight that greets you is a rare one. The infamous Z-13, Sebastian Solace, is left speechless.

The Merchant’s smug expression falters, a look of genuine astonishment crossing his face. The dim light cast by his lure does little to mask the way his stature curls inwards slightly. A slight too much, in your opinion. You can see the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching- as though internally wrestling with a response. Just as you had been a moment prior. The knowledge that he was just as at a loss for words as you were eases the tension in your shoulders, if only by a hair. Miser so does love its company, after-all. There’s a brief pause, heavy and awkward, until he finally speaks, his voice softer than usual.

“Pretty?” he echoes, almost disbelievingly. He then swallows, visibly thrown off-kilter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called… At-At least- that is to say, not in a good long while.” The second half of his sentence is murmured, as if mostly said to himself. But you had overheard, and he looks as if to have noticed the way your brows pinch in a confusing whirlpool of emotions. Mostly sympathy, pity, among other emotions neither of you were too entirely ready to put out on the table. God forbid you two express emotional maturity and speak plainly like adults. Sebastian flexes his long tail, the serpentine appendage looking as if it were going to either pull or push you away. However, before it can make any progress in either endeavor, Sebastian, -noticeably uncomfortable- clears his throat.

“Silly little thing.” He croons, swooping down from his towering height to give you a patronizing pinch to the cheek with his clawed index and thumb. “You should be mindful of your tongue, hmmm?” As he speaks, his usual edge returns to his voice. Your head helplessly tilts side-to-side with the motion of his ‘affection’. Affronted, and a little whip-lashed with his quick recovery, you swat the offending hand away from your face.

“Jerk! I was trying to be nice!” Despite the biting words, you can’t help but feel relieved to be set back on familiar ground. Whatever emotional vulnerability present in the moment prior was slowly ebbing away, returning to your regularly scheduled squabbling. Sebastian chuckles, bodily retreating to his previous stature and re-clasping his hands before himself with an echoing ‘clap’. You rub at your reddened cheeks, whether their heat was due to Sebastian’s rough treatment or from an entirely other emotion, was only for you to know.

Sebastian continues on distractedly, seeming to have already recollected his composure. “Flattery will get you nowhere here, you know. But… thanks.” You think you see his eyes dart away for a brief moment, before locking onto yours again. A curl of his typical smirk splaying across his lips.

You gasp dramatically, a goofy smile erupting on your face. “The mighty Sebastian? Saying thanks?” You tease.

Sebastian waves a hand about in the air dismissively. “Yeah yeah, just don’t let it get to your head.” He says, crossing his arms defensively. He steamrolls on before you get anymore wise ideas to- eugh, compliment him. “Now hurry up and buy something already!” He snaps, motioning to the various goodies strapped to his person. Not having to be told thrice now, you hurry and make your selections. Eager to move on from everything and anything to do with word ‘cute’. Nothing major, just a few batteries for the road and a mobile hacker or two. Sebastian seems to approve of your choices, and if the price he demands of you seems a little cheaper than the usual- well. You certainly weren’t going to complain.

Getting everything tucked neatly away and ready to go, you begin to trek back towards the vent before being stopped once more by Sebastian.

“Oh! And Traveller?” He calls. With an answering hum, you look back to maybe your only friend down here. The merchant in question seems to look like he’s turning something over in his head, before continuing with a withering sigh.

“Try not to get yourself killed out there, alright? I’d hate to lose such a profitable costumer.” He sing-songs grimly. Despite the harsh words, you can’t help but notice a slight undertone of warm endearment. Feeling like a certified Sebastian-whisperer, you pride swells in your chest at being able to read between the lines. With a barely concealed snicker at his thinly-veiled concern, you toss a final farewell his way before retreating. All throughout the next dozen or so rooms, you journey forward with a skip in your step. Feeling invigorated with newfound determination knowing that a certain merchant was counting on your safe return.

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eeeughh I’m so rusty with writing. Like. It’s not even funny how long this took me for just a one-shot? Idk I might continue this, I just suck so bad at staying motivated for fanfics. Anywho, hope any fellow Sebastian enjoyers out there liked this, there’s not enough content out there of him👍 please make more content guys pls I’m starved for the fics puh-LEASEE

[thatdesigirl17]

all i need is you I part one

series masterlist. masterlist.

a/n: so the first part is up! it’s short and not that interesting as it just like sets the scene but I promise interesting things are coming ahead, hope you like the series, I’ll try to put the parts up asap and maybe even a playlist, there are no warnings I think except the curse words

It all started in the third year when Y/N had lost her baby fat and had a glow-up, making her stand out in Hogwarts. So when Adrian Pucey asked her out she agreed to go on a date with him. Adrian was sweet until they reached back to the castle, he started getting a bit too comfortable which bothered Y/N. She politely declined all his advances and wouldn’t put out, which damaged Adrian’s fragile ego. He left her stranded in a courtyard and stormed to his dorm. She returned to her dorm, alone. 

Over the next few weeks, people started looking at her differently, judging her, whispering about her. Adrian and his friend group had spread rumours about Y/N having a one-night stand with all of them, earning her the reputation of being the Hogwarts’ in-house slut. No matter how much she tried to deny it and save her image, the damage was done and all her efforts reaped nothing. Instead, she decided the best option for her was to lay low and live with it. That’s when she decided she would never even talk to another Slytherin again. 

Being in Hogwarts was a blessing and a curse, since the whole incident Y/N had been on a few more dates but all of them ended badly with the boys wanting nothing more than to sleep with her. 

This had what happened with Cormac McLaggen and this was the reason Y/N was currently storming towards the Black Lake, late at night, after curfew with her clothes slightly dishevelled.

She reached the edge of the lake and slipped out of her shoes setting them aside and letting her bare feet dangle in the cold water. Her tears spilled and the voice of her sniffling filled the air. 

‘Waiting for your date, Y/L/N? What did you already use all the rooms inside the castle?’, a taunting voice came from behind. She didn’t even have to turn to recognise that voice. ‘Fuck off, Nott.’, she spat. She turned her head around looking at the beautiful Italian, standing behind her. Theodore Nott, the infamous pure blood who fit into every Slytherin stereotype, or so most thought. This was the reason that had made Y/N have a strong resolve against pursuing her crush on the boy. 

Theodore took in the tears that shined on her face in the moonlight as his gaze softened. ‘What happened?’, he asked as he fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and threw it in her direction. ‘Aren’t you a gentleman?’, she said sarcastically catching the piece of cloth. He rolled his eyes and his dead eyes stared into hers still waiting for an answer. ‘Don’t act like you care, Nott. I’m not going to fall for whatever sympathy act you might do, I’m not gonna sleep with you.’, she said, dabbing the soft cloth under her eyes drying her tears. 

‘As if I’m dying to sleep with you.’, he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes again, ‘I don’t need you to sleep with me, love, I’ve plenty of girls ready for that.’ He leaned on one of the trees and lit up a cigarette.

She sighed and got up from the edge, turning over to face him, ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ ‘You didn’t answer me, what happened? Found no guy to sleep with for the night? Want me to change that?’, he smirked taking a drag of his cigarette. 

‘For fuck’s sake.’, she murmured under her breath as she ignored him and started walking towards the castle. Theodore grabbed her wrist, turning her around to face him again. ‘You are so rude, Y/L/N. I ask you something and you just ignore me?’, he smirked, a playful hint to his voice that seemed to annoy Y/N further. ‘Come on, Y/L/N, please. Maybe I could help you.’, he pressed, stepping closer. ‘Yeah right.’, she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. She held his gaze and his determination did not seem to waver. 

‘You won’t understand, you’re just like everyone else.’, she sighed. ‘You wound me, let me assure you I’m not just like everyone.’, he said, feigning an injury on his chest. ‘You are. Even you believe those stupid rumours.’, she said, crossing her arms around her chest. ‘What rumours?’, Theodore asked, searching her eyes that seemed to well up at the mention. ‘Oh’, he sighed, ‘You did not sleep with them, did you? Adrian and his little friend group.’ She shook her head, gulping, trying to stop herself from tearing down. ‘Those fuckers.’, he scoffed. ‘What happened today?’, he pressed the matter further. Y/N couldn’t avoid his question anymore.

‘Nothing really. Just what always happens. Went on a date, he tried to sleep with me and got mad when I said I won't.’, she said, avoiding his gaze. ‘Who?’, he asked, the briefest hint of protectiveness in his voice. ‘McLaggen.’, she answered, her voice breaking. ‘You really know how to choose them, don’t you?’, he smirked, trying to lighten the mood, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Y/N let out a shuddered breath, hugging herself tighter, trying to blink away her tears. ‘Hey, hey, hey, I was kidding, love.’, Theodore said, throwing his cigarette away and as he pulled her in, hugging her. ‘You aren’t wrong.’, she mumbled against his chest, breaking down. He comforted her, soothing her back. 

After a moment, the gravity of the situation settled into Y/N’s brain, registering what was happening as she stepped out of his embrace, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what got over me.’, she sniffled, wiping her tears from the back of her hand. ‘You don’t have to be sorry.’, he said quickly, putting his hands in his pockets and shrugging. 

The awkward silence surrounded them as she broke it, ‘I better get going.’ She gave him a short smile and turned walking back towards the castle. ‘Let me help you.’, he blurted out, stopping her in her tracks. ‘Help me? Help me how exactly?’, she said, turning to face him, confusion showcasing on her face. He pondered for a moment, ‘Be my girlfriend.’ ‘What?’, she scoffed in disbelief. ‘My fake girlfriend.’, he quickly corrected himself. ‘Fake girlfriend? What do you mean to say, Theo?’, she asked. ‘Let’s pretend that we’re dating. It’ll be a good thing for your reputation and if you do this, I can help you by making Adrian Pucey come clean about the rumours he started.’, he explained, shrugging and shoving his hands in his pocket. ‘Why help me? What’s in it for you?’, she asked, crossing her hands. ‘Let’s just say, I have someone to make jealous and doing this would accomplish that.’, he explained nonchalantly. ‘Who?’, she pressed. ‘None of your business’, he smirked as she glared at him, ‘Alright, Daphne.’ She chuckled hollowly but before she could speak, he interrupted, stepping closer, ‘Don’t make any rash decisions, sleep on it. Meet me tomorrow morning, near the quidditch fields with your answer.’ He tucked a strand of her stray hair behind her ear, winked and walked past her back to the castle. Y/N stood there dumbfounded her mind processing all of what had happened and the lingering question that Theodore had proposed.

[beanxiv]

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ based on a headcanon from a post i have yet to finish , so sorry for my inactivity , i hope this makes up for it ! no warnings

“gods, she’s so pretty, and sweet, and perfect, and pretty, and—”

‘is she now?’ the little minnow’s voice is more sarcastic than anything, but percy lets it slide because the fish is still young.

so instead of feeling deterred, he’s spurred on, “uh huh, she’s more than i could ever ask for. i’m gonna marry her some day,” he vows, resting his head back against the sandy bottom of the lake. absentmindedly, his finger traces your name into the sand, and even if the writing doesn't last long underwater, he knows you’ll be his and he’ll be yours forever.

when it’s quiet a moment too long, he tilts his head, and the minnow has disappeared.

“jeez, tough crowd..” he mumbles, pushing off his back to swim up to the shore where you’re reading a book. he walks out of the water looking like a greek god (i wonder why!) grinning as he makes his way to you.

his hair is soaked and finger-brushed back while a few stray strands fall forward. droplets of water slide over his sun kissed skin, and you know he knows what he's doing, because less than a flick of his wrist would dry himself off.

“hey, pretty girl,” he plops into the towel, sidles up to your side and getting you wet in the process.

“hi, baby,” you hum, closing your book and setting it aside so he doesn't get it wet. “you have fun?

he looks at you a moment longer, like he wants to keep the image engraved in his kind before he leans back to lay his head down on the towel. “yup,” he nods, popping the p. “but the fish have been catching attitudes lately, so i came back to my angelfish.”

you giggle at the nickname, lowering a hand to brush back the stubborn strands, “yeah? the fish were mean to you?”

“yeah,” he shakes his head in faux disappointment. “it's always the same little guy, can’t say anything to ‘im though ‘cause he’s still a baby.”

you hum as you listen to him, now playing with his hair, twirling the wet strands.

“maybe you were talking too much and pissed him off,” you tease, poking his cheek with your left hand.

“nuh uh,” he turns his face to nip at your fingertip before kissing it. he interlaces your fingers, pressing featherlight kisses to your knuckles, “was jus’ talking about how i’m gonna marry you, an’ how you're the prettiest, sweetest, most perfect girl in this universe and the next.” his lips pause on your ring finger, kissing it with a saccharine gentleness reserved only for you.

your heart stutters and your lips pull into an unintentional grin, the kind of smile only he can get from you. “maybe he got tired of hearing it,” you murmur. you'll never get hired of hearing it though.

“yeah, well,” percy lowers your intertwined hands to rest on his chest. “when he gets a little minnow girlfriend, he’ll know how i feel.”

“i’m sure he will, baby.”

he’s not looking at you, rather at your hands. he’s quiet, and you can tell he's thinking about something, so you ask him. “what’s on your mind, perce?”

he glances up at you, lips instinctively curling into a smile, “you, always.”

and it’s true! he’s always got you on his mind, but right now it's something a little more specific. he can tell, even when you’re grinning, that you know it's something more. so he brings your hand back to his lips, kissing your ring finger again. “‘m just thinking about putting a ring on this finger, sweet girl. i’ll get it in your favorite metal, a shape you’d like, a pretty gem— the works. only the best for my angel.”

maybe he doesn't realize the weight of his words because to him, he's just expressing his love. but to you, having the man of your dreams, the most perfect boyfriend you could dream of, rant about how badly he wanted to marry you—

—it made you have to “blink sand away from your eyes.”

“‘re you crying, baby?” he teases, pressing a few more kisses to your hand and wrist

“no,” you counter a little too quickly. you know it's no use lying to percy, though. lying to him is like trying to float in a tsunami, you try to convince yourself it's totally possible, but (you guess) it's not.

this time, he pulls you down from your sitting position to lay your head against his chest. “save your tears for the vows, pretty baby. then you can cry and i won't make fun of you ‘cause i’ll be crying too.”

that makes a soft mixture of a sob and giggle leave your lips. “baby.”

“yes, pretty?”

“no, i'm calling you a baby.”

you expect him to counter back with his own quip, but instead he places a hand on the back of your head and a kiss to the crown. “your baby.”

“ugh, you’re so corny,” but you’re grinning even as the tease leaves your lips.

this time he doesn’t have anything corny to say, nor a sassy comeback. instead he resorts to violence.

he pokes at your side, tickling you until you jolt, “percy!”

“hm?” he plays innocent, still poking at you.

“okay! you’re not corny, you’re the best boyfriend ever, i love you!” you manage between giggles.

“uh huh, i thought so.” he nods all self-assuredly, now smoothing his hands up and down your waist where he’d assaulted you with tickles. “i love you too, baby. future wifey.” he grins and it makes you look forward to getting that ring even more, just to see that smile everyday. and he plans on showing you.

not just his smile— he plans on showing you everything. the best life he can give you before and after “i do.”

[bi-writes]

still wakes the deep au | soap x f!reader

Installment 2/?: Warning Signs

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. masterlist

Being alone feels different when there’s nowhere to run. Every wall looks the same, and the stench of must permeates in every room–the carpet must hold it in. Everything drips; the taste of salt won’t go away, and it makes your eyes dry out every time you close them and open them again. There are other people around you, men that are the cause of the knocks against the rig, but they are as alien as what lies beneath you. Every time you feel as if it’s too foreign, you remind yourself that there is nowhere to go.

The only way out of this place is by doing your job; but even that scares you all of the sudden.

Your bed is lumpy. The mattress feels dry, stiff, and it barely gives as you lay in it. You stare up at the bottom of the top bunk, trying not to think about the sound of sea water pelting your window like a threatening knock while you try to sleep.

Your mind barely gives. You keep the lamp that sits on your makeshift desk turned on. Without it, the black of nothingness from outside bleeds through the walls, and you swear you can see a thousand different shapes that claw their way out of the moonlight towards you. The rig doesn’t shake, but it breathes. It lives, somehow, deep legs connected to the seafloor to keep it from drifting off, from separating, from taking you with it, from suffocating you until your breaths are filled with water and your body is too cold to–

You jump when the lamp bursts. A jolt of electricity shatters the bulb, and you sit up in bed, clutching the sheets as you watch the lamp glow slightly before fizzling out. The room blankets into the dark, and you move shakily off your bed and pat around for your flashlight before clicking it on. The small circle of yellow light doesn’t do what you hoped; instead, it makes the shadows of every object longer and seem further away, and they start to move as your hand shakes, so much so that you cannot tell if something is coming towards you or if your mind is still convincing you of some sort of seasickness. One lodged into your brain, one that doesn’t make you nauseous but makes you paranoid that some hole in the ocean will open up and take you with it.

The thought of drowning is not as terrifying as finding out what lies beneath the surface of the water.

When you used to think of the ocean, it used to soothe you. When you closed your eyes, all you could see was crystal clear blue and tropical fish. You thought about running your fingers through warm water and kicking your feet as you watched dolphins fly beside you. When the sun penetrated the light, it shined until it showed the seafloor, where little creatures burrowed beneath bright sand, making it sparkle.

The ocean you know now is anything like it. You understand what they mean when they say “mother nature,” because only a woman scorned could eat the world the way she does. Waves touching taller than buildings. Animals so large, they would swallow you whole and let the acid of their insides quiet your screams for nutrition. An endless void, reaching miles towards the center of earth, a vast unknown that crushes heavy metals and defies physics the further and further you drop. She’s unforgiving. Mean. A terrifying, wonderful thing, and you are cheating death. You know it. She screams at you from just outside your thin walls, and you are pretending not to hear her. She’s telling you something, but you bury your nose in your books.

If it’s a warning she’s trying to give, you won’t know it until it’s too late.

The rig groans in the middle of the night. You can hear the pipes expanding, the water moving aggressively outside your window, the sounds of cranes and metal creaking that rattle off around you. Your hand shakes a little as you try and find your shoes, slipping them on as you open your door in search of a new source of light.

It’s the middle of the night, but there’s still a skeleton crew around, moving between their night shifts. You make your way down the hall, clicking off your flashlight, and you find yourself in the rec room in search of light bulbs in the utility closet there. You hear the doors swing open behind you, and you try to ignore the rowdy voices of men as you stand on your tiptoes and rummage the hundredth box for what you need. You try not to think about the whisps of something delicate you feel grazing your fingertips (because spiders wouldn’t be this far out from land, right?).

“Looks like ye need a little help, bonnie.”

You startle yourself nearly out of your skin. You trip off the ledge you’re standing on, trying to hold your hands out to brace yourself, but you never hit the ground. Strong hands grip you around the middle, breaking your fall and getting you back onto your feet, nice and steady. You spin around, clutching your flashlight to your chest, panting like an anxious puppy. You can make out his blue eyes even in the dark, bright and seemingly concerned as Soap tries to get a grip on you to keep you from swaying.

“‘S alright, lass, ‘s just me! Soap, it’s Soap.”

You put a hand over your chest, trying to calm your breathing, You shake your head, closing your eyes as you try and repeat the mantra you’ve been telling yourself since you got on this stupid rig.

Your feet are on solid ground. Your feet are on solid ground. Your feet are on solid ground.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I…”

“What are ye doin’ up?” He asks, clicking his tongue. “‘S the middle of the night! Reckon ye need yer beauty sleep.”

You smile a bit, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You do it to placate him. Men don’t always respond well to sharp teeth, and you haven’t decided how you feel about this one yet. He’s too comfortable. His hands are still around your arms, thumbs smoothing too easily over the bone of your shoulders. He’s too close; he steps just nearer to you, tongue sliding over that top row of teeth, and you try not to think about the way his pupils dilate at the terrified look on your face, the one your smile cannot hide. When he tilts his head to the side, you think he means to look curious, but you think it closer to prey playing with its food. The curls of his growing mohawk fall over his forehead, drawing a dark shadow over his eyes, and you can no longer try to see what might give him away in his gaze.

“The light in my…room. I need a new one, I–” You shake your head. “It’s stupid, but I just…I can’t sleep.”

“We’ll get ye all right fer bed, love,” Soap chuckles. “What’s broken, ye ken what kind ye need?”

You blink, biting your lip, thinking. He’s still touching you; he still has his hands around your arms, but now they’ve settled around your elbow, calloused fingers curled over where they rest.

“I’m not sure. The lamp on my desk, it’s–”

“Ach, those are hidin’, I’m sure o’ it,” he lets you go, reaching up and hoisting down a few boxes before reaching for what lies behind them. He carries them on his shoulder before dropping them onto the floor, and you try not to think about watching him work. He’s a large man. Strong, that much is evident, but there’s something off. You think his physical appearance hides what lies inside. He’s pretty, in a way that shouldn’t be allowed. Straight teeth, a killer smile, arms that do not give once they’re taut with use. Even the uniform he wears does nothing to hide thicker thighs and a solid middle; but you try not to let it distract you from what really remains. If he wasn’t so gorgeous, you don’t think he’d get away with that tick that must exist in his brain. The one that allows him to crowd your space without much resistance. The one that lets him smile like that, like he’s won something, like he’s gotten what he wanted not because he fought for it, but because it is what he is owed. 

He bends over and picks up a bulb that looks good enough and hands it to you. When he straightens his back, you try to catch that look in his eyes again. Maybe he knows you’re looking for it, and now he’s hiding it. Maybe he’s cooing in his own head about what a clever girl you are and trying to decide how he’ll play his game differently.

“Can walk ye back, put it in fer ye.”

You take it from him, drawing a shaky breath. You want to say no. You want to tell him you can do it all on your own, that you’re fine, but then the closet door swings open, and a group of tired-looking crew stare at the two of you as they snicker and nudge each other.

“Wot ye doin’, Soap, seven minutes in heaven with the fuckin’ feds?”

“Och–shut the fuck up, the lot o’ ye,” Soap bites back. “Just doin’ her fuckin’ job, just like the rest o’ ye, so get the fuck out the way. Middle of the night, bunch of gobshites.”

Soap puts a hand around the small of your back, guiding you past the group and out into the hallway. He follows you wordlessly back to accommodations, stopping in front of your door. Your name isn’t on it, but you don’t comment about how he knew this was yours. He waits for you to open the door for him before following you inside.

“A right mess, luvvie.”

He doesn’t let you help. He kicks your bin under the desk, carefully discarding of the pieces of glass that are scattered across your desk. He grumbles under his breath about it being too sharp and how he will do it better and how he can take care of ye. 

When the lamp clicks back on, it paints the room in that comforting orange light, and you relax as you take a seat on your bed, clutching the sheets to dry your clammy palms. He still invades your space, but somehow, with the light, it dampens the sentiment. He scares you just a little less, but if you give him just that much, how much will he use it to his advantage?

“Ye need anythin’, I’m…just down there,” Soap says finally. He points behind him, down the north end of the hallway, and all you can do is nod. “Don’t listen to the lot, bonnie,” Soap adds. “Bunch o’ old, tired bastards. Mean no harm. But if they do, ye come ta me, ye hear?”

“Uhm…Soap?” You call out as he’s leaving. You don’t know why you stop him. You don’t know why you’re talking to him; you’re certain he’s not a stranger to telling a good lie. He turns to face you, leaning against the doorway, and you clear your throat. No one should look this good on just a few hours of sleep, but he’s still blinking awake, unsettlingly calm. “This place…it’s safe, right? I mean…safe as it ought to be?”

Soap smiles, but it’s not like his other smiles. It feels unnatural. His teeth are duller. Lips drier. Maybe he’s just tired.

“It’s safe, love. Swear it. Got me on those rivets.”

You don’t know why, but when he comes close to you, you let him. You let him touch your face, thick fingers smoothing down your jaw just a little too rough, big thumb along your bottom lip rubbing just a little too hard. You hear his door shut nearby once he goes.

The ocean screams. You can hear her again now that his voice is no longer around. You fall asleep knowing he’s close, and you pretend not to notice her. Just like always.

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [2]

series masterlist previous || part two -> woad and weld || part three -> orpiment

> summary: you recover from the boat, and wonder why you were taken > tags/warnings: pain, caretaking, food, stomach issues, threats, mean simon, fears of rape (doesn't happen), viking-typical slavery, unwanted cuddling / massage / touching, alcohol, scars, violence, hunting, laswell hello!, reader has some puritanical attitudes / assumptions but she was a nun so, power imbalance, dubcon comfort, crying, religious themes (dldr)

You're a stone sunk to the bottom of the ocean, pulled under by exhaustion and turmoil. It's the sleep of the dead, dreamless and unreachable.

Vaguely, in moments of semi-consciousness, you hear voices and feel softness against your skin, warmth all around you. The brush of fingers against your cheeks.

When you do wake, it's like crossing between different worlds, with a head full of cotton and fog. Your sense of smell comes alive before anything else, the smell of food permeating the air around you.

Fish. Cream. Something herbaceous, something earthy. A fire crackles closeby, warming the air, warming you. You can feel fur touching your arms and legs, draped over you and flat underneath you.

It only serves to soften to blow of pain, overwhelming pain. True awareness comes then, waking you with a gasp that alerts-

"Did she just-"

"Sh!" Simon's voice, coming closer. "You awake?" his face comes into view above - you only recognize him by voice.

He's scarred, big and small, but the most eye-catching one bisects his face, splitting it into two from his cheekbone to his jaw on the other side. It's deep, raised, angry even if you can tell it's healed.

You scream.

It's a weak sound, the cry of somebody that knows it's pointless and yet can't help but shout into the void and hope that something will answer.

Before, that would have been god. You'd have prayed, lived as a hermit, sequestered yourself to a cave and live as one of the great ascetic saints. A life even further dedicated than nunhood.

Since he had refused to answer you on the boat, you turn away, and whimper like an injured dog when that scarred face turns to a mask of stone.

"Ha!" Johnny doesn't pick up on the tension that's rising, slowly, as you tremble under Simons gaze. Or maybe he does, and he doesn't care. "Havnae seen his ugly mug yet, have ye? Dinnae worry, lamb."

Guilt curls in your belly, dampening your fear. Simon doesn't look shamed, but you weren't afraid of his scars - truly, you were disoriented, barely clothed and towered over by the same man that took you.

"He won't bite," Johnny continues. He walks over and lays a hand on Simons waist, fingers curling in the off-white fabric. "Well, not ye."

A wink.

"Hush!" Simon barks. "Get her up, she needs to eat."

There's no hesitation. Johnny leans down to you, pulling you until you sit up with a wince. You bite your lips to keep from crying out again, pain lancing through your muscles. You're seized by muscle spasms, by the fiery hot pain of your chafed wrists and a gnawing, deep hunger in your stomach.

"How-" you choke, throat dry and voice unused. Johnny pauses helping you up to listen. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Few days, lass. It's the evening," he grins. "Ye should thank us. Kept ye warm, washed, slipped ye broth into that lovely mouth-"

Simon puts a wooden bowl down onto the table, louder than necessary. There's a grumble from Johnny, but he gets you up and waits while your legs get used to weight on them again.

You're half-dragged, mostly carried to the table. All you're wearing is that shirt, nipples pebbled against the front from the cold. Hard to care too much when your muscles scream even holding yourself sitting up.

You lean on Johnny as Simon ladles soup into bowls, hunched over the kitchen hearth, silent as the grave.

"Eat slowly," is all he says.

It smells good, herby and warm. Your stomach groans and gurgles and begs you to eat, but you're weary. Afraid. Only when the men eat that you pick up a carved wooden spoon and hesitantly slurp.

Heat. Satisfaction. Eating is incredible, and you discover the wonderous ingredients loaded into the soap; salmon, potatoes, a green herb that tastes like sharp, citrussy grass.

Then your stomach cramps, and you tilt with nausea.

"Too fast?" Johnny coos, rubbing a big palm up and down your back. "Awe."

"That's enough, then," Simon goes to take your bowl, but you're too fast. You pull it close to your chest, spilling a little onto the table and drops soak into your shirt. "You can have some later. I said that's enough."

You hold fast. Your stomach hurts, but you're desperate for some form of control. All the terror and all the uncertainty rises, rushing through your finally conscious brain into a battle of strength. You took me but I have agency! it says. You took me but I can take this!

He's too strong.

The wood bowl clatters against the ground with a crack, hot soup spilling on the floor. You heave with the force of your breathing, afraid and too-aware of your predicament.

Taken, snatched, at the mercy of men whose intentions are unclear.

You're too slow to cower when Simon's arm shoots forward and grabs your jaw, hard and mean, giving you a squeeze.

"Now we've been nice to you," he starts. His voice is as solid as his arm. You start to shake. "But I can just as easily put you over my knee. That what you want?"

You shake your head.

"That's what I thought."

Johnny leaves after the soup is cleaned and you're tucked back into the bed again, muscles trembling still with the exertion of your first meal. Small, electric spasms make you wince every one in a while. Your wrists are bruised and scabbed, but healing. They feel hot and itchy, but Simon tells you as he rubs an ointment into the wound that they're healing well.

You try to shy away, hide yourself, when he notices your grimace and reaches for a calf. The look he gives you stops you, takes your breath, until he shakes his head and starts rubbing deep circles into the tenderest spot of your muscle.

"God!" you should. A wonder how badly you can hurt from just laying in bed. He snorts. "Ow!"

"Don't be dramatic," his thumb presses deeply, moving down, then back up. Squeezing. The bed dips with his weight as he scoots closer to you.

You take a moment to look around you. The cabin is made of wood, warmed by the fire, and is full to the brim. Clay pots, furs, tools, a couple barrels- they're everywhere, unorganized. Makes you wonder about the sacred items they'd stolen from your convent.

"Why did you take me?" someone bolder has possessed you. Your mouth twists when Simon's eyes find yours.

His hands don't stop moving. They switch legs, pulling the finished one onto his big thigh. It does feel better, relaxed and tender in a good sort of way, pain not so unbearable anymore.

"You're our spoils," he moves down, digging into your arch. You almost yelp. "D'you know what we gave up for you?"

Something in your chest squeezes, something scared and unpleasant. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"That's alright," Simon murmurs. Your anxiety fights against the comfort he's giving you. "You'll be alright."

He flits his gaze downwards, eyeing you. Your breath catches when you realize that the position has left your legs open, shirt ridden up, and he's looking right at your bare cunt.

"Ah!" you pull your knees shut, hands finding where you're exposed and folding over, cupping yourself, face ablaze. Tears prick at your eyes again, fear winning over comfort.

Simon doesn't let you panic for long.

"I won't force myself on you, pet," he grunts. "We won't."

There isn't much choice but to hang on to his words for dear life, to believe that he won't force you. The hope is fragile, but it's there. You take the chance to pull a soft, worn blanket over your body.

"Am I to be your slave?" your voice wavers.

"No," he says simply.

For a long time, you watch him. He putters about, moving things, unloading boxes no doubt full of supplies used for raids. You wonder if that means he doesn't intend to go on another one, then wonder what they'll do with you if they do leave.

Johnny comes back flushed, smiling. You smell sweetness under his sweat, something you can't recognize. His eyes crinkle when he sees you.

"Two nights," he breathes, looking at you but talking to Simon. "They'll celebrate in two nights."

Your stomach tenses, roiling, eyes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. Even a short time is much for you after your journey.

"Price's back?" Simon asks. He's pulling a sealskin from a burlap bag, smoothing it out with his hands onto the table. The silvery, spotted skin reflects the fireplace.

"Tomorrow," Johnny pulls leather boots off his feet, then thick socks. He wipes himself down with a rag from a tub, shuffling to the bed when he finishes. "Then we feast."

Your eyes are heavy slits, mouth open. You hardly move even when Johnny sits next to you and brushes a thumb over your cheek, smiling toothily down at you.

"Awe, she's precious," he says, lowering his voice. "Go to sleep now, little lamb."

You wake the same way as before. A tilt of one world into the next, sliding down into consciousness as slow as thick porridge.

Only this time, you're surrounded by a warmth not brought by thick furs. It's skin, all around you, boxing you in. On your face you feel hair, prickly and soft, comforting and frightening all at once.

Behind you, a chest breaths against your back. Your eyes open, alarm cutting through grogginess.

Johnnys big hand is clutching your breast, squeezing every few moments, snuffling into your neck like a sleepy animal.

You try to extricate yourself, lifting yourself to find Simon looking down at you, eyes half lidded but aware. There's warning there, but there's also contentment. Scars big and small litter his skin, pocked and torn and scraped, all shapes and sizes. Some are silvery while others are such a deep red you'd think they were still fresh.

He looks past you at Johnny, and turns to his side.

"Weren't planning on running, where you?" his voice is low, so as to not wake the other man.

"No," you whisper. Johnny shuffles behind you, sliding a thigh between your legs. "Please help me." you wiggle, trying to move.

Simon sighs, sitting up. He shuffles to the edge of the bed, then reaches to peel Johnnys hands off you. His hand slides against the soft spring of your breast, hands sliding under Johnnys to pull, brushing your nipple on the way up.

"Thank you," you're still whispering, not wanting to wake Johnny up lest it irritate Simon. You roll until you're out of his grasp, body feeling less pained than it did the day before.

"Hungry?" Simon moves towards the kitchen. "Got one more day to relax."

The feast, you think. The divide, the celebration. Frissons climb your skin until your scalp prickles.

"Yes, please," you sit up, weary of Johnny finding your heat in the bed.

The smell of animal fat and the sound of sizzling fills the cottage then. You look around, noting an improvement for the clutter. The sealskin is gone, replaced by two standing up boots.

"They're yours," Johnny says. You startle, almost leap, but he catches you by the hips and puts his face into your hair. "Simon stayed up all night."

"Gets cold," he dismisses. Eggs jump in the pan in front of him, popping in the hot tallow.

You have to be helped again to the table, but it's not so bad this time. You arm goes around Johnnys waist, his under yours, fingers barely brushing the underside of your breast.

Breakfast is good. Fried eggs, seasoned by the fat, over gruel. It fills you with an internal sense of strength, and you can actually finish it all today.

"Good girl!" Johnny claps your back. "Gonnae be choppin all our wood for winter, eh?"

After, Simon has you change into a simple brown wool dress. You try to ignore them looking at your nakedness as you drop the other shirt, but the wool is nice and warm and there's even a soft pale shift to go underneath it.

Then he slips pants on your legs, tied at the waist under the dress, and wraps wool around your calves.

"You're gonna run errands with me," Simon says. He wraps your feet again in wool, securing them with leather twine. "Get your strength up."

His eyes find yours where he's kneeling, squinting at you, expression turning stormy.

"I don't want to re-injure your wrists," he motions to them, and you look at the healing scabs. "But if you try to run, I'll drag you back by your hair n' tie 'em back up. You pick."

Outside, you wince against the light. Simon holds you by the elbow, walking at your weak pace. It's a tight village, houses clumped together, shops close. It's a wonder you haven't heard anyone from inside Johnny and Simons home, until you see how thickly the walls are built when the door opens.

The street is wet with mud, and you're grateful for the footwraps. They're warm against the chill, sliding through the mud beneath you when you lose your footing, legs feeling as new as a fawn.

"Here," Simon leads you to a market-like stall. Dried meats hang from the ceiling in bunches. The smell is pungent.

"Nik!" He shouts. A huge, burly man steps out.

They talk like they've known each other a long time, though not quite friends. An image of two great bears crosses your imagination, both big and still respecting the other. A rare alliance.

Simon hangs a bag off of you, a salty-smelling bag full of cured and fermented meats. The man looks down at you and grins as you leave, laughing lowly.

You bristle, but follow - what else is there to do?

The next stop is a real shop, only you can see a homestead behind a wooden counter.

It's a girl this time, lovely and soft. She smiles at Simon, wordlessly fetching another man from the homestead behind the store.

"Big man!" it's one of the raiders - the young one. Gaz. "And the nun." his brown eyes find yours, friendlier than the last time you saw him.

They talk, too, more amicably than the other man. Gaz folds his forearms over the counter and laughs, peeking at you every once in a while with intense eyes.

"Right," he claps his hands together. "I won't keep you."

You're starting to feel tired, overexerted.

Gaz comes back out with a wrapped package, the soft girl from before on his arm. The apples of her cheeks are high with a smile.

"See you!" she sits back down on her stool, wide hips wiggling until she's comfortable.

"See ya around," Gaz says. He winks at you.

Simon carries this package himself, not looking at you as he leads you further into the village.

People make way for him, not in fear, but because of his size. He's bigger than most, even some of the other men.

The third and final place has you panting, hunched with the effort of keeping yourself up.

It's a house not unlike Simon and Johnny's, just bigger. A wide, squat wooden house with a wide open door and goats bleating from a pen closeby.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye, putting his hand on your lower back as somebody steps out of the doorway.

"Hello again, Simon," it's Price. The leader, or perhaps the chief. It would make sense - his authority, his size, the number of scars on his skin. Nearly as many as Simon. "You bring your end of the bargain?"

Straight to the point then. Price doesn't look at you once, which doesn't do much to assuage the fear that you're the end of the bargain.

"If you've got yours," Simon leaves you behind to follow him inside, where you can hear them talking. Jovial, like old friends.

By the time you get back home, you're wiped. Exhaustion pulls at you like invisible strings dragging you to the bed. Even Johnny with his smarmy expression and his patting the mattress doesn't stop you from crashing.

The men have brought you to a celebration. After letting you sleep a majority of the day after your errands, Simon dressed you in the same wool dress and wrapped a thick cape around your shoulders to ward off the chill.

It's a welcome home. Simon had been the first to see Price at his home - he and a band of fledgling warriors had sailed right past the village and gone hunting.

Price is not the chief, as you had assumed. He is a leader, an explorer, the ambitious spearhead of overseas raids. Nodding heads and a sense of respect, of deference, follows him wherever he goes. Even as an outsider you can see it.

The chief is a woman. It's not something you expected, not with the sheer size of the men around you, not with the brutality in which they regale their exploits. Many of them have wives that trail them, welcome them, carry their children on their hips, or are welcomed as fellow warriors.

These are the fledglings?

You're in a wild, barbaric place.

When you reach the longhouse, a building as short as all the others but stretched much farther and lit orange with light and the smell of honey, you're bathed in warmth.

No, not honey. Alcohol, sweet and cloying on the breath of each viking. Their depravity seems to know no bounds. It's the same sweet smell you'd smelled on Johnny that night he'd left - presumably to speak to the chief.

Laswell, they call her. The chief. She stands on a raised dais with Price, murmuring between themselves, nodding toward Simon and Johnny when they take their seats.

"Right here," Simon spreads his thighs. There are no other spaces on the bench.

"I don't mind standing," you try. He pinches the back of your knee until you buckle into him, tucked into the cradle of his arms. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Not lettin' ye sit apart from us," Johnny brushes your cheek, and you look past him to the rest of the people gathered.

Decorated, scarred, hardened warriors. Price joins the group, taking a heavy seat by the man from before - Nik - and exchanging claps on the back. Gaz, a woman with dark hair, but Gaz's soft girl is nowhere to be found.

"Welcome!" Laswell shouts. The hall goes silent. "Drink, eat - celebrate a job well done by our boys."

Eruption; noise all around. She's a carefully controlled, steady woman, yet she's inspired this group of a few hundred into the loudest cacophony you've ever heard.

Simon cups his hands over your ears. You try not to be grateful.

Debauchery. You witness debauchery- drinking beyond your most twisted imagination, dancing surely enough to summon a demon, maybe the devil himself. It's enough to make you pray under your breath, turning away from public displays of affection.

Above you, in front of you, conversation. It doesn't slip your mind how high up on the table Simon and Johnny are, right across from Price and Gaz and next to Laswell at the head of the table.

Even she laughs, imbibes, discusses the distribution of goods with a content sort of smile.

"And the nun?" eyes turn to you. Laswell has focused her gaze on you, sharper than before. "You're satisfied with just her?"

Johnny takes a long pull of his mead, before pressing his shoulder to Simons.

"Thas'right!" he only slurs a little. "Found ourselves a proper little wife, we did."

A chill moves through you. A slow freezing. You tense in Simons lap, spine rigid, heart flipping in your chest. Carefully, you try not to show a reaction.

Wife?

"Och! Sorry, lamb," he turns to you and takes your hands. "Didnae mean to ruin the surprise."

"Quite the surprise," Gaz chirps. His girl has found him, and he's made a place for her beside him. You're jealous of her autonomy, especially now. Taken as prisoner, as spoils, and now?

"You promised," you mumble. "You said you wouldn't."

"What's that, love?" Gaz again, but you aren't listening. Blood rushes through your ears.

"You said you wouldn't force me," you look up now, at Simon and his deeply scarred face. He betrays nothing. "Why lie?"

"Didn't lie," he grunts. "Now be quiet."

"When's that, then?" Price asks.

"Before next summer."

The walk back is silent except for the wet slaps of your feet against the mud. The chill is worse at night, biting at your nose and your fingers. At least your future husband - husbands - don't want you to freeze.

The thought hits you like a boulder, heavy and immovable. You stop walking, drawing the attention of the observant men.

"Too tired?" Johnny asks.

You run.

Or try to, as fast as you can.

It's hard in this terrain, slippery and with the cold burning your cheeks. You have no direction in mind, only obeying the mindless terror coursing through your blood, unleashed by this night of truths.

Simon is the one to catch up to you not ten feet from where you started, grabbing the back of your cape and pulling hard until you fall on your butt.

It hurts, the ground has slowly been freezing with the onset of fall and Simon is not nice as he captures you back.

"Ow," you sniffle, fingers wet and muddy.

"Yeah I bet that hurt," his voice has gone hard. "Where did you think you were going?" a laugh, harsh and grating.

"Didnae mean to scare ye," Johnny says. He helps Simon in dragging you back to to cottage.

"In!" Simon barks when you reach the door. You plant your feet, frustrated tears prickling hot and then falling down your cheeks in heavy droplets. "Stupid girl- get inside."

The insult adds salt to the wound as you stumble onto your hands and knees. Pain lances up your wrists.

"Did'ya think you'd be able to what, survive by yourself?" he scoffs. Johnny helps, but mostly just acts as if you're a doll, in removing your cape and sodden woolen dress.

The shift is wet, too. Less muddy than the dress, but still wet. Johnny slips it over your head and you cross your arms to hide your nakedness, still crying.

"Hey," Simon crouches. He puts his face close to yours, noses touching, eyes deadly. "I didn't lie. We won't force you, you'll come to us."

"You'll go to hell," you're upset now, but it only serves to make them shake their heads and laugh breathily, silently. "You stole me."

"Aye, we did," you're wiped dry by big hands. "And you'll be our wife."

Another slip goes over your head, thin and rough on your skin, well-worn.

"Get in bed."

Johnny listens and brings you with him, wiping the tears from your face as he lays you down. You're as helpless as a lamb.

"If I have any choice," you start. "I won't be your wife, and I won't-"

"Wheesht!" Johnny pulls you to him, hand over your mouth, making room for Simon. His other hand goes over your stomach, squeezing. Warmth surrounds you. "You're overexcited, ye need some rest."

God help you, you're so tired you do.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚣𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎

My headcanons of the lads men taking you on a corn maze date A/N: I don’t know how other states do their corn mazes, but in mine they have food trucks and games, sweets & treats and pumpkin patches along with the corn maze [Requested by: Anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

you mentioned wanting to go to a corn maze once and he planned his entire schedule around taking you to one

shows up outside your door telling you to get dressed

detours to try all the sweets “Zayne we need to get to the maze before it gets dark”

doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time even when you start stress squeezing it “If you hold my hand any tighter you’ll fracture it”

could easily find his way out but lets you lead

“are your feet getting tired?” carries you if you start getting tired

keeps you calm when you start to get nervous about being lost

takes over halfway through so he can go get more sweets after you said you’re kind of hungry

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

hides in the cornfield to scare you

whines and wants to be babied when you accidentally slap him for jumping out at you “I’m sorry it was a reflex” “kiss it and make it better”

lets you lead and follows close behind either holding your hand or the hem of your shirt/jacket

mini photoshoot in the maze and in the pumpkin patch

critiques the cornfield “this looks dry” “you’re a fish not a farmer don’t judge something you know nothing about”

tries to turn the corn into popcorn

uses his fire evol to light the way for you if/when it gets dark

gets bored and starts playing with your butt to entertain himself “can you stop that” “it’s so jiggly”

runs around the pumpkin patch bringing you the biggest pumpkins he can find “we can paint them when we get home!” “Why not carve them?” “and have fruit flies all over my porch? I think not”

drags you to play every activity they have before even glancing at the corn maze

teases you in the maze “maybe we should have gone right instead of left like I said”

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

picks the corn “Xavier stop you can’t take that” “the farmer won’t miss a few”

gets sleepy halfway through “we should take a nap here” “Get up”

prefers the pumpkin patch because he can lay on the hay bales

finds a tiny pumpkin and tells you it reminded him of you because it’s adorable

want to have a bite of every snack/food you get

shares all of his food with you “just open your mouth and say ahh”

holds your hand tightly while taking the lead (he’ll always be your Grandis Knight through and through)

creates fireflies to light the way when it starts getting dark while you’re in the maze

drags you into the cornfield to make out “we can’t stay hidden forever” “Just one more kiss”

somehow loses you at one point in the maze so he creates a bright ass light so you can find him

carries you on his back the rest of the way through so he won't lose you

lets you direct him while you’re being carried

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

“Anywhere is fine as long as I’m with you” happily accompanies you to a corn maze

brings the twins along because you said so

Luke & Kieran take off running in the maze (competing on who can get to the end first)

Sylus takes a bite of any food/snack you press to his lips

has a hand around your waist or holds your hand the whole day

watches with a smile as you and the twins scour the pumpkin patch for the biggest pumpkins

follows close behind while you lead the way through the maze

encourages you when you start overthinking and psyching yourself out

still teases you in the maze “oh look another dead end” “you could be more helpful you know”

lets you use Mephisto as your eyes in the sky when you get too frustrated

rubs your tummy when you eat too much

carries you to the car when you wear yourself out from running around with the twins

takes candid photos of you all day without you noticing

prints them out and keeps them in an album

[4ttack-ur-heart]

The Boss’s Heart

Chapter I: When Opportunity knocks

Summary: You’ve had enough of working for your slimy boss, but the bills need to be paid. Just before you give up all hope, a stranger comes in one night and paves a new way of opportunities for you.

Warnings: guns, horrible bosses, sexist behavior.

This is more of a prologue to get the ball rolling :) leave back any feedback you have

The streets lay desolate and cold, a biting chill hanging in the air, occasionally broken by the shadowy figures of drug addicts lurking in the corners. As you walk, your foot nudges a discarded soda can, sending it skittering across the slick pavement. The can clatters and rolls, glinting in the dim light, before finally bouncing off the jagged surface of a weathered brick wall.

Walking home from your job was never fun.

The seedy bar you worked at preferred keeping you during the closing shift. According to them, having a woman working would draw in people, which was true, but the place was still a dump. No amount of skin showing would have people lining up at the door for warm alcohol and unsalted peanuts.

The owner wasn’t a peach either. Mr. Norris was an older man in his sixties, with a bald head and a nasty attitude. When he wasn’t drinking the gross liquor, he was holed away in his office, finding out ways to cut corners with expenses, with a dry cigar hanging from his lips.

The bar, The Purgatory Lounge, used to be a pretty lively and popular place before Mr. Norris took it over. Norris bought out the previous owner after seeing the success and money it brought in, but his cheap tendencies eventually caught up to him. The place was falling apart, multiple staff members were let go, and the patrons went from everyday people to the lowest scum wandering the N109 Zone.

Fishing out the keys from your purse, you pushed open the creaky wooden door and shut it behind you.

Home sweet home.

Your home wasn’t terrible-ish? Eh, it was still a roof over your head. The space was a small one-bedroom apartment with the paint on the walls fading, cracked, and tinted yellow from the previous tenants who were smokers. The only pieces of furniture you had were a small armchair that had torn fabric and a table where you would eat your microwaveable meals. You wanted some little house plants, but unfortunately, natural lighting doesn't exist in the N109 zone. The bright white light flickers as you flip the switch and toe off your shoes.

After peeling yourself out of your work attire, you changed into some comfy pajamas and scrolled through job websites on your computer. The little inbox icon on the website’s toolbar remained empty no matter how many times you’ve refreshed the stupid page.

You have had dozens of interviews for different places, but there was always a reason they couldn’t hire you. The more popular bars in the city thought you didn’t have the look they were going for, which was just a nice way of saying you looked too poor.

Other places were looking for men to do the jobs, as a lot of them were too shady or labor-intensive for a ‘little thing like you.’

You were one paycheck away from being homeless at this point. Norris had cut your pay again, making you just a few cents above minimum wage, which was never enough to keep anyone financially stable. At least before his old ass bought the place, you could save a little bit of money before. Now, you’re counting pennies and being forced to decide if you want your heater on or the water.

Shutting your laptop in frustration, you made some instant noodles before heading to bed. As you lie underneath the covers, you toss and turn.

Maybe you’ll dream about being a princess again, living in your huge castle with a handsome prince beside you, your bellies full with a warm fire crackling across the large king-sized canopy bed.

Maybe tomorrow would be different.

But it never is. It’s always the same routine day in and day out. That's all it would ever be.

——

“Mr. Norris, you left before handing me my check yesterday.” You say calmly, but deep down you are fuming.

You were in the middle of making the customer in front of you a cocktail when Norris walked in. You could tell he tried to duck past you and head straight for his office, but you had bills to pay. The guy sitting on the stool in front of you looks between the two of you curiously.

Mr. Norris sighs heavily, tucking the folded-up newspaper under his sweaty sleeve. “Sorry, sweetheart. I lost track of time, we’re getting audited again and-”

“That’s okay.” You smile and pass the customer his drink after garnishing it with a mint leaf. “I’ll just come pick it up when my shift is over.”

“I don’t have your check, Y/n,” Norris says, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Then I should expect it cash then, right?” You look back at him with your head tilted. “Payday was yesterday, sir. Unless you’re going to pay my light bill, I need the money.”

Norris stays silent for a few moments before he rolls his eyes and waves his hand at you, not wanting to cause a scene in front of the only customer you’ve had in hours. “Come by my office before you leave.”

The office door closes behind him, and you roll your eyes at your cheap boss before turning to the gentleman in front of you. “Sorry about him, is there anything else I can get you?”

“No worries, Miss. I’d hate to work for a sleaze ball like him.” He sips his drink before making a sour face.

This guy isn’t dressed in stained sweats either, instead, he wears dark slacks and a grey dress shirt. He almost looks too normal to be in such a place. Maybe he just isn’t familiar with the area, perhaps?

“You want something that doesn’t taste like shit?” You place down the glass you were polishing and don’t even wait for the guy to answer before you duck under the counter and unlock the mini-fridge where Norris keeps his pricier alcohol. He forbids you and the other bartenders from selling it- it’s a special privilege for him only.

“Here.” The chilled amber liquid fills the glass halfway before you slide it over to him. “Sorry about that first one, I can only work with what I have.”

The guy takes a long sip of his whiskey and nods appreciatively. “Don’t worry about it…”

“Y/n,” you smile politely and hold your hand out to him.

“Apollo.”

“Cool name.” You comment and go back to polishing the glasses. Apollo seemed like a nice guy, and he looked to be in his thirties- and the best part is that you didn’t get the vibe that he was a pervert at all.

“Why you workin’ in this shithole, Y/n?” Apollo crosses his arms over the counter.

“Uh,” you drag out before shrugging your shoulders. “I can’t find another job. Trust me, I’d leave if I could. What about you, though? You look like you’re smart. What made you stop in here?”

The man lets out a chuckle. "My wife’s sister a few streets away, and I just finished up at work meeting. Thought I’d catch a drink before stepping into the chaos.”

“Yikes, that bad?”

“I love my wife… hate her sister. That chick is crazy.” Apollo throws the rest of his drink back and holds his glass out to you. “One more for the road?”

You nod and pour him another glass.

“Why are you hiding this stuff? This is some high-end shit.” Apollo asks.

“That’s the boss’s personal stash. I told him we’d make money off of it, but no, he knows the clientele that normally drop in. They deserve what we have, his words not mine.” You give him an awkward smile and raise your hands in defense.

“So why give it to me?”

Once again you shrug and dump out the bowls of untouched peanuts that were strewn across the bar. “You were nice to me. Actually wanted to have a conversation instead of asking if you could hit it.”

Your face turns bright red at your words. “Sorry, you’re like the first person I’ve had a conversation with all night.”

Apollo laughs again and waves it off. “Don’t worry about it, you’re fine.”

For the next twenty minutes, you two engage in small talk. Not a single customer walks in, so you begin to tidy up for the night.

As you wipe down the counters and straighten the liquor shelves, you find out Apollo manages a warehouse on the outskirts of town, he’s got a beautiful wife, and two small kids whom he’d do anything for. All in all, a pretty down-to-earth fella.

He asks why you haven’t found another job yet and you indulged him in your rotten luck with the shitty job market in this city.

Apollo throws back the rest of his whiskey before slapping a few bills on the counter.

Your eyes widen as you quickly count the amount in your head. “Oh no, that’s too much, I was just gonna charge you for the first drink, don’t worry-”

“Nah, take it. I have a feeling you won’t be getting your check after your shift.” Apollo frowns as he glances towards the closed door where Norris disappeared. “He better not see a cent of this, alright? Take the amount that you need for the shitty drink and pocket the rest. It’s a tip.”

You smile at him appreciatively. Normally, you wouldn’t be one for handouts- but money is money, and you have very little of it.

“Thanks, Apollo.”

“Anytime, and here.” He pulls out a business card from his wallet and places it on top of the cash.

“That’s my work address and phone number, call me or stop by when you’re ready to leave this place.”

You stood speechless as he offered one last wave, a smile on his lips. With a tug at his coat, he exits through the door. ——— By the end of your shift, you grab your jacket once the closing tasks are done. Hesitantly, you knock on Norris’s door.

“Come in, Y/n,” Norris says lowly.

Opening the door, the room reeks of his cigar smoke. Your eyes fall to the scattered papers surrounding his desk.

“Do you have my check, sir?”

Mr. Norris chuckles slightly before he wheezes and shifts into a coughing fit. He picks up the small waste bin that was overflowing with crumpled balls of paper and spits in it. Your mouth curls up in disgust at the sight.”

Do you know how much money that bottle costs?”

You stiffen at his words. “W-what bottle, sir?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, did you forget I have cameras in this shithole?” Mr. Norris stands up, and you clutch your jacket tighter as your anxiety builds up.

His hands are in his pockets as he casually walks over to you, but you keep your head up high.

“If I remember correctly… it costs much more than you can afford, right?”

You can feel your heart rate quicken and the blood rushing to your ears. “I don’t know, sir. It was only two glasses, and I told you if we sold that kind of liquor here, we’d have more customers.”

“Doesn’t matter what you think.” His tone is bitter.

“I’m the owner here, not you. Got that?” Norris turns around and takes a deep breath.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just hold your check as compensation.”

Your eyes widen, and you step forward in desperation. “No, you can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can. You stole from me. I can do whatever the hell I want and you’re lucky I don’t fire your little ass. Besides, I saw that stack of cash he gave you, that should cover your light bill, right?” Norris gives you a smile before gesturing you to the door.

“Mr. Norris-”

“The job market is pretty bad right now, isn’t it?” His words cut you off. “I would just hate to see you wind up on the streets selling yourself for a couple of bucks. No one wants to hire a little brat like you, so if you think about it, I’m technically saving you right now.”

You look at your boss in shock at his words. The whole situation makes you want to almost throw up.

He sits back down in his chair and waves a dismissive hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow, kid.” — The harsh breeze stings your face as tears mercilessly roll down your face. At least you dared to wait until you left the building before you started crying. You were so done. With Norris, with that stupid bar, with having no money to survive. Everything.

You kept your head down as you walked home.

You just dared any mugger or criminal to try and mess with you right now. You had no real way of dealing with your frustration or anger besides a few tears here and there.

When you made it home, you didn’t even want to eat. Stripping to your underwear, you collapsed on top of your squeaky bed and cried.

———

You pulled the sleeves of your thin coat over your hands as if they would cover the nerves. The work address Apollo had given you took you to a warehouse hidden within the desolate city. It was rather shielded, much to your surprise. The walk was relatively creepy, too, passing by barren trees and chipped pavement that you only stumbled on once. Something screamed at you to forget about the job and head back home to your small apartment before being humiliated and taken advantage of by Norris at the bar. Your brain mulls over the possibility of you being kidnapped, trafficked, and killed, all before 7 a.m..

“Maybe I should've called him first," you wondered aloud as you finally made your way up to the rickety chain link fence surrounding the property. Various 'KEEP OUT' signs were strewn along the links.

The fence rattles, aggravating the creepy silence of the night. You can't help wince as the metal chains holding the gate clink loudly together.

"Damn it."

Locked.

You pulled the two gates apart with as much slack as the chains would allow and squeeze underneath the metal. The warehouse rests about half a mile from the fence with prickly shrubs and dirt patches littering the yard.

The large doors at the entrance are locked shut, much like the perimeter fence. Luckily, you were able to find a door cracked open by a small slat of wood around the corner.

The door creaks loudly as you open it, and you cringe at the noise and push it back against the peg gently.

Turning around, you're met face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. The silver metal gleams under the dim white lighting. Your body tenses, and a gasp escapes your lips as you freeze in shock. Instinctively, you raise your hands in a defensive gesture, your heart racing as you brace for what's to come.

"You have twenty seconds to explain who you are and why the fuck you're here." The man holding the gun demands. He stands taller than you with a bulkier build.

"S-Shit, I'm sorry! Don't shoot, don't shoot. Apollo gave me this address! Here, I have his card…" With trembling hands, you reach into your purse and pull out the crumpled business card Apollo had given you not twenty-four hours ago.

The man snatches it from you quickly, and his eyes skim over the small lettering before tossing the card to the ground. He grumbles something under his breath and grabs your bicep, making sure to keep the gun pointed at you. You don't dare utter another word; you can practically hear your gut telling you, 'I told you so.'

This is it. This is how you die.

Your feet move with his subconsciously, your shoes tapping against the metal floors with every step. The gun still taunts you as it's pressed rather snugly against your shoulder. Sweat beads down your neck, and suddenly your thin coat feels extremely hot.

The man drags you to a closed door and knocks rather aggressively.

A loud sigh is heard on the other side, and then you hear it- that familiar voice. "Come in, Will."

Will opens the door, and you're met with Apollo sitting casually on his desk and sipping on a cup of coffee. Instead of the slacks and the dress shirt he wore when you first met, Apollo was in a navy jumpsuit.

"Oh, hey!" He jumps off the desk with a grin that heavily conflicted with your traumatized expression. "I was hoping you'd finally leave that shitty bar. Good to see you again, kid."

"You know her?" Will asks.

Apollo nods and grabs the nose of the gun, pushing it away from your body. "Yes, I do. No need to scare her."

Will nods and holsters his gun, he looks at Apollo, who only gives him a nod before he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

"You alright there, Y/n?" His voice breaks you out of your stupor. It takes a second for his question to register in your head.

"Y-yeah. Just ya know, never had a gun pointed at me before."

Apollo nods and gestures for you to sit in the empty chair across from his desk. “Better here than by yourself on the street.”

You sit down and try to stop your hands from shaking so violently- instead, you clasp them together tightly in your lap.

"Can I get you some water or coffee?" He offers, and you shake your head. The silence is a bit awkward for a few moments as Apollo grabs some papers from a desk drawer.

Finally, you break the silence. "What exactly do you guys do here?"

"We distribute weapons." Apollo answers, keeping his gaze on the paperwork in his hands. That's it? No other details…?

"For who?"

Apollo's soft brown eyes meet yours, but they don't hold the same warmth as before—it's as if he was tentative to tell you.

"Onychinus."

Onychinus? That criminal gang you've only heard horrible rumors of from the streets? The same Onychinus that can make people disappear from multiple records in just a few seconds? That Onychinus?

"Oh."

"Is that a problem, Y/n?" He asks, setting down the papers in front of him.

"I just…" Don't know if I want to work for a gang.

“Onychinus isn't a gang," Apollo tells you as if he was trying to be reassuring. Shit, had you said that outloud? "We're the faction that controls the entirety of the N109 Zone."

You miraculously break out of your petrified trance and had to stifle a scoff. "Is that not what a gang is, though? I mean, you guys 'control' the city, and word on the street is that the N109 Zone is run by criminals."

"Look, Y/n, you didn't receive your check from that shitty boss of yours, am I right?" Apollo places down the papers and leans his head on his hand. His words reel you into check and you’re quick to shut your mouth and remember where you’re sitting.

Your only response is to nod.

"I know it seems scary here, but we look out for each other believe it or not. Especially the boss. He takes care of us so long as we follow through on our part. I mean, yeah, sometimes we need to put people in their place if they mess with us, but a lot of the guys here have families. I told you about my wife and my kids, too. Here," turning around breifly in his swivel chair, Apollo grabs a picture frame from atop the metal filing cabinets.

The photo captures a woman with short, tousled blonde hair that accentuates her dazzling blue eyes that sparkle with warmth and joy. Beside her are two children, the perfect blend of their parents' genetics. The smaller child, a girl with chubby cheeks and a playful smile, is nestled in her mother's embrace, radiating innocence and happiness. Meanwhile, the older child, a boy with tousled brown hair, wraps his arms around his mother from behind, flashing a carefree grin.

Your fingers trace around the edge of the frame as you contemplate your choices.

"So I'm gonna ask you, do you want the job or not?"

"…yes."

Apollo nods thoughtfully and turns the stack of papers around to face you. He leans in, the gentle clinking of his pen from his shirt pocket momentarily breaking the silence as he retrieves it. Your gaze glides over the printed words, scanning the dense paragraphs, until it lands on a substantial figure.

There, in bold contrast, the metal ballpoint of his pen hovers, tapping against the dollar sign as if emphasizing its significance. "That's what you can make your first year here, kid. If there are no problems, of course."

With wide eyes, you swallow hard and suddenly regret not taking him up on his offer for a drink earlier. Your dry lips part as if to say something, but before you can utter a word, Apollo interrupts.

"Full-time benefits, too. Paid vacation, uh, what else…" He clasps his hands behind his head and leans back into his chair.

There was no way this could be real, right? I mean, what job pays this well, offers benefits, and vacation, without you having to sell someone's organs on the black market? But, with this salary, you can move out of your small apartment, actually eat healthy meals, maybe even afford a nice car so you wouldn't have to walk everywhere.

"Apollo?"

"Hm?”

“I don't have to like- kill anyone, do I?"

"Do you know how to shoot a gun?"

"No."

"Then no." A grin spreads across his face. "We'll just have you start processing the orders and deliveries. No violence necessary, kid."

Well,

Oh, what the hell…

"When can I start?"

———

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, leave a comment or send me an ask <3

[thebramblewood]

There's nothing Lilith loves more than a good scheme.

Previous / Next

Present day Lilith, narrating: When we made our escape, we were certain we’d never lay eyes on Forgotten Hollow again. For several years, we lived large on a stolen fortune we thought would never run out. How could we have known any better? We’d never handled our own money in our lives. Of course, our naive illusions were quickly shattered. The economy tanked. The war started. We were broke and terrified of exposure. We drifted aimlessly, staying in whatever shitty little hovel we could scrounge up the pennies for. I stalked and killed and thieved to keep us going, but the well was running dry. We finally landed in Brindleton Bay, a dreary seaside town that perpetually stank of fish, where we rented an overpriced yet barely habitable room. The situation was untenable. I began to hatch a plan.

-

Lilith: Sorry I couldn’t bring more. They have a guard posted outside the blood bank now. I… subdued him then grabbed what I could. It wouldn’t be wise to go back.

Caleb: Thank you. You don’t have to-

Lilith: But I do. You won’t accept it any other way — of course, even if you did, pickings are slim lately — and I hardly want to watch you die for your morals. [sighs wearily] I’m just so goddamn tired.

We’re both tired, Caleb. The only thing I hate more than the fact that you won’t hunt is that you can’t. It makes you too vulnerable.

Caleb: [dismissively] I’m fine.

Lilith: You’re not! I’m not! [pauses meaningfully] I think it’s time we go home.

Caleb: Home? Lilith, you know we can never-

Lilith: It’s been thirty years. Not to be crass, but Mother and Father are dead and all that money is surely going to waste.

Caleb: If we show our faces in Willow Creek looking just like the day we left, we’ll be driven out by mobs with pitchforks before sunrise.

Lilith: We’ll obviously not show up as ourselves. We’ll procure fake documents — death and birth certificates, social security numbers, that sort of thing. We can pose as our own children.

Caleb: Do you not hear how preposterous that sounds? Assuming we could even get our hands on those things, no one would believe us.

Lilith: They’d be even less likely to believe we’re vampires. People don’t like things they can’t explain. If we provide an explanation to them, no matter how flimsy, they’ll gladly take it.

Caleb: There’s still too much risk.

Lilith: What risk? We could eat all of Willow Creek alive if we wanted! It’s not up for debate, Caleb. We’re the true and rightful heirs. It’s time we claim what’s ours, and no one will stand in our way.

[616ioi]

❛ #HUFF HUFF! Sakamoto days.

────────── hey google, why can't i stop thinking of my ex-sleeping buddy? .ᐟ.ᐟ

⤿ pairings. shin asakura x gn reader

⤿ contents. sub&bottom character, handj0b, mentions of wet dreams, this is mainly them coming together as one aww. this is mature content, read at your own discretion.

⤿ thoughts. shh they don't know how freaky i really am 💔😔😔

The nerve you have to look him in the eye and converse with him irked him to a sense he couldn't even describe!

How dare you act in such a way.

Shin taps away at the countertop, his apron resting so neatly against his body (not a single speck of dust on that ugly green thing). He feels frustrated.

You're staying over tonight. What if it happens again? What is he going to do then? He's been laying awake for nights on end, thinking and, as much as it hurts to admit, caressing himself.

His hands would curl into fists around his pijama pants, and he would slightly squirm before his fingers trailed over his abdomen. He would shut his eyes and imagine that night, over and over and over again.

He would never, actually do anything. After all, he was in the home of his beloved hero. With his family.

Riiinggg!

"I'm back, Shin!"

Aoi! His face lights up as he quickly runs to help her out with the groceries in her arms. He falters in his steps when he catches those eyes that have been haunting him for weeks now.

You send him a friendly wave.

The blond esper bites his bottom lip, and his gaze wavers shyly. His biceps flex as he walks up the stairs leading to their home.

His face feels hot!

He quickly sets the bags on the kitchen table and turns to the cheery woman. He refuses to meet your eyes. Rather, he hides behind his blond hair.

"Do you need any help?"

"Oh no, thank you very much, Shin!" Aoi perks up with a huge smile, like always. She carefully goes through the products of face masks that you bought. "Me, hana, Lu, and (name) are going to have a makeover night! Isn't it exciting?!"

Shin's smile visibly deflates alongside his shoulders before he pops himself back into shape.

This means you won't share a room with him!

But then, why is he sharing a room with Mr. Sakamoto?

She kicked me out. The white haired man explains. He looks like the saddest pup on the block.

"Uff.." Shin scrambles to find a response to cheer up this sad mode. "Must be tough..."

Did I do something wrong? Sakamoto trails off. The younger boy nearly replies but he's cut off. Did I say something wrong. I'm sorry. What did I do?

"Um." Shin feels sweat form at his face as he squirms uncomfortably. He nearly jolts out of bed as he finds the perfect excuse — "I needa hit the loo."

The esper sighs in relief. Only Aoi seems to get a rise out of him. As his feet softly hit the floor, his mind subconsciously wanders to you.

Have you fallen asleep yet?

...There's no sound. No dream, no image. Nothing.

He frowns before his eyes widen, catching himself. He slaps himself as hard as he can, yelping.

Was he disappointed??

He locks his jaw before rushing into the bathroom, only to jump when he runs straight into you. He stares for a heavy second before breaking out into a sweat.

"Sorry!" He squeaks out, hairs standing on end. You calmly dry your hands with a small, embarrassed grin.

"Don't worry. 'Was just washing my hands." Your reassurance calms him down, but the silence that engulfs the tiny bathroom — doesn't. You seem to think of something.

Shin does everything in his power to not read your mind.

You've been avoiding me.

Darn it.

His hair is spiked up, all messy, from the tossing and turning in his bed. He thinks he looks like a mess, but you? You think he looks adorable.

A red blush spreads across his cheeks before he parts his lips, wetting them nervously.

"I haven't been avoiding you.." You shake your head, clearly not believing him. "Well, n-not obviously."

"You won't even glance at me." Shin quickly meets your teary eyes before they fall unto the shower curtains. The little fishes on the curtain were fading away from all the water, tainting it. "See!"

"Um," you tilt your head, "well, the night you stayed over.. uh, you uhh kinda had a d-dream of-"

"Of you." A look of recognition rises across your pretty features. Shin nods, embarrassed.

I made you uncomfortable, "I'm sorry, shin."

No. Shin thinks, "That's not it.."

Whoops. He didn't mean to say that aloud.

He flushes as he steps closer to you, hands hoovering over your elbows. He was afraid to touch you.

"I've... never been the subject of admiration before." His brows knit together, fingers twitching as he drops his arms to his sides.

Much less of a dirty dream.

"Oh." You swallow nervously.

It's not the first time. You're twiddling with your shirt, eyes looking at the cute bunny slippers on your feet. They were aoi's spare ones.

"H-huh?" The room feels hot. Or is it just him?

You step closer to him until your chest is just an inch away from him. Barely. Shin grips at his pants, his heart beat spiking up.

"I've had many dreams of you," you shrug as if this information was nothing new. After all, he can read minds. It's going to come out anyway. "Many where we had sex even as just friends."

Shin gulps as blood rushes all over his body. What are you insinuating?

"That's not who you are, though." You muse, brushing back his sweaty hair. His skin is hot to the touch. "You want to make love with someone who you have feelings for. Isn't that right?"

Shin presses his lips together to hold back any embarrassed cries. He was 100% sure he wouldn't even be able to form a sentence without stumbling and stuttering.

"Do you like me, shin?" His head bows, but you're quick to cup his cheek as you force him to look at you. Your touch is so tender. He's almost tempted to move your hand even lower.

He hesitates.

I like you, Shin. His ears burn as he stares wide eye, in curiosity? Disbelief? He isn't sure.

Nonetheless — he nods. Once.

It's a confirmation.

-kiss me.. you think.

"Can I kiss you? Please?" Before you even get a proper response, Shin lunges forward. He grasps at the collar of your shirt and pulls you in to steal a kiss.

Your lips taste of cherry.

His head feels light and dizzy when you open your mouth to push your tongue against his. His hold on you loosens, legs trembling as he decides to lower himself to his knees, bringing you down with him.

He can feel you, shockingly.

Every thought, every sensation, every feeling. It's overwhelming. He feels like he's being electrocuted as his pulse quickens.

More. He tries to gasp out loud and he ends up getting frustrated when you slow down. He pulls away, tongue hanging out as he processes whats going on.

In your mind, you imagine a little puppy.

"S-shut up." Shin grunts, embarrassed, as he closes his wet, pink lips. He wipes at them with the back of his wrist, hips rocking gently. He pulls you closer by your clothes before his hands cup your jaw as he presses tender kissing to your cheek.

You smile, curious.

"What's up?"

"You really do like me." Shin breathes out. He earns a nod in return. His body relaxes into you, shivers raking down his back. You pull him into a warm hug, one leg in between his. His hips buck involuntarily as his breath hitches when his boner rubs against your thigh.

"I've never felt that before." He hiccups, stomach churning with need. You nod in understanding. Your hands trail from his back to the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough to spot the way his muscles twitch.

"How was it?" Shin sighs in relief when you rub him through his tight pants. You can feel him pulsating.

He bites his lip, hips angling higher to find a more comfortable position. "I could - hnng, feel everything you felt, ah.."

You smile at him, "but it was just a kiss?"

He throws his head back with a groan. The door softly thuds under his weight. "C'monn, quit teasin'.."

A chuckle escapes you as you slip your nimble fingers underneath his pants yet over his boxers.

"Here?" You feather like touch dips over the wet spot, purposely missing the head.

"Noo.." He shakes his head rapidly, slapping his palm over his mouth as his ears burn. He sounds so needy.

Just like in your dream(s).

But even better. You think to yourself.

"What about this?" Your fingers trace the print of his cock slowly, as if you were trying to memorize his.. well, everything. Shin curses under his breath, rocking his hips back and forth.

He lifts his shirt up to get a better view (more like give you a better view, but he'd never admit that). You eye his body, from his pink nipples to the v-line trailing downwards. He tries his best to hide that shy grin that forms on his face.

"More, please." You lean forward to press a wet kiss to his bitten and bruised lips as a reward. He huffs out in response. You pull out your hand to, finally, free him of the clothing, only to leave his pants mid-thigh. Is this supposed to be some sort of restraint?

His chest heaves rapidly, impatiently. You leave a trail of kisses from his jaw to his chest, down his v-line and finally at the base of his cock. Shin watches eagerly with wide eyes, arching his hips into you.

You grasp at him, his twitching cock in your hand. It feels so hot, you can't help but tease him with a kiss to his leaking tip.

Mwah.

The action smears sticky, white goo against your lips, and it seems to be making more of a mess when you lick at your lips.

His mouth drops open at the lewd scene, but his heart warms up, too.

How confusing he is.

You hum in pleasure as you lay your tongue flat against his slit, licking up more of his precum. Shin whimpers softly, pushing his hips further. More, more, more.

Knockknockknock.

The sound of rapid knocks break him out of his daze as you jolt up, surprised.

Oh drats! I'm going to pee myself!

"Lu!" Shin whisper yells to you as he scrambles to fix himself. He winces painfully as he hurries to find a hiding spot.

"(Naaaammeee), hurry please!!"

Oh god. He's dead.

[gingerteafairy]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐬

Carmy was a dream where everything could happen. He was your dream.

tags n warnings: carmen berzatto x fem!reader, arguing, cursing, angst, the bear background, dry humping, usual unprotected piv, oral (f! receiving). word count: 3.4k. masterlist

The dream of becoming a chef was practically in shambles, like fish bones discarded in a pot. The exhausting routine at The Beef, overdue paychecks, and the constant tension — Carmy’s harsh words, Sydney’s sharpness, and Richie’s ironically calm chaos — felt like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse heralding the end.

You couldn’t even tell what season it was anymore. The oppressive heat from the kitchen had blurred time. It was already 11 PM, and Carmen Berzatto was pacing like a caged animal, demanding speed for one of your dishes, his blue eyes sharp and unrelenting.

You chose an Italian Carrot Dish to impress him. Terrible decision. Perpetually dissatisfied, he hovered over you like a storm cloud, criticizing every movement. The way you chopped carrots, the angle of your knife, the thickness of your slices — everything was wrong to him.

He leaned over the counter, his hand gripping the edge tightly. “Why are you doing it like that again? Why are you doing it like that again?” Carmen barked, his voice cutting through the sizzling pans and clattering utensils. With a swift motion, he grabbed the cutting board, his jaw clenched, and unceremoniously tossed your carefully sliced carrots into the trash. “Do it over.”

Your hands froze mid-air, the knife trembling slightly in your grip. The exhaustion and frustration boiled over. “It’s the hundredth time you’ve made me do this shit, Carmen!” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to make Sydney glance up from her station.

Carmy’s brows furrowed, his jaw tightening even further as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah? You’re right . This is shit. It's a fucking shit. You want to send out garbage? Be my guest. But not in my kitchen.”

“Yeah? Fuck you cause you are the shit here, Carmen,” you muttered under your breath, slamming the knife onto the cutting board. “What’s wrong with the way I’m doing it?”

“What’s wrong?” he echoed, his voice dripping with disbelief. He stepped closer, pointing at the trash can where your work now sat. “This isn’t just a carrot. It’s discipline. It’s focus. If you can’t get that right, how are you gonna handle a risotto? Or a plate of scallops? And don't fucking calm me Carmen.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the heat from the stove and his words making it hard to breathe. “I’m not a mind reader! Maybe if you actually explained instead of throwing tantrums, we’d get somewhere. Fuck.”

“Hey, Chef. Take it easy,” Marcus tried to intervene, his usual calm demeanor intact, though there was hesitation in his voice.

“Marcus, don’t bother,” Tina cut in, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “It’s not worth it.” Her voice was firm, her eyes darting between you and Carmen. This was fire against fire, and no one dared step into the middle of it. It would be absolute suicide.

For a brief moment, something flickered across his face — frustration, guilt, or maybe even exhaustion. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same hard stare. “Just do it again,” he muttered, his voice lower this time, almost as if he didn’t have the energy to argue anymore.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides before you reached for another carrot, biting back the words you wanted to say. The kitchen wasn’t just a battlefield; it was a prison, and Carmy Berzatto was the warden.

As you began chopping again, Richie’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Hey, Cousin, maybe lay off for a second? Poor girl’s about to combust.” He smirked, leaning casually against the counter, a toothpick dangling from his lips.

Carmy shot him a glare. “Stay out of it, Richie.”

But Richie only chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure thing, Chef. Keep barking orders. See where that gets you. I'm done with this. You guys are fucking insane. Fucking insane. But I love you, sweetie. You don't deserve the Carm shit.”

“Bye, Richie. Love you.” You couldn’t help the small, bitter laugh that escaped your lips as you continued chopping, your movements more aggressive now. The night wasn’t over, and neither was the chaos.

“We're going too… Chef, Jeff… goodnight.” Tina smiled, her motherly nature slightly soothing the moment. “Get some rest, okay?” She rubbed your shoulders and you smiled at the touch.

“I'll try.” you murmured, wiping your hands on your stained apron, your voice barely audible over the hum of the kitchen. “Goodnight, Tina. Marcus. Good job, guys.”

“Yeah… good job, everyone, you did great.” Carmen echoed, almost under his breath. He ran a hand over his face, his fingers pressing hard against his temples as he watched the team shuffle out through tired, half-lidded eyes. The room fell into a heavy silence until it was just you and him left in the kitchen.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself back into motion. Silently, you picked up the cutting board and knife, grabbed more carrots, and started again. Alumette, brunoise, batonnet, julienne, mirepoix. Every possible cut danced beneath your blade as your sweat mixed with silent tears of frustration. The kitchen air felt suffocating, the heat and stress pressing down on your chest.

“Slower! You’re too slow! Dammit, this is painful to watch!” Carmy barked again, stepping closer, his voice grating and relentless. He slammed his own knife onto the counter, demonstrating cuts so precise they looked effortless, but the condescension in his tone stung like a burn.

It was too much. The tension snapped like a rubber band.

With a sharp exhale, you threw your knife and cutting board onto the floor, perfect pieces of vegetables scattering across the tiles like broken glass. The clatter echoed loudly, cutting through the silence.

“And you’re being an insufferable jerk, Carmen!” you shouted, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and exhaustion.

“Don't fucking call me Carmen, I told you.” he threaded, tooking a step forward pointing fingers to your face, that you slapped away, your movements sharp and deliberate.

“Why the hell are you being so irritating? What’s your problem?” Your chest heaved as you stared at him down, your frustration and defiance meeting his unrelenting glare.

He exploded, forking his fingers on his hair. “You’re pissing me off. You're making mistakes. Fucking my kitchen. You're fucking with me.”

“You're fucking with everyone.” you shouted. “Everyone is gone. No one stands between you and me anymore. Even Marcus is tired of this. Do you even know what that means?”

“Oh, I know…” His jaw tightened, and his hands moved to grab your shoulders, forcibly pushing you to face him. “Because of you! Fuck! You're making everything difficult.”

You shove him hard in the chest, your hands striking with frustration. He stumbles back, his eyes narrowing as he collides with the wall, but he doesn't resist.

"Why don't you fire me, Carm? Go ahead!" you challenge, your voice sharp and trembling with anger.

“I would've fired you months ago if I knew you were like this.” He continues, stepping closer, his face inches from yours.

"You're wrong. It's because no one else would put up with your nonsense. That's why you don't fire me. You. Just. Can't." Your fists clench at your sides, your breath quick and heavy, chest rising and falling as the tension builds.

"Feel better now?" he spat, his voice low, almost mocking. He straightens himself against the wall, brushing off his shirt as if your outburst was nothing more than a passing annoyance. “I swear to God, I'll shut your mouth one day. And you'll be just-"

"You know what? I'm gonna be honest with you." you interrupted, trembling as frustration spills out. "You're lucky you're the most talented chef I've ever met in my life. You're the best in the world for me. I had to make an effort.”

“Oh, you want a congratulation card?” He mocked, clapping his hands slowly. “Congratulations. You deserve it.”

“Listen to me, you piece of shit. I'm not done.” You growled, grabbing his hands. “Fuck, you're so fucking perfect in anything you do and still be a jerk. It's tiring. And for the worst, you're hot. Hot as hell and this is triggering for me. That's why I don’t leave this hellhole. This isn't a life, Carm." Your hands gesture wildly before falling to your sides, defeated.

He pauses stepping back, his jaw tightening as he runs a hand over his face, clearly at a loss for words. His fingers drum once on his hips before he exhales sharply through his nose, a faint smirk pulling at his lips. "You think I'm hot?" he echoed, his voice low, almost teasing.

For a moment, Carm stays silent, his gaze fixed on you. There's a flicker in his expression—anger, maybe even something else—usually quickly masked by his stressed composure breaking apart.

And that moment you felt what you've been trying to hide behind screams and what Carmy muffled on his curses. Explosive unnatural sexual tension. The reality of the situation is weighing between you both as you walk back to the counter and he follows you as a strong force tired of being ignored pulls him back to you.

You stare at him in disbelief, your mouth falling open. Trying to deny the obvious. Denying your need. "Is that all you got from what I just said?" you shoot back, pushing off the counter and stepping closer to him. “Yeah, that's what I said. You're a fucking hot pain in the ass. If you just…”

“You don't know when to stop?” he cut off as his patient ran thin. “You're fucking testing my limits, pushing me, tempting me. Fuck, I don't even know what I'm doing. I don't even know why I keep going back to you everytime. Every day. Here. At the same place, when everyone goes and leaves us both alone again.”

You exhale the air you didn't even know you were holding back. “You need me, asshole. Stop… fucking pretending you hate me.” your voice lowed on every word, til you whispered what he craved to hear for all these months. “I'm tired of pretending I don't want you.”

He sighs, as his gaze locks on yours, carefully stepping to the moment he pins you to the counter.

You expected everything from Carm except him trapping you this way and worse, in the kitchen. In his kingdom.

He grabs both of your wrists, caressing the whitened knuckles, moving his leg between your thighs. You gulp, directioning your eyes down. You shutted your mouth, every cell of you was alarmed. You were needy, more than that, you were starving Carmy Berzatto.

“Why do you want me?” He demanded softly, and you furrowed your eyebrows. How the hell are you supposed to respond to it? Carmy had a beauty to fill centuries of art museum collections.

He closed his eyes, landing his forehead on yours. Then you shutted yours as well. Your hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening as you try to steady your breathing.

“You're Carmy.” You replied weakly, slowly opening your eyes as you met his watery globe. Your fingers advanced on a slow dance from the counter to print his arm, chest and finally his face, resting your palm on his cheek where a silent tear fell. “There's no reason bigger than this. You're perfect, Carmy. Don't you see that? You’re…my fucking inspiration. You're my dream. You're the reason I do all of this. That's why I outburst when you scream at me.”

Your lips parted slightly, and his gaze flickered down to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes. You saw it, and your breath hitched. His face was close now, so close that you could feel his breath, warm and uneven.

His pulse quickened. He swallowed as a small red tint flashes his cheek, licking his lips to dissipate the nervousness. You shivered, your brain working to wonder how that talented tongue tasted your juice.

Your hands gripped his apron. The moment your lips touched his, they parted and his tongue teased yours. He wrapped his arms around you, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. the stress in his shoulders loosened as he just held you close.

He let out a quiet moan against your lips as he grabs your hips again and pushes your back against the counter as he kisses you hungrily.

He moves his kisses to your neck, biting and sucking the skin, humming while you tilted your head to guarantee access to him.

Your hand grabs his locks on your fingers, pushing those soft curls on your fingertips. You pursue his lips, nipping the bottom while you grind against his pelvis, humming on how his cock felt just right even clothed.

“Hmmm…this is good.” He groans, swaying, mimicking slow thrusts, his fingers catching your ass cheeks while you continually round your hips on his.

You mewl when you feel his hard tip right on your clit, proceeding to rub on that spot where he threw your head on your neck to pepper kisses and nip on the skin, leaving marks. His marks. “Yeah…it's…weirdly good.”

He whimpers, breath fanning as he brushes his nose on yours. His hands ran up to slap your ass, caressing as a sorry. Carmy was on a trip, where he never failed to surprise you, each fucking moment seemed meaningful.

“What we're doing… We shouldn't…This…We. It's risky.” He sighs, pulling you closer as your chests touch, guiding your movements. .

"Being with you is already a risk, Carm," you whispered, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “Let's fuck, can't cum in this fucking dry humping, would ruin my reputation.”

“I wouldn't mind ruining mine by cumming on my jeans.” he says, and somehow it comforted you as a cool breeze in summer.

He peels the apron off simultaneously as you take off yours and tossed on the counter, stripping your jeans down your ankles, kicking it while he unbelt and unbutton his jeans, down to his thighs with the boxers.

You grasp the hem of your panties, but Carmy stops. “You sure of…”

“Fuck me, Carm.” You cut off and he nodded, blushing. Carm liked your orders more than he would like to admit. “Please…” but loved even more when you pleaded.

He placed the tip, rubbing softly on your pearl to spread your liquid on his pre-cum. You hummed, wiggling on it. “Fuck. I've always wanted to do it. Tastes together. Like…like cooking. Mixing flavors.” Carmy groaned, rocking his aching tip on your clit. “Fuck. I need to taste it”

He bent, kneeling on the floor, spreading your legs as he placed one of your thighs on his shoulders. So, in that moment, your eyes mingled on how Carmy seemed delighted as a chef, inhaling scents, kitten licking slowly as every taste bud memorized on every spot of his tongue how you tasted.

He hummed, sucking, going for the entrance to get more liquid, more lubrication, burying his face on your core, tantalizing your pussy by inserting one finger deep and pulling out to suck on his tongue, moaning again.

“Carm…stop teasing me. Please, bear…” you weeb, groggy at the pleasure roller coaster. He shivered by the name again, planting one last licking to get up again.

He wrapped his cock on his hand again, pressing the tip against your cunt with no resistance, pushing his length deep on you, lifting one of your legs to keep you close. “Fuck.” He breathes, sinking down on you.

“Yeah…fuck.” You echoed, ripping a grin from him. You capture his lips, wrapping your leg on his hip, cradling your arms around his neck while you sigh and cry on each thrust harder than the one before. “We should… be… doing it every time we fight, bear”

He nods, pursuing your lips, slides his hands down further, going for your ass to smack and squeeze tightly. “Now I know how to put you in your place.” he whispers.

You grin, your giggles paused between your moans on Carm’s cock popping in and out crazily fast. You threw your head back, disheveled, chased back again by his strong hands on the back of your neck, looking at him.

“So you don't mind?" he asks, his shoulders tensed as he looks at you with quiet hope between the foggy atmosphere, your so loved white shirt covered in sweat.

You opened your mouth, forcing your eyes to open. “About what?”

“About me.” He answers, groaning. His pace became slower, matching the intimate vulnerability of the moment. “About us. About…fucking everything.”

"Our relationship is already broken, right?" Your tone is soft but resolute, and for a moment, the weight of unspoken words lingers between you. You clench, feeling your so known vibrations.

“Is that what you call….fuck…, a relationship?” He managed, his right hand travelled to your throat, landing on the back of your neck, knuckles brushing on your jaw.

“What else would it be?” You smile amused, brushing your hands against his biceps scratching your nails. Your marks.

“A headache?” He constantes, pressing his lips trying to stifle a laugh, slipped out anyway. You couldn’t help but join him.

“You know that anger can be misunderstood with arousal, right?” You flashed a grin, muffled by him biting your lip, landing your eyes briefly at his mouth before back on his blue iris. “Maybe that's why we always screamed at each other and fuck Carmy m cumming”

“Fuck, let it out…let it all out.” He moans, sliding faster on your cunt, passionately fucking you til your back arch convulsing blissed out in ecstasy.

He swallows, driving his head back on your neck so he could hear every moan you let out on your climax, the ones he caused. And it was enough to make him pulse, spasming as he cummed on deep sways, colliding on you.

His chest rose heavy, pushing back to look at you, as a satisfied grin creeps his face. You lick your lips, smiling as well. And silently as the moment demanded, he popped his softened cock out, dressing again as you did the same. But first, he got his own apron to clean his mess carefully, kissing your forehead as a cherry on top.

You smiled as he lifted your pants, buttoned up and unshrink your shirt. "Thank you, chef," you mutter, your voice soft and sincere.

"Thank you, chef," he whispers back, leaning in until your foreheads touch again. His hand moves gently to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. "Let’s go home," he murmurs, his tone low and filled with a quiet longing.

"Okay, chef," you sigh, your fingers lightly tracing along his arm in response. He lingers for a moment, as if reluctant to let go, before tilting his head toward the door. You nod, taking off your apron and carefully turning off the lights before stepping outside with him.

Walking beside Carmy down the street, you steal a glance at him, your heart caught in a mixture of hope and uncertainty. He catches your gaze, holding it for a moment longer than usual before glancing away. You swallow hard, lifting a hand in a hesitant wave goodbye before taking a step forward.

He nods silently, his eyes following your retreating figure. "Chef," he calls out suddenly, his voice firm but tinged with something softer.

You stop in your tracks, glancing over your shoulder before turning to face him fully. He locks the restaurant door with deliberate slowness, then strides toward you, his steps purposeful.

"What is it?" you ask softly, your voice carrying a hint of worry as you search his face.

He stops just a breath away, his blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. After a pause, he speaks, his voice low and vulnerable. "You’re my dream too."

His lips curl into a tender smile as he takes your hand, his thumb tracing lazy patterns against your skin. The words sink into the quiet air between you, their weight undeniable.

Your breath hitches, and your eyes glisten as you fight back tears. You shake your head slightly, a shaky smile breaking through. "I still hate you, Carm," you tease, the words laced with warmth neither of you can deny.

He laughs, the sound soft and genuine, his hand still holding yours. "And you’re not half bad at chopping carrots," he quips, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin as he releases your hand reluctantly.

"Goodbye, chef," you say, your voice quieter now, the words carrying an intimacy you don’t attempt to hide.

"Goodbye, chef," he replies, his eyes lingering on you as you walk away, the echo of your shared moment still hanging in the air.

[thetxtdevil]

𝓣𝐡𝐞 𝓥𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝓞𝐟 𝓐𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚

The Siren's Call

Siren!Soobin x Human/Fish!Reader

synopsis: The siren couldn’t do it, he latched onto your body with different intensities. His instincts wanted his talons to tear your soft flesh until the sapphire water turned into a murky red. However, something in his chest scorched every time his grip on you tightened with harm. The siren couldn’t commit to his kill.

content(spoilers): MDNI smut, mysterious, fem.reader, reader isn't a mermaid but she isn't fully human... yeah idk, my version of Nosferatu but it's of siren soobin, merpeople, biting, scratching, descriptions of blood, clit stim, soobin has two dicks, double penetration, breeding kink

word count: 4k

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄… In a land far far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky, and the water sparkled under the glowing sun. Where mountains rose high and in which long, deep caves ran. Where the sea met the shore in a collision of tall waves. Where the undead walked among the living. Where the winged flew above the finned. In a land where things beyond any reason and rhyme existed. And amongst those very beings, within the veils of Aethera, there was…

A bright blue sky, reflecting the deep lapis ocean, becomes dark and dreary. The sun fights to shine through the grey clouds, causing parts of the atmosphere to look pink. The warm hue casts over your face, contrasting the cool waters below. It was a sight to see for the creatures in the sea to admire, something to crave for.

"Red skies at night, sailors' delight."

A groggy voice of the captain says behind you also taking a short break to look at the view. You turn your head to see all the sailors working hard on the deck of the ship. Hair flowing in the wind getting into your eyes you turn back to watch the sun disappear. A chill runs down your back, a feeling like ice water being dumped on you as a luring song reaches your ears.

A falsetto voice calls out to you, the melody is so soothing, that you touch your chest as if you could feel the song in your heart. A strong pull to the ocean had your lazy feet step closer to the railing of the ship. Your grip and feet almost felt like they were slipping, ready to fall into the salty depths. So close to reaching the unknown, you were taken away from your temptation feeling a hand grab onto you. You again turn your head to see the captain, "My lady, what are you doing?" You stutter over your words just to have the captain of the ship lose interest and continue to order the sailors around. His dark eyes rolled, and the feeling of judgment was not unfamiliar to you.

Yet you ask yourself. What were you doing? Why did you want to fall? Your worries and questions soon faded along with your memory of the beautiful song from the oceans.

Days of rocking on a ship were not for you, your eyes grew tired, and dry patches surrounded your young face. You were ready to meet your new home, to get away from the alluring sapphire waves. Thirsting to float among the sea life, but you knew you shouldn’t give in to your pleasures. The continuous nightly encounters of the same bewitching sound from the deep blue ocean weren't helping your resentment of jumping in. Every night, you couldn't help but get excited to hear the sweet sounds. It seemed to control your sleeping figure, unconsciously walking to the edge until a sailor on night duty had to drag you back to your chambers, but you would do it all over again just to hear the mystery.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The candle-lit chamber was the only warmth you felt from the foggy day. Your maid straightens your long cream nightgown to lay nicely under the wool bedcover. She fixed your hair making sure it wouldn’t be messed up in the morning for it was your last night on the ship. “Now dear, I don’t want any of your suspicious outings tonight.” You nod your head obeying your maid’s wishes, she smiles, “Get some rest dear, you’ll be at your new home tomorrow.” Watching the woman’s lips purse huffing out the flame to your comforting candle, leaving you in the dark.

Clenching to the itchy blanket, the waves pick you and the world around you up and down. You felt used to the feeling by now; you would've been relaxed if it wasn’t for the piercing song drilling into your eardrum. Your clammy hands hooked onto the bedding, trying their best to stay put, which only made the call to you louder and more excruciating. Letting go of your stronghold on the blanket you cover your ears, clenching your eyes shut until tears were streaming down your sickly cheeks. You imagined yourself at the deck railing, lifting your fist in the pouring rain, telling the god-awful sound to stop calling for you and leave you in peace. Then the screeching melody stops.

Your body feels light. Softly opening your eyes, your breath catches in your throat, and you are in shock at your surroundings. Hunching over the wood of the deck’s rails, you were being pelted down by dagger-like raindrops. The fog was so thick the only thing you could see was the passing waters of the ocean against the ship. The wave smacks against the surface, making your body fall on the floor beneath you. You cry feeling your grip loosen, the strength of the wind and the slippery rain had your fingers shaking off of the railing. Looking back down at the crashing waves your eyes widen seeing a creature swimming near the ship with its dark long fishtail paired with sharp wings that could make it fly up and grab you. A strong gust of wind pushes the ship drastically making the floor go vertical causing you to slide down into the waters below.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The high-pitched squawking of seagulls contrasts with the soothing tides of the beach you wake up on. Lifting your head off the sand, you wince at the aching feeling of your dry cracking skin. The environment around you was calm, the skies were a beautiful blue with fluffy peach clouds. The glitter-beige sand beneath you was soft and comforting, it almost made you want to sink in it and stay there. You scoot your bottom in the sand until you hear giggles as light as the waves. It is alluring in its way, but an unexplainable ache fills your heart, wishing your ears were filled with that falsetto song that haunted you.

Stretching out of the sand, your legs wobble fighting against gravity. You search for the uplifting giggle, it doesn’t take long to find something that leaves you astonished. Mermaids and mermen in the flesh, each sunbathing while unintentionally showing off their unique colored fishtail. Your mouth gaps like a fish out of water watching these creatures in front of you, they were something you’ve never seen before.

In the group of merpeople, you notice one merman had their attention on you. He was beautiful like a pearl sitting in a pile of rocks. He had bright, blonde hair that framed a soft face sculpted by the gods, and dewy skin that melted into the iridescent scales of his tail. The merman’s equally bright eyes look into yours, shooting worry of being caught. Your heart pounds against your chest, turning around on your heels, ready to run away until you hear a call from one of the merpeople.

“Ha! Easy pickings, stumbling into our circle.” said an indigo-tailed merman.

“This human will be fun to play with!” a yellow-tailed mermaid grins mischievously.

“S-she’s not human…” the pearl merman says, making all the merpeople’s heads turn, “Look at her, hair covered in sand, skin burnt from the sun, she’s not from the kingdom, I think she’s from a shipwreck.”

The beautiful merman’s observations made all of them look at your distant figure in intrigue. You washed up on a not-so-normal island, far from deserted, far from anything you know from your human life. The fact that you survived from wherever you came from and came upon the shore alive and in one piece could be enough to prove you weren’t like the humans hidden in the Kingdom of Aethera tucked on the island.

Stomping in the hot seaside, distraught by the predicament you have yourself in. Mind spiraling, your thoughts stumble like your feet in the wet sand. You let out a huff of defeat, feeling your face getting hot from the bubbling-up tears. The sway of the waves did nothing to calm you, canceling out your surroundings, not hearing the swishing water getting closer.

“If you’re not human, then what are you?” Your crouched body loses balance, falling into the shoreline. The yellow-tail mermaid lays on your stomach, elbows lifting her torso dripping from being in the ocean. You scrunch your eyebrows at her, not knowing what to do or say. “Where did you come from?”

You look away from the golden creature, collecting your thoughts. “I-uh, I don’t remember much,” your voice sounded spent but had the attention of the mermaid. “I was on a ship, moving to… to…” Your voice fades as if you triggered something. The siren’s call softly pierces your ears. You’ve become accustomed to looking for the creature making the sound, only to see the mermaid next to you shake her head.

Her dark spiral hair shakes with the disappointment on her face, “You must’ve been through a lot, you don’t even know how you got here.” You frown at the mermaid’s statement then hear a random giggle. “Let’s forget about the past, and play!”

Rejoining the merpeople’s circle, you thought that you had nothing else to lose. So you spent hours soaking in the sun listening to the stories of the merfolk and the island of Aethera. Eventually diving into the bright blue waters that you had been lured to yet avoiding ever since you woke up.

The chill ocean shivers up your spine, instantly cooling down your heated body. Diving into the blue water, soon being surrounded by a rainbow of tails. Splashing at each other's faces relishing in the cool breeze that naturally moved your group farther away from where you started. Passing a makeshift seaweed ball to one another, laughing at the frustrated little one who couldn’t reach for it. Everything felt nice, you felt content. You weren’t sinking in your thoughts anymore, and you were not haunted by anything.

Suddenly the water surface flushes above your head, and you are being dragged down. Fighting the capturer was no use, raising your hand to the merpeople above. They sink lower trying to reach for you until they see the dark tail and the webbed fingers that clawed at your legs. All the air escapes your lips when you watch the rainbow of tails flash away from your reach.

Drowning deep into the waters you were faced with the owner of the call that had haunted you. The creature’s talons trace the curve of your thighs to your waist, a long tail wrapping around your body. His razor teeth grin at the sight of you looking proud of his captured prey. Your mind becomes dizzy from the overwhelming events. In much need to take in air, but you can't. Your vision darkens from lack of oxygen making the creature watch your body go limp.

The siren analyzes you and your simple state, why did I pick the most beautiful human? He has been watching you for a while, admiring your interest in ocean life, smiling every time a fish jumps out of the water, and keeping count of the new barnacles that formed on the wood of the ship. Your beauty stunned the siren, how unique you looked compared to the others on deck, you danced through the crowd of men just to watch the wave pass by, salty water crinkled your blowing hair, and how alluring your eyes reflected the captivating color of the blue sea.

The siren couldn’t do it, he latched onto your body with different intensities. His instincts wanted his talons to tear your soft flesh until the sapphire water turned into a murky red. However, something in his chest scorched every time his grip on you tightened with harm. The siren couldn’t commit to his kill.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

An agonizing pain splits through your head, as you open them to the starry sky. It takes you time to remember what happened then you get a glimpse of the strange man or creature. He sat humming to himself, you were able to identify little details about him. Slouched over causing his dirty blond hair to hang over his eyes who watched as his talons traced shapes into the glistening sand. Onyx fishtail lifting at the tip, paired with bat-like wings lazily splayed out the bony structure curling in every time he breathed. His lip-biting made him look deep in contemplation.

To kill her or not to kill her.

By the state you observe yourself in, it looks like he has been fighting with himself all night. Clothes shredded and skin covered in bruises and scrapes. The scars aren't deep, bruises seem to be a mixture of love bites and forceful tugging. What did this creature want from you?

You lay there watching the siren, staring at the shoreline's roll-in. A small noise rises from his throat, a familiar song that again evokes you. It feels like mind control. Something in your chest feels like a rope is lifting you to get closer, but you feel too weak, and it hurts to get up. “W-what are you doing to me?” Your voice cracks through your dry throat.

The song abruptly pauses, and he looks back at you. You are reminded of his beauty yet you feel fear watching his wings widening in defense. His body twists on the beach, and his strong arms crawl towards you. His sharp pupils are on you, bouncing from one feature to another. You flinch when you see his taloned finger raising to your face, only to feel the light sensation of a caress.

You take another good look at the creature in the shadow of the dim night. The mixture of different species was so different, disgusting, you should hate it, but looking back at his big dark eyes you couldn’t help but melt under the gaze of his soft smile. Puffy eyes squint as he smiles, the smile that is knife-like but wide, showing off a handsome human feature of dimples. You both smile at each other like the world is somehow complete, was it because you are under the siren’s call, or was it just a rarity?

The shimmer of the damp Adam’s apple moves, and his plush lips open and close. After a while, a grunt finally forms from his mouth, “S-sor-ry” he points to himself while his eyes look over your distraught state, “f-for-give.”

Your eyes narrowed, trying to understand the siren. Your head was overwhelmed by thoughts once more. You wanted to curse yourself for feeling weak against your predator. Feeling weak to fall into the trap of forgiving him. “What do you want from me?” Your voice sounded like jagged rocks compared to the creature’s voice of smooth sand.

“I-i, t-to kill,” He pauses noticing your quicking breath rate, “b-but I can’t.” You two look into each other’s starkly different eyes. You thought to yourself, if he wanted to kill you, he could’ve done it already, unless he usually tortures his food like this. “There's something different… about you.”

You quirk your head to the side, the siren was hard to understand in general but that comment left you lost. Again, his pointed pupils rake through your body, only this time you watch as his pupils dilate into round orbs. His ragged-finned forearm lifts and taloned fingers graze your sides, big hands lightly squeezing your flesh, causing an intense warmth to build up in your stomach. His dimples pop, flashing his sharp teeth at your reaction, “S-so pretty.”

You grunt at the feeling you had from the unnerving complement. Then suddenly the creature’s teeth hid behind pursed lips, leaning in for a kiss. His surprisingly soft lips meet yours like how an ocean traces the shore. He moans tasting the salt against your cracked lips, he held himself back from using his fangs to cut your pretty lips. Breathlessly, you tear away from the siren's hold to see him pout. You felt like a lost cause, barely remembering your past, being torn away from the merpeople, stuck on an unusual island, and now you’re kissing a creature who’s put you under some type of spell. You gave up, letting the sea take you just like how it has always been, “Whatever happens to me, let me at least know your name.”

“Soobin” the siren sings his name before kissing you again. Pointed nails dig into your waist as his other webbed hand cups your face, keeping you close. A part of you was still screaming for freedom, to get away from the monster, yet you let it happen, you let Soobin do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t so torturous, the kisses traveling down your neck felt soothing with the sounds of the rising tides. Soobin’s grip on you tightens making an ache between your thighs and back arch. He clenched his fingers on your ruined dress, ripping it into shreds and leaving you exposed in front of the siren.

Every curve of your body had the creature salivating, he had never stopped to admire a human before. Soobin lowers his head, latching onto your hardened nipple. Your hands bury themselves into his sea-crisp hair, sounds bubbling in your throat. You couldn’t believe you could feel any better until you felt Soobin's nails scrape down your torso and between your legs. He made sure his talons didn’t poke at your sensitive flesh as the nubs of his fingers rubbed soft circles. The siren shivers at the wetness he discovers while touching you wanting nothing more than to have his dicks in it.

Whimpers passing through your plush lips were music to Soobin’s ears. His dimples were very evident as he cherished your withering state. Never having the pleasure of being touched, never in your wildest dream would you think it would be by such a dream before you. Your insides were tightening, you were seeing stars among the stars as your whole body shook. A cry of your orgasm awakens the quiet beach granting a smile from the siren.

You black out for a moment from the immense pleasure to be brought back to reality feeling Soobin’s tongue back to your tits. Stuttering his name you were faced with his dilated pupils that sparkled like the sky. The siren starts to hum against your skin, becoming more obsessed with you by the minute. The song fades in his throat before his deep voice asks, “Can you take me in, all of me?”

Again, you give Soobin a questioning look, not experienced with the creature and the situation. Scanning his prideful face, your eyes drift down to find something peculiar. Among the siren’s deep ebony tail, the scales around his v-line lifted to two erected dicks standing side by side. A deep gulp passes through your throat glazing back at the creature’s eyes. “C-can you?” He grunts, scooting impossibly closer to you, bodies molding into each other. You feel his bulges against your cunt causing your breath to hitch. His round nose outlines your cheek and leaves pecks waiting for your answer. A soft, “O-okay” made Soobin’s keen teeth flash in response to yours.

He hums the tune that has haunted you all the many nights before this one as he deeply kisses you. However, this time you didn’t get agitated by the vocals, instead you felt calm, knowing he was right there. He lines one of his dicks to your cunt, slowly slipping the tip in, not furthering his movements until he has his other pulsing cock line your ass. You whine loudly, eyes clenched tight, digging your nails into his arms. The siren kisses your neck soothing your nerves, while pushing into you. Soobin stayed still, he felt high off the feeling of your holes clenching around him, becoming addicted to your warmth and slickness. The creature couldn’t hold himself back any longer, and like how he swims in the deep sea, his hips skillfully thrusting into your two weeping holes

Overwhelmed by the mix of pain and pleasure, sweat accumulates on your burnt skin as you start to feel light-headed. The moon rises overcasting silver hues over you two. The wind picks up the shoreline getting closer to your connected bodies. Water splashes onto your form making you both gasp at the freezing temperature. Soobin’s furrowed eyebrows relax, opening his eyes, a crooked smile forms seeing your head thrown back moaning out to the gods. Eyes study your complexion to notice your goosebumps turning. “So, this is why I couldn’t kill you.” Too deep in your state of pleasure you don’t realize your changing appearance. Soobin grazes his fingers along your smooth skin that sporadically becomes bumpy, as red scales form. “Red skies at night, a siren’s delight.”

The sight would be alarming to the usual but Soobin was the unusual. He admired the gills splitting on your neck matched his dark love bites next to them. The glow of rubies on your skin caused hunger within the siren. Soobin wanted you more than he ever did. Pulling himself out, you whined loudly. The instant emptiness made you grab onto the siren above you. With both dicks in his webbed palm, he lines both of them into your cunt. Your eyes widen, “Soobin, I don’t think I can-”

“You can and you will.”

All this time he thought his instincts were encouraging to kill you, but now he realized this was different. Heat flushed through his body, groin aching to release inside of you. Needed you to take his seed, make you full and round, perfect to have his kind to sing through the sea. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, the drag of his two dicks had you screaming, overstimulated by the ache. Soobin clenches his fists in the sand, shoving all of him into you absorbing your gasps and whines against his lips. Your mouth opens feeling the siren consistently hit that perfect spot with both of his tips. His talons flow down your torse, lightly scraping the softness of your belly feel the bulging of your belly. Back arching, nails drawing cold blood from Soobin’s arms. The sea engulfs you two like a blanket, yet you feel warm, safe, and full.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You surrendered, letting the siren consume you. This was a contract to stay in the Veils of Aethera forever. Accepting life on the unpredictable island that was haunted by demons that saved fallen angels, where witches cackled causing chaos, and a place where dragons can stretch their wings towards the cool blue sky. Just like how you felt about Soobin, you quickly learn that it wasn’t a bad place forever.

A cool morning breeze snaked up your spine, waking you up to the mixed sapphire and peach atmosphere. Stepping out of your small beach cabin, your feet sank in the damp sand from the shore flooding during the night. You took a moment to admire the view of crashing waves rolling in the rocking sound of serenity. Moving closer to the ocean, you slouch down, offering your hand to fill the salty liquid. Splashing it on your face, you hydrated the scarlet scales that still decorate your body.

A sorrowful sigh passes your lips as a weight fills your chest. For an island to be so unforeseen and full of the unusual you hate to wake up alone. The crashing sound of the ocean fades in your ears to be outcasted by the familiar falsetto song, but this time it is among multiple voices. The choir of the eerie melody brought warmth to your body, turning your head towards the call, you stop to smile.

In the distance, you can see your beloved siren sitting in the wet sand with smaller sirens surrounding him. An assortment of dury-colored fins, all sharing his complexion. One small fry on his lap, two sunbathing next to him, and three splashing their tails in the ocean. Heat rushes to your eyes seeing all of them together back to see you. The sirens call for you, like a rope tied around your heart leading you to them.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

As Always A Nuisance,

TxT’s Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @biteyoubiteme, @izzyy-stuff, @hyukascampfire, @luvsicktyun, @beomiracles, @liverspaghett, @prince-jjae, @blue-moon-514

[kitkat13001]

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 | pro-hero shoto todoroki x reader

shoto has never been an explicitly complex person. he doesn’t care much for flashy looks or bright lights or glitter and bravado. his life is busy and he enjoys the simplicity of coming home in the evenings, especially the ones where it was raining and he would open the door and immediately be swallowed in the embrace of the precious being he called his fiancée. 

it always brings a smile to his face and he can’t help the almost giddy feeling inside him to see your beaming face. 

it makes it worth it when his aching muscles have to carry him up five flights of stairs. it makes it worth it when he has to jam his key into the lock and jiggle it until it finally opens. 

it smells like pine-scented detergent and coffee when shoto enters the apartment, and it smells like home. 

he sees the back of your head on the couch and you whip around to greet him with a grin.

you move to stand and immediately sink back down, your smile morphing into a wince. 

“ooh, shitshitshit. bad idea, bad idea.”

shoto frowns as he gets closer and notices the brace on your knee. 

“you got hurt during patrol?” he asks, taking a seat next to you. 

you shrug, setting your glass down and shifting to face shoto. 

“not a big deal. some idiot tried to get away with robbing a bank. hit me in the knee with a pipe. i’m fine, though. it just hurts a little.”

without you asking, shoto lays a gentle hand down on your knee. you sigh in relief as his hand drops in temperature, the icy touch relieving the ache in your knee. 

you drop your head on his shoulder, placing a kiss there as well. “you’re the best. i love you.”

shoto chuckles. “mm. i love you too.”

“i called shiozaki today. she’d love to help us out with the flowers. and yaomomo agreed on saturday to go looking for invitations.”

shoto hums, his nimble fingers gently massaging your knee. 

“sounds like a plan.”

a soft silence settles over you for a little while, both of you lost to thought.

“cold soba for dinner?” you ask, tracing patterns on shoto’s shoulder. 

he smiles to himself. you know him. the thought makes his heart warm and his cheeks pink. 

“i don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

you giggle, threading a hand in his hair. 

“you don’t deserve this hot mess? mm, too bad. maybe next time i’ll say yes to the sidekick who asked me out. think he’d deserve me?”

shoto leans back to give you a dry look. “you’re not funny.”

you snort with laughter, kicking your good leg. “i am too! but i was joking, ‘cause i am way out of that guy’s league.”

“ha ha,” shoto rolls his eyes. he gives you a devious smile. “maybe i should make an appearance at your agency, give ‘em all a reminder who you’re with.”

your face falls. “sho, you better not. we lost five sidekicks and two interns last time you made ‘an appearance’.”

now it’s shoto’s turn to laugh. you frown at his amused expression, pouting.

“it’s not funny, sho!” you whine, which only further spurs the widening grin on shoto’s face. 

“mhm. so how about that soba?”

“i changed my mind, i want teriyaki. ooh, no i want meat buns! oooh now i want udon. or ramen! shoto, i want sushiiii!”

“baby, you don’t even like fish,” he murmurs, smiling softly. you fix him with a pout and a cold stare. 

“how about this,” shoto muses, “we can get sushi and a combo noodle meal and pick up meat buns from the store on the corner. on the way back, we can pick up the teriyaki. you can pick a movie and we can sit on the floor and eat and take a nap on the couch when we’re full. how’s that?”

you beam, already standing and running down the hall for your shoes and undoubtedly one of shoto’s sweaters—sore knee long forgotten. 

“i can’t wait to marry you!” you shout from down the hall, the patter of your footsteps bringing a small smile to shoto’s face. 

he’s not keen on waiting either, but a few months doesn’t seem so bad when he gets to spend the rest of his life with you.  

[seokminfilm]

it goes like | lee seokmin

♫ pairing, lee seokmin x reader ♫ warnings, fluff, non-idol au, very short, gamer seokmin, lots of kissing and giggling, reader sits in seokmin's lap, one quick mention of wonwoo, seokmin calls reader pet names (darling is used the most), reader is called pretty, mentions of stardew valley, one mention of rizz (I'm sorry) ♫ synopsis, seokmin gives you the attention you had missed while playing stardew valley.

♫ author's note, hi everyone 😞 sadly I've been really busy w school and work so my updates have been dry.....as much as i want to write on tumblr i just don't have the time to anymore 😭 ANYWAYS thank you @realmofclouds for this cute request!! excuse me while i go insane over seokmin for a few minutes okay byeeee

♫ now playing, bus in these streets (thundercat)

♫ word count, 793 | for @kstrucknet

"i've never seen you so interested in a game as you are now, seok. what are you playing?" you sneak up behind your boyfriend, arms slung around his neck in a flash as you kiss and nibble on his earlobe.

seokmin huffs at your ministrations, giggling as he turns around in his swivel chair, shorts riding up on his legs as he smiles up at you.

"hi to you too, darling." seokmin stands up, pulling you to him as he pecks your lips. smothered in his love before you can even take off your shoes, you giggle, sighing happily as seokmin gives you another quick kiss. "how was your day trip?"

"fun, but really tiring. i just wanna lay down with you now." you sigh, stripping yourself of your shoes as seokmin falls back into his chair. his brown hair is fluffy, probably blowdried from a shower, and his face is fresh from his skincare, shining with the pc monitor as he admires you quietly.

"are you tired? i can stop playing if you want." seokmin looked at you with concern in his brown eyes, ready to stop everything to cater to your desires. smiling at him, you shake your head, hands on his face as you kiss his forehead.

"no, i'm not tired, seokmin. if anything, i wanna see what game you're playing. you're going all wonwoo mode right now." you giggle, and seokmin blushes, laughing with you.

you were right about it, too─usually, seokmin would come sprinting downstairs when he heard the door open, ready to greet you as soon as you step indoors. today, though, you had to go to him as he was so focused in on his game. it was cute, seeing your boyfriend so eager to play a game.

"wonwoo mode? i'm gonna tell him you said that," seokmin teases, eyeing you down as you shake your head, kissing his forehead again.

"i'm not lying though! you didn't even come greet me when i got home. my lovesick puppy wasn't waiting for me with big, brown puppy dog eyes." you say with a whine, and seokmin turns red, turning away from you as he mumbles, "lovesick puppy? come on."

"i'm just teasing, i'm just teasing." you reassure him, patting his lap as he smiles at you, nodding. "sit down on my lap, darling. i'm gonna teach you how to play."

nearly hopping up in the air out of happiness, you situate yourself on seokmin's thighs, holding onto the sides of the chair as seokmin pushes himself to the desk.

"this, my love, is stardew valley." seokmin says like he's introducing you to a brand new world─with the bright colors, pixelated style, and cheery music coming from the speakers, it is like a brand new world to you.

"wait, i've heard of this before. what's it like?" you ask, and seokmin takes a second to answer, currently planting some type of seed as he chews at his lip cutely.

"it's like minecraft, but cuter. the pixel style is cute too." seokmin sounds like a little child with the way his eyes sparkle when he calls the game 'cute', and you can't help but laugh, watching him as he walks down to a river, fishing rod out as he stops at the end of a pixelated pier.

"you wanna try?" seokmin asks, offering the mouse to you smile. "can i, seokkie?"

"of course, angel. give it a go." seokmin smiles, letting go of the mouse as he sets his chin on your shoulder, kissing your bare skin as you giggle.

"okay, ummm...so─wait, what do i do?" you ask confused, watching the animation play without being able to retrieve a fish. when you glance behind you, seokmin is smiling at you, seemingly trying to hold back a stream of laughter as you flush.

"why are you laughing at me? i'm trying, i really am," you sigh, and seokmin shakes his head, kissing your ear as he lets his left hand rest on your hips.

"it's nothing bad, darling. you're just really cute." seokmin smiles, and you can't help but grin, letting seokmin have the mouse back.

"you know, i'll just let my little farmer boyfriend do the fishing." you smile, and seokmin chuckles, hand giving your waist a little squeeze as he focuses.

"of course, darling. just sit here and look pretty for me." seokmin's voice is low, unintentionally sultry as he's paying attention to the game at the moment.

feeling your whole body flush with shyness, you sigh, tempted to cover your face before you just huff and whisper to yourself.

"stop trying to rizz me up and plant your beetroot seeds, lover boy."

seokmin giggles at that, and before you know it, you're keeling over in laughter, too.

[knight-hiccup]

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader ₂

This is Chapter 2 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, heavy Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence, slow burn Word count: 6.1k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films + shows but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader description not described besides clothing true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time.

CHAPTER 2

The Night Fury's eyes had flared, green and fierce, at Hiccup—making the young boys triumphant grin falter, the knife trembling in his hand before lifting it high again determined. Until you see him pause—then begin cutting the ropes.

Confused—You leaned over, frozen, "Hiccup—" you started, but the words choked off as he scrambled back, blade flashing in a desperate arc. Ropes snapped, and the beast erupted—wings thrashing, a roar splitting through the woods.

It lunged, pinning him against the boulder, jaws inches from his face, and you staggered forward, trying to get over the ravine with struggle—heart in your throat—unable to see what was happening as it roared. Then, just as fast, it bolted—black scales swallowed by the trees, leaving only the echo of its flight. Hiccup, much to your relief got up, swayed, eyes rolling back, and crumpled to the dirt.

"Hiccup!" you cried, horror clawing at you as you lunged over the ravine's edge. Roots snagged your boots, rocks skittered underneath as you half-slid, half-fell down the slope, scraping your palms raw. He lay sprawled, half-awake, a groan slipping from his lips as you dropped beside him, pulling his head into your lap. 

You checked if he was hurt, nothing. Your fingers brushed his hair from his face—damp with sweat, streaked with dirt—and you held him there, breath shaky, willing him to stir. His eyes fluttered open, hazy green colliding with yours, and for a beat, you just stared.

His head a heavy lump in your lap, your pulse thumping like a war drum in your ears. It was all very heroic, very tender, until it wasn't—silence stretched into a gaping maw of awkward, and you both hacked out coughs like you'd swallowed a flock of gnats.

Hiccup flailed upright, too fast, a gangly tangle of limbs that toppled him back into your lap like a newborn yak. You shot a hand to his shoulder to keep him upright, but he face-planted into your lap again anyway mumbling embarrassed.

"Easy, dragon-slayer—let's not make a habit of making my lap a pillow. . ." You blurted out. Hiccup dug his palms into the soil, lifting his head from your lap, his face blooming blood-red like a tomato kissed by Thor's hammer. "S-sorry, sorry, uh—gods, sorry," he mumbled, a string of apologies tripping over themselves as he scrambled back, dirt smudging his tunic.

You shook your head, unbothered, a grin tugging at your lips—honestly, you'd seen him in worse states—and grabbed his shoulders, giving him a firm shake to snap him out of it. He turned, wide-eyed, still flushed from forehead to neck.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" you asked, voice steady but laced with worry, eyes scanning him for scrapes or worse. "Are you okay? That dragon had you like a snack on a skewer." His face stayed red, a messy stew of embarrassment from the Toothless fiasco and your lap-turned-pillow, and he struggled, words fumbling like fish on dry land.

"I—I'm fine," he managed, nodding gently, though his voice wobbled like a cart missing a wheel. "Really, I'm. . .yeah."

But you saw it—the disappointment shadowing his eyes, dimming that spark he'd had when he'd crowed about bringing down the beast. His shoulders slumped, gaze dropping to the torn ropes scattered like broken promises across the ground.

You tilted your head, brushing dirt from your hands, the sting of scrapes sharpening your focus.

"What happened?" you pressed, softer now, curiosity tugging at you. "Why'd you decide to let it go?" The question hung there, heavy but gentle, the air thick.

Hiccup rubbed his neck, wincing as he glanced at the trees where the dragon had bolted. "I. . .I don't know," he muttered, voice low, like he was piecing it together himself. "It looked at me, and—I couldn't do it. It wasn't. . .it didn't feel right." He huffed a shaky laugh, half-hearted, and shot you a sidelong glance, still red-cheeked. "Guess I'm not the mighty Viking I thought I'd be, huh?"

You shook your head, nudging him with your fist. "Oh, I don't know—takes guts to stare down a Night Fury and live to blush about it." Your tease was light, but the worry lingered, threading through your words like smoke. He managed a grin, faint but real.

"There are other ways, Hiccup—" you started, voice soft but firm. But he cut you off, hauling himself up with a sigh that seemed to drag his whole frame down.

"Let's head back," he said, emotionless, his voice flat as the still water of Berk's harbor after a raid. It wasn't odd to catch this grim edge in his voice, a rare Hiccup-only-you-got-to-see. He brushed dirt from his tunic, avoiding your gaze, the faint grin snuffed out like a candle pinched too soon.

You opened your mouth to protest, then shut it, swallowing the words as you stood too, the ache in your heels flaring from the morning's trek. He started up the ravine's slope, steps heavy, and you followed, the silence between you thicker than the mist rolling off the cliffs. 

The woods spat you both out hours ago, Berk's smoky skyline swallowing you back into its bustle. Hiccup had turned to you at the village edge, still pale, and pulled you into a quick, clumsy hug.

"Well! I guess that brings me back to this meridian of misery!" He jokes sarcastically unamused. 

"Hey, thanks," he'd mumbled, voice rough, "for, y'know. . .coming with me and everything. Sorry I brought you along for nothing. I'm gonna crash���nap time." He'd flashed a tired grin, then shuffled off toward his house, leaving you with a nod and the echo of his flat.

Now, late afternoon draped the Great Hall in a warm haze, the clamor of Vikings clinking tankards and gnawing on bones a dull roar around you. You sat alone at a weathered table, head plunked on your folded arms, staring past a plate of food that might've tempted Thor himself—crusty bread, still steaming, its golden edge begging to be torn; a hunk of roasted chicken, juicy and flecked with herbs; and a smear of mashed turnips, glistening with butter, flanked by pickled herring that gleamed like silver coins.

Your stomach growled, but you ignored it, too sunk in thought to care. Hiccup's face—red, then ashen, then hollow—looped in your mind, his disappointment a weight you couldn't shake. That dragon had let him go, and he'd let it go, and now he was. . .what? Lost? You flexed your scraped palms, wincing, and sighed.

Marta's voice still jabbed at you, too—hours earlier, she'd cornered you the second you'd stumbled back into the kitchen, flour-dusted and late. "Gallivantin' off with that twig of a boy while I'm drownin' in breakfast orders!" she'd bellowed, ladle waving like a war axe.

"Lunch is a mess, and you're off chasin' dreams—ye'll be knead'n dough 'til midnight for this!" She hadn't been wrong—you'd paid in sweat, hauling sacks, shaping loaves, and dodging her wrath 'til your arms screamed louder than your heels had in the woods. Now, slumped here, exhaustion clung like wet wool, and worry for Hiccup gnawed deeper than hunger.

A shadow loomed over your table, sharp and deliberate, and you lifted your head to find Astrid standing there, axe slung over her shoulder, blonde braid swinging like a battle banner. Her gaze—fierce enough to scatter a flock of Terrible Terrors—softened a flicker as it landed on your untouched plate.

"You gonna eat that or just stare it into Valhalla?" she asked, voice dry but edged with something warmer, a ghost of the days she'd sneak small cakes you would save at her request from your oven and mutter thanks under her breath. You shrugged, too tired to muster a grin.

Before you could answer, a raucous laugh split the air—Snotlout, swaggering up with Ruffnut and Tuffnut trailing like a pair of gleeful tornadoes. "Oh, look, it's Hiccup's personal bread-maid!" he crowed, slamming a meaty hand on your table, rattling the chicken.

"Where's your twiggy hero now? Nappin' off another disaster? Heard he took down a tower and a dragon last night—too bad it flew off before he could trip over it!" Ruffnut snickered at Snotlouts' remarks, elbowing Tuffnut, where she pretends to shoot him down and he mimed a dramatic faint, sprawling across a bench with a wheeze.

"Probably tripped over his own trap and took out half the woods instead." Tuffnut added, cackling as he flopped upright, nearly knocking Fishlegs off the bench—who'd shuffled in behind them, clutching a tattered dragon manual in one hand, an entire chicken-on-a-stick in the other. Fishlegs squeaked, adjusting his grip.

"A-actually, if it was a Night Fury, statistically, it's got a wingspan of—uh—forty-eight feet, give or take, so. . .maybe just a tree or two?" His ramble faltered muttering about flight velocity. While everyone inwardly questioned what exactly he meant.

You rolled your eyes, shoving the plate an inch away. "He's fine, Snotlout—unlike your aim, which couldn't hit a sleeping sheep." The twins hooted, and Astrid's lips twitched, almost a smirk, but your heart wasn't in it. Hiccup's hollow look clung to you, and this lot's noise—Ruffnut's snort, Tuffnut's wheeze, Fishleg's stammering stats—only sharpened the headache. Frustration boiled over, a hot coal in your chest, and you shoved up from the table, the bench scraping loud enough to cut through their cackling. "Take it," you snapped, gesturing at the untouched plate—steaming bread, juicy chicken, buttery turnips, and all. "Stuff your faces." Snotlout whooped, lunging for the chicken as the twins dove in, squabbling over the bread like seagulls on a fish haul.

Astrid's gaze followed you, sharp and steady, a flicker of confusion crinkling her brow as you stormed past. She didn't call out—didn't worry too much, either—just leaned forward, snagging a piece of herring on her own plate and popping it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as the others tore into your leftovers with gleeful chaos. You didn't look back, boots thudding against the Hall's stone floor, the din fading as you pushed through the heavy doors into the late afternoon chill.

The village sprawled before you, smoke curling from chimneys, the tang of salt and soot sharp in your nose. Your home wasn't far—a squat, sturdy thing tucked near the forge—but your legs felt like lead, each step dragging the weight of the day: Hiccup's situation, Marta's crazy rant, the endless knead-and-haul that'd left you flour-streaked and bone-tired. You just wanted a bed to collapse in, to shake off the worry gnawing at you like a persistent yak, when a familiar bellow stopped you cold.

"Oi, lass!" Gobber waved you over from the forge's open maw, his hook-hand glinting in the fading light. You sighed, veering toward him, too weary to dodge. He grinned as you trudged up, peg leg tapping a rhythm on the dirt.

"Well, look at ye!—Held up against Marta's wrath, did we?" He chuckled, a booming sound that rattled your skull, then squinted, taking in your state. "Gods, ye're a walkin' bakery! Flour head to toe, bits o' dough in yer hair—did she dunk ye in the stew pot for good measure?"

You huffed, brushing at your tunic—useless, the white dust clung like a second skin, and a stray smear of turnip mash streaked your sleeve. "Felt like it," you muttered, managing a tired smile.

"She's still cursing me for breakfast. And lunch. I'll be kneading 'til I'm old as Mildew." Gobber laughed again, clapping you on the shoulder—hard enough to jolt you—and you winced, though his gruff warmth thawed the edges of your frustration.

"Ye're a tough one, lass—always have been," he said, leaning on the anvil, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Runnin' after Hiccup, facin' Marta's ladle—ye've got more spine than half this village."

You snorted, kicking a pebble, and he rambled on, waxing about the time you'd rigged a bellows to spew flour instead of air, nearly choking him in a white cloud. The memory tugged a real grin out of you, fleeting but there, until he straightened, tone shifting.

"Ah! Yes. By the way," he said, scratching his beard with his hook-hand, "while Stoick and the rest go off to find that dragon's nest, I've decided it's finally time to prepare ye to become a Viking. I'm signin' ye up for trainin'."

You blinked, bewildered, the words slamming into you like a rogue barrel down a hill.

"Training?" Your voice cracked, confusion piling onto the day's mess—Hiccup's dragon, Marta's wrath, and now this?

"Wait—Gobber, I can't! I've got Marta's kitchen, your forge—I'm too busy hauling sacks and trays all day for lectures to swing an axe!"

He waved you off your excuses with his chicken wing, like they were flies, grinning wider.

"Already squared it with Marta—told her to go easy on ye, by Stoick's orders no less. Future o' the village, future o' the clan—ye're not just a baker, lass, ye're one of us." He clapped your shoulder again, softer this time, but the weight of it sank deep.

"Ye' start tomorrow. No backin' out. Stoicks even havin' the same talk with Hiccup."

You stared, mouth half-open, flour-dusted and dumbfounded, as he turned back to the forge, whistling his happy song "Viking thru' n' thru'" like he hadn't just upended your world. The day's chaos spun in your head—Hiccup, dragons, training—and you trudged toward home, legs heavier than ever, wondering how you'd stumbled into all this mess.

The night had swallowed you whole after you'd staggered home, exhaustion dragging you under like a riptide. You'd collapsed into bed—limbs a sprawled tangle over the edges, one arm dangling, the other pinned beneath you, face buried into your wool pillow as you drooled unknowingly—your hair a wild snarl with strands stuck in your mouth. Feet and toes exposed as the blanket had risen up.

Sleep hit hard, a dreamless void, and you didn't stir as the clan's ships sailed out at dawn, Stoick at the helm, chasing the dragon's nest with the village's might. The world spun on without you, and you stayed blissfully dead to it—until the sun clawed its way up, slicing golden beams through your shutter slats right into your eyes as you finally turned.

You winced, nose wrinkling in annoyance, a groan rumbling up as the light stabbed at your lids. Then came the knocks—sharp, insistent thuds rattling your door.

"Go away," you mumbled, words a gibberish mush as you yanked the bearskin cover higher, burrowing into its musty warmth like a stubborn Gronckle in a cave. The knocking stopped, and you smirked sleepily, victorious—until the door slammed open with a bang that could've woken Thor himself.

"Rise and shine, lass!" Gobber's voice boomed, and before you could yelp, he ripped the bearskin off in one brutal yank, leaving you flailing in the chill. A bucket of water followed—icy, straight from the wells of Hel—and splashed over you like a tidal wave.

You shot up with a shout, arms wrapping tight around yourself, toes wiggling near freezing as you danced in place, teeth clattering like a sack of loose bolts. Water dripped from your hair, plastered to your face, and you blinked wildly, spinning to find Gobber grinning like a madman, empty bucket swinging in his hook-hand.

"You!" you sputtered, glaring as your breath puffed in the cold air, finally locking eyes with him. "What in Odin's name—"

"Ye're late!" he cut in, undeterred, peg leg tapping an impatient beat. "Let's get goin' afore the rest o' the trainees beat me there—and ye'd best not make me look the fool!" He tossed the bucket aside with a clatter, already half-turned to the door, like he hadn't just drowned you awake.

You shivered, still clutching yourself, the shock warring with a flicker of amusement—Gobber's wake-ups were the stuff of nightmares and sagas. "Late?" you croaked, voice hoarse from sleep and the dousing. 

"I—I didn't even—" Your brain lagged, piecing together yesterday: Gobber's training bomb. 

The clan was gone, and now this. You groaned again, louder, but he was already waving you out, bellowing about "no dawdlin' get ye' boots" as you stumbled for dry clothes, teeth still chattering.

You stood there, dripping and shivering, as Gobber's peg leg tapped out the door, his whistle fading into the morning clamor of Berk. "No dawdlin', lass!" echoed back shutting the door behind him, a taunt wrapped in a command, and you snapped into motion, teeth still rattling like a smith's loose gears.

Dry clothes—where were they? You lunged for a crumpled tunic on the bench, nearly tripping over your own sodden legs, and yanked it on, the fabric snagging on your wet arms. Trousers next, a frantic wrestle as you hopped, one leg in, the other flailing, your hair still plastered to your face like a drowned rat's nest.

"Gods, Gobber," you muttered, spitting strands from your mouth, "next time, just set me on fire—warmer way to wake up."

Boots—there, by the door, caked with yesterday's mud. You snatched them up, bolting outside barefoot, the icy ground biting your soles as you hopped after him, one boot halfway on, the other clutched to your chest.

"Wait—Gobber!" you yelped, teetering on one foot while jamming the other into leather, laces flapping like a dragon's loose scales.

He didn't slow, his lopsided gait eating up the path to the training arena, and you cursed under your breath, hopping faster—left, right, stumble—until both boots clung to your feet, sloppy but secure. Your lungs burned, your scraped palms stung as you waved them for balance, and Gobber's chuckle floated back, rich and maddening.

"Ye'll wake the village with that racket, lass—move it!"

The arena loomed ahead under the gloomy morning, a rough-hewn ring of stone, chains and timber. Its gates and chains wet from last night's cast still dripping here and there—no sign of Snotlout's swagger or the twins' chaos. More surprising—No sign of Astrid quite yet. You caught up, breathless, as Gobber swung the gate wide, his hook-hand glinting in the light.

"Good—beat the rest o' the rabble," he said, nodding approvingly. "Help me set this mess up afore they stumble in." He jerked his head toward a pile of gear—axes duller than a sheep's stare, shields dented like they'd lost a fight with a Monstrous Nightmare, and a tangle of ropes that smelled faintly of singed wool. You groaned, but hauled an axe anyway, its weight tugging at your sore arms, and shot him a look.

"Training, huh?" you panted, dragging a shield into place. "Thought I was busy enough dodging Marta's ladle and your lectures—now I've got to swing this?" You hefted the axe, nearly clipping your own shin, and Gobber snorted, tossing a rope coil your way.

"Aye, and ye'll thank me when ye're not dragon bait," he quipped, limping to the center to wrestle a wooden dummy upright. "If yer all gonna be future o' the clan, I'm not lettin' ye flail like a fish on a hook." 

He grinned waving his own hooked-hand, and you rolled your eyes, but a flicker of pride sparked beneath the exhaustion—Gobber believed in you, flour-dust and all. The arena hummed with morning chill, the quiet before the storm of trainees, and you set to work.

The arena stood ready, a gritty testament to your morning's toil with Gobber—axes among other weapons lined up like a row of sullen teeth along the rack, their edges blunted by years of clumsy swings, glinting faintly in the pale sun that clawed its way over the arena walls.

Shields piled in a haphazard stack, their wooden faces pocked with gouges and scorch marks, some still bearing the faint stink of dragon spit; and ropes slung across the dirt, coiled like sleeping adders, their fibers frayed and dusted with ash from past fires.

You'd wrestled every piece into place, sweat streaking through the flour still caked on your skin from yesterday's kitchen penance, your arms quivering under the strain as you'd shoved a final target upright—a warped plank painted with a snarling dragon, its red jaws chipped to a sneer. Your hand brushed a rack of weapons—axes too heavy, spears too clumsy—and settled on a knife, slim and balanced, its grip worn smooth like the one you wielded in the kitchen. It felt right, an extension of your slicing skill, and you twirled it once, testing its weight as you waited.

Now you lingered at the arena's edge, boots scuffing the wet stone, breath fogging in the crisp air as you leaned against a splintered post, waiting. The silence buzzed with anticipation, heavy with the tang of rust and salt, and your scraped palms throbbed as you flexed them, Hiccup's tired grin from last night flickering in your mind like a stubborn ember.

It didn't last long. A roar of voices and stomping feet shattered the quiet, rolling in like a wave crashing on Berk's shores, and Gobber burst through the gate, his peg leg pounding the ground, hook-hand thrust high like a battle standard.

"Welcome! To dragon trainin'!" he bellowed, his voice a thunderclap that bounced off the stone walls, his beard bristling with a grin that promised chaos.

The trainees spilled in behind him—Astrid first, her stride a blade's edge, axe slung—ready beside her, her braid swinging like a pendulum of gold; she caught your eye, offering a brisk nod you returned before she marched on, her boots kicking up the wet puddles that glittered in what little sunlight. 

Snotlout swaggered next, chest puffed out like a barrel ready to burst, his smirk a greasy smear of confidence, trailed by Ruffnut and Tuffnut, who barreled through the gate in a tangle of shoving elbows and wild hair, their laughter a grating duet. 

Hiccup slipped in last, a lanky shadow at the rear, his green eyes darting nervously under tousled auburn bangs—he was here to your relief. You waved, a reassuring smile breaking through your fatigue, and he waved back, mirroring it with a flicker of warmth that steadied you both.

The twins wasted no time, their voices clashing like hammers on anvils. 

"I hope I get some serious burns." 

"I'm hoping for some mauling, like on my shoulder or lower back."

"Oh, I'm gettin' a scar today for sure—right across the gut, deep and gnarly!" Tuffnut declared, clawing the air with his fingers, while Ruffnut shoved him aside, getting them both crowing.

"Nah, mine's gonna be epic—eye patch material, full face shred!" Snotlout got involved.

"Yeah, it's only fun if you get a scar out if it. Why not," Astrid planted the bottom of her axe in the stone with a solid thunk, rolling her eyes as she cut in, voice dry as bone.

Hiccup, lingering near a shield pile, piped up, his monotone dripping sarcasm like sap from a split pine: "Yeah, no kidding, right? Pain. Love it." 

He leaned back behind them, arms dangling like he despised being there, and you caught the glint of mock-defiance in his gaze—same old Hiccup, dodging barbs with a quip.

"Oh, great. Who let him in?" Tuffnut remarked.

But Gobber's bulk loomed over, his hammer-hand nudging your shoulder with a jolt that nearly sent the knife spinning. 

"Enough chatter, ye lot—Let's get started!" he roared, stomping to the arena's heart, his voice slicing through the air like a cleaver through meat.

"Listen up! Learn quick, be sharp, and be ready—'cause whoever wins this trainin' program, lasts 'til the bitter end, gets the honor o' killin' a dragon in front o' the whole village! Full witness, full glory—so quit yer yammerin' and prepare!"

Snotlout pounced like a cat on a crippled bird to take the opportunity, his laugh a harsh bark that scraped your nerves. "Hiccup already killed a Night Fury, so does that disqualify him or . . .?" He pointed to Hiccup. 

"Thought you'd be hiding under your bed, Hiccup—didn't the dragon tuck you in last night?" The twins hooted, Ruffnut miming a cradling motion—"Wittle Hiccup and his dragon nanny!"—while Tuffnut flopped backward, wheezing.

"Bet he cried when it flew off!" 

Hiccup's jaw clenched, a tight line of frustration, and you flicked your boots toe out—quick, subtle, a baker's reflex honed from dodging Marta's ladle—catching Tuffnut's ankle mid-step. He didn't see it coming, flailing forward with a yelp, arms windmilling as he hit the wet ground in a graceless sprawl, his helmet skittering away like a startled crab. 

"Can I transfer to the class with cool Vikings?" he whined, hauling himself up, brushing off clumps of wet pebbles and ash as he stomped deeper into the arena, rejoining Ruffnut with a theatrical huff that made her snort. You shot Hiccup a sidelong glance, catching the faintest twitch of his lips—gratitude, maybe, or just shared exasperation. 

Gobber's voice boomed over the chaos, his peg leg thumping as he hobbled closer, eyeing Hiccup with a mix of pity and gruff cheer. 

"Don't worry, lad—ye're small and weak! That'll make ye less of a target. They'll see ye as sick or insane and go after the more Viking-like teens instead!" He clapped his good hand against his shoulder, chuckling like he'd just handed out sage wisdom.

"That's not helping, Gobber," you snapped, voice cutting sharper than your blade, laced with a protective edge that surprised even you. 

The old smith blinked, eyes widening a fraction, then shrugged, muttering something about "tough love" as he returned back to the task at hand. Hiccup glanced at you as you shrugged, his clenched jaw softening, a flicker of something—thanks, maybe—passing through his green eyes before the beast's roar yanked you both back to attention. 

Gobber stomped to some other arena iron gates, their rust-streaked doors looming like the jagged teeth of some ancient beast, and thrust his hook-hand high, his voice rolling out like a storm over the cliffs.

"Behind these doors are just a few o' the many species ye'll learn to fight!" he declared, his eyes glinting with a mix of pride and menace as he turned to the trainees, pacing before the shuddering gates. The wood and metal rattled faintly, a low growl seeping through the cracks, and he launched into his litany, naming the dragons with the relish of a bard spinning a saga.

"The Deadly Nadder!" he barked, gesturing at a gate that twitched as if something sharp and quick lurked behind it. 

"The Hideous Zippleback!"—a twin sound of hisses slithered out, two-toned and eerie, curling the air. 

"The Monstrous Nightmare!"—a blast of heat pulsed through the cracks, creating a furnace like heat radiating from it.

"The Terrible Terror!"—a scrabble of claws, small but frantic, echoed like a swarm of furious rats.

Fishlegs, hovering at the group's edge, muttered under his breath, his chubby fingers clutching his dragon manual like a lifeline, eyes wide behind a mop of sweat-damp hair.

"Nadder—speed eight, armor six-teen. . .Zippleback—gas plus spark, plus eleven stealth times two. . ." His stats tumbled out in a nervous stream, a quiet chant that buzzed like a gnat in Gobber's ear. 

The old smith's patience snapped, his peg leg grinding to a halt as he whirled, hook-hand jabbing the air. "Can ye stop that!" he shouted, voice a cannon shot that made Fishleg's flinch, the manual nearly slipping from his grip. 

Gobber huffed, shaking his head, then pressed on, undeterred. ". . .And the Gronckle," he finished, slapping the lever beside the nearest gate with a clang that shivered through the stone, the promise of chaos glinting in his grin.

Fishlegs leaned toward you and Hiccup, his whisper a conspiratorial hiss, wide side-eyes darting like he'd just spilled a village secret. 

"Jaw strength eight," he breathed, voice trembling with awe and dread, his breath puffing warm against your cheek. 

You raised an eyebrow, knife still twirling idly in your hand, while Hiccup shifted beside you, his own weapon under his grip. Snotlout, pale beneath his bravado, jolted forward, axe wobbling in his meaty fists. 

"Whoa! Whoa! Aren't ye gonna teach us first?!" he yelped, his voice cracking high enough to wake a hibernating bear, sweat beading on his brow as the Gronckle's growl rumbled louder behind the gate.

Gobber turned, slow and deliberate, his grin stretching wider, a gleam of mischief dancing in both his eyes. Oh no. . . 

"I believe in learnin' on the job," he said, calm as if he'd just suggested a stroll to the mead hall, and yanked the lever down with a screech and clang of metal, his hook-hand flashing in the gleam. 

The gate shuddered and burst open with a resounding crash, unleashing a guttural snarl that reverberated through the air, raw and primal. From the shadowed depths, the Gronckle's squat, formidable bulk surged into view, its rugged scales glinting ominously like wet stone under the flickering light. Its snarl rolled forth, deep and menacing, a promise of pain and chaos of the mayhem to start.

The sun hung low, a molten smear bleeding gold and amber across Berk's cliffs and cloud break, casting long shadows that stretched like claws over the jagged rocks where you and Hiccup slumped over a thin piece of wood separating you both from the wet grass—heaving from the day's ordeal. 

Training had been a relentless beast—hours of dodging the Gronckle's snapping jaws, its molten spit sizzling inches from your boots, its roars rattling your skull until your ears rang with the echo. Axes had flown wild, shields had splintered, and you'd lost count of how many times you'd yanked Hiccup from the path of those boulder-like paws, your kitchen knife flashing uselessly against scales tougher than forge iron. 

Now, sprawled on the cliff's edge, the sea crashing far below in a restless churn of white and gray, your limbs felt like sodden dough—heavy, bruised, and protesting every twitch. Sweat streaked through the flour still dusted on your tunic from yesterday, your hair a tangled snarl plastered to your neck, and your scraped palms throbbed as you flexed them, the salt air stinging the raw skin.

Hiccup sat beside you, just as wrecked—his tunic torn at the sleeve where the Gronckle's tooth had grazed him, his auburn hair a sweaty mess plastered to his forehead and every direction, his breaths puffing shallow and ragged. 

You'd skipped breakfast and lunch, the training swallowing the day whole, so you'd pulled out his favorite—cheese-egg meat muffins again—wrapped in a cloth you'd stashed in your satchel. The bread was crusty, golden, but cold from your pre-dawn baking binge; the egg froze in an oozy rich, yolky tang, flecked with herbs; the meat, smoky and still tender, melded with sharp cheese that melted into every bite. You both could care less if it was cold.

You handed him one, your fingers brushing his, and he took it with a tired grin, exhaustedly sinking his teeth in with a groan that was half-starvation, half-bliss. 

"Gods, you're a miracle," he mumbled through a mouthful, eyes closed, crumbs tumbling onto his lap as he leaned back on one elbow, the cliff's wet mossy edge soft under his sprawl—He didn't care.

You sighed tiredly, biting into your own, the flavors bursting against your tongue—a small victory after nearly becoming dragon fodder. The wind whipped past, sharp with brine and sea breeze, tugging at your clothes as you chewed in companionable quietness, the distant bleat of sheep and the rhythmic crash of waves filling the space between you. 

"That Gronckle's a monster," you said finally, wiping your mouth with your sleeve, the memory of its jaws snapping an inch from your arm flashing hot in your mind. 

"Thought it'd have me for lunch when Snotlout tripped into me—thanks for the shield shove, by the way." Hiccup chuckled, a low, dry sound, swallowing another bite. 

"Yeah, well, I owed you one—couldn't let it chomp my muffin supplier." His grin flickered, playful but frayed, and you nudged him with your elbow, the ache in your side flaring at the motion.

 "Gobber's 'learning on the job' nearly made us the job," he added, mimicking Gobber's gruff burr, and you snorted, the absurdity of it loosening the knot in your chest. He fell quiet, picking at the muffin's crust, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the sea met the sky in a hazy blur.

 "That Night Fury," he said suddenly, voice dropping low, almost swallowed by the wind. "I've been thinking about it—him—all day. I'm going back out there. Tomorrow, maybe." 

His fingers tightened around the bread, crumbs scattering to the rocks, and his green eyes flicked to you, bright with that restless spark you knew too well—half-thrill, half-dread, the same look he'd worn in the ravine. 

You froze, muffin halfway to your mouth, the cheese's tang souring on your tongue as his words sank in. The sun dipped ever lower, its golden smear thinning into a fiery thread along the horizon, painting the cliff's edge in a warm glow that danced across Hiccup's freckled face. 

You leaned up, facing him fully, your shadow stretching long over the mossy rocks as your words hung in the salty air—"Are you sure about that? What if this time he doesn't let you go? He might not even be around anymore." 

The questions hung there, heavy as the sea air, your breath catching as you pictured that black-scaled beast pinning him again—or worse, not letting him walk away next time. The muffin sat forgotten in your hand, the wind tugging at your hair, and Hiccup stared back, his face a tangle of determination and doubt sparked a silent shift between you. 

Hiccup shifted, propping himself higher on his elbow, crumbs tumbling from his lap as he met your gaze, his green eyes flickering with that restless spark—half-thrill, half-doubt. 

"I don't know," he said, voice soft but steady, like he was testing the words aloud. "He—I mean, it—didn't feel. . .dangerous. Not like the Gronckle today, anyway." He huffed a small laugh, rubbing his neck where a bruise bloomed from training, his fingers smudging dirt into the mark.

 "Maybe he's still out there, waiting to finish the job—or maybe I just got lucky." He glanced at the horizon, the sea's gray expanse swallowing the last of the light, and you frowned, shifting closer, the moss cool under your knees. 

"Lucky's one thing," you said, voice edged with a mix of exasperation and care, "but going back out there alone? That's asking for a dragon to make you, its supper. You barely dodged those jaws today and yesterday—don't push it." 

Your knife-calloused fingers flexed around the muffin, crumbling its edge, and you shot him a look, half-pleading, half-scolding, the ache for him to see reason warring with the ache that'd lived in you since you were kids. He tilted his head, studying you, and something softened in his face—a flicker of that secret he hadn't unraveled himself. 

"Maybe I won't go alone," he mused, his grin creeping back, lopsided and teasing as he leaned a fraction closer, his voice dipping low. "Could use someone brave enough to stare down a Night Fury and bake me back to life after—y'know, my own personal hero." 

His tone mocking what the others always say about you two. Eyes glinting a spark of flirt in the way they lingered on you, and heat rushed to your cheeks, blooming red beneath the flour and grime. You blinked, caught off guard, a flustered laugh bubbling up as you ducked your head the opposite way from him, shoving his muffin at him to hide the blush.

"Shut up," you muttered, shoving his shoulder—light, playful, but enough to jostle him—your smile sneaking out despite yourself. 

"Eat your muffin, dragon-slayer, before I feed it to the gulls." He laughed, a real one this time, bright and unguarded, and took the muffin, his fingers brushing yours again, warm and deliberate. The wind carried the sound away, leaving a quiet sweetness between you, the cliff's edge glowing soft as the day faded, your worries tucked aside for just a moment in the dusk's gentle hold.

This is Chapter 2 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Gifs/edits, dividers + template credit to #uservampyr my co-writer + beta reader ♡

[starlessea2]

That It Is (Astarion)

Pairing: Astarion x Reader [Baldur's Gate 3]

Summary: After a long day trudging through the sunlit wetlands, you discover your bedroll is waterlogged, and that Astarion has lost his in the swamp... AKA, the classic: ‘oh no, there’s one bed, whatever shall we do, darling?’ (Act 1 spoilers).

A/N This one has a tad more enemies-to-lovers vibe to it, but sweetness nonetheless. 

Masterlist

Night was creeping over Faerûn.

After a day of toiling through the deep murk of the sunlit wetlands, your party had found refuge: an abandoned shack a little ways inland from the swamp. It was unassuming enough through the fog that Gale had tripped over its porch, and even Astarion’s darkvision had missed the contours of the old building tucked away. 

But once scoped, you found that the place was empty. Shadowheart deemed it safe enough for you to unpack your bedrolls and dry your waterlogged boots. So you did just that—even managing to rouse a fire with an ignis and a few pieces of damp wood. 

The flames took a few moments to blaze to life, but once they did, the warmth was heavenly on your skin. One by one, you started to shed your wet outer garments, laying them out by the fire.

“Oh, bloody hells!”

A voice rang out over the crackling hearth. You turned to find Astarion on his knees, rummaging through his supply pack half-deranged.  

He flung the contents out onto the floor: some soggy books, a cask of water, pristinely-folded clothes. Then he promptly turned the pack upside down, seemingly devestated to find nothing else inside.

The rogue threw his hands up. “Gone,” he declared, with a dejected sort of laugh. “Be it just my luck after trudging through this gods forsaken waste—”

From the corner of the room, Shadowheart stopped wringing out her gloves. She gave you a look. Deal with him, she said through the shared connection. 

With a sigh, you conceded. “What’s wrong, Astarion?” You stood over the pale elf, hand on hip, “Broken a nail?” 

Irritation painted his face, but his demeanour remained playful.“Ha! Hilarious as always, my dear,” he replied, without sparing you so much as a glance. “Alas, I’m afraid my situation is a tad more dire.” 

You clicked your tongue. “Go on.”

Astarion stood up, taking a moment to dust himself off. “It seems I’ve lost my bedroll somewhere in that bloody marsh,” he finally admitted. 

Somewhere across the room, Shadowheart’s snort was quickly covered up by a faux cough from Gale. “Oh?” you said, “I thought elves didn’t need to sleep.” 

Astarion shot you a glare. “And do you need to dry your clothes by the fire? Need to eat tonight or, gods forbid, drive us half mad with your infernal singing sometime tomorrow?” 

He stalked the cabin, pointing vivaciously at your drying garments, and menial rations you’d hoped wouldn’t spoil. 

You felt your brow furrow at his display. “No need to be rude,” you said shortly. “Today’s been hard on all of us.” Pushing past him, you quickly retrieved your own pack from its place near the door. “Here—just take mine.”

Fishing around the bag, you searched for your own bedroll before producing it for him. Astarion let out a sound of disgust. 

“You could at least try to be grateful, Astarion,” you started. Then you felt it; your trusted bedroll squelched in your hand. It was pasted with a layer of thick algae, and some other mysteries you couldn’t discern. “Son of a—” you cursed. How had you forgotten when it rolled into the marsh earlier in the day?

A hand found your shoulder. “Thanks for the generous offer, my dear, but I think I’ll pass,” Astarion said, proudly. He then flicked a rather large leech off your bedroll, causing Gale to shriek when it landed at his feet. “I’d like to remain the only bloodsucker around here.”

You were about to quip back, when Astarion stepped closer—enough so that his breath dusted your cheek when he spoke. “And I think I spy a bed in the other room. That should do me just fine.” 

It took you a moment to unravel his words. By the time you did, he’d already traipsed halfway across the cabin. “Hang on a moment,” you called after him,“I already staked my claim on that earlier!”

“Hmm?” the elf hummed, feigning ignorance.

The audacity. You shot a glance back at the wizard, who immediately threw his hands up in surrender. “Oh no, you don’t,” warned Gale, “I’m staying out of this one.”

To his left, Shadowheart looked equally unbothered by your plight. You scowled at them both. 

It was going to be a long night.

—

The cabin was quiet. It had been some time since you had rested in a place with a roof and four walls. There were no beasties lurking near your camp, or dangers beyond the trees. The only threat to your person was Gale’s snores coming from the main living space. He’d taken refuge on the floor, whilst Shadowheart seized the chaise lounge. 

It was a comfortable night. So in principle, you should have had no problem falling into a dreamless sleep. Especially given the feather bed at your back. 

“You know, my dear,” Astarion whispered, “I might have agreed to this arrangement, but that was under the condition that you get some sleep.”

You tried not to startle, but his words sounded so close to your ear. It made your skin prickle with anticipation—despite doing your utmost not to show it. 

“I think you’ll find I was the one who was forced to agree,” you countered, “and I’m trying. You just—” 

Shifting in the bed, you turned around to face the elf beside you. He was leaning on one arm, gazing up at the wooden ceiling as though he were watching the stars. His eyes found yours. “I what?” he asked. 

You could hear his grin; he was teasing you. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down now. “You make me nervous,” you answered bluntly. 

He did not reply. Each second of silence that passed made you more and more uneasy. You couldn’t see him well in the dark. And as much as you tried to make out the contours of his face, you knew for sure discern every line on yours—every expression you hoped to conceal. “And why’s that?” he finally asked.

You let out a huff before falling onto your back. “You know why. Stop acting so smug—It doesn’t suit you."

Astarion’s laugh made its way to you. “Everything suits me, darling.” 

A witty remark alluded you, so you opted to stay quiet. Sleep was what you needed right now. The gods only know how deprived you were of it.

So you plumped your pillow and made yourself comfortable. Then you gathered some blankets to yourself. A yawn left you, but your mind felt anything but relaxed. You readjusted again, this time your body pressing into Astarion's. He moved to accomodate you; you stiffened in response.

“Will you stop wriggling around? I can’t so much as move without you flinching."

At his words, your breath hitched. You were midway through an apology before he interrupted.

“Look at me,” he said.

Despite the darkness, his thumb perfectly traced your jaw until it found the space just under your chin. Gently, he coaxed your head up.

“You know I’ve drank from you, right?” You gasped at his candidness. “I've felt your pulse on my tongue and your blood coat my teeth,” he went on. “Hells, I have your thoughts swimming in my head far more often than you probably realise.”

He paused for a moment, and in that time you breathed twice as fast as you ought to.

“You’ve allowed me that much, so sleeping beside me like this?” he said, with a lightness to his voice, “that shouldn’t matter, now should it.”

You couldn't reply. His words were likely meant to comfort, but they had only the opposite effect. As his fingers brushed your cheek, you immediately pulled back—hoping he did not feel the way you burned for him.

“No. I guess not?” you stuttered.

“Good,” came his reply. “Now sleep. I promise I won’t bite” 

He returned to his side of the bed, not overstepping the invisible boundary you'd drawn earlier that evening.

And on your side, you were left to press down whatever feelings threatened to bubble to the surface. You weren’t quite ready to let them out yet—not when you couldn’t see clearly the face he would make in response.

Right now, you just needed to sleep.

So you focused on the snores echoing from the other room, the rain pattering the windows, Astarion's breaths and your heart—which, without realising, had recently started to beat for him.

“Goodnight, Astarion,” you whispered into the dark.

“Yes, my dear," he said softly. "That it is."