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painted-flag · 4 months ago

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Little Red Riding Hood (Part 2/2) - Cregan Stark

Story 2 in Between the Pages: a HOTD x Fairytale Series.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ PART ONE .𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist. main masterlist. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: cregan stark x f!reader (no use of y/n) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ warnings: 18+ MDNI. descriptions of violence/blood, period-specific misogyny, aegon, and smut (oral f!receiving, nipple play, and biting) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ wordcount: 7.5k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: this was going to be shorter than how it turned out, but then i got caught up in writing the smut at the end so... it is longer than originally planned.

That shriek of hell spurred you from your bed. You fought the imminent feeling of danger, of something lurking beyond the surface of your consciousness, to steel your emotions. The sound was almost inhuman, a cry reverberated from depths of eternal despair. Whatever fresh nightmare was outside demanded attention and your soul was calling out to it.

Your bare feet thudded against the stone flooring as you rushed outside your room. The chill of the night was not felt as you rushed to the door to leave your grandmother’s house. Your nimble fingers gripped the steel doorknob with a fury of strength as you yanked it open. Wearing nothing but your nightclothes, you venture out into the night. The door closed and the final rush of air breezed passed your scarlet cloak - hung up and forgotten in your frantic movements.

You weaved between the streets of the town, looking back and forth for any sign of life. There was nobody outside. No signs of anything. The pubs were oddly closed and no fool stumbled through the streets drunk on ale or wine. Your feet made crunching noises on the snow-laden ground.

It was then that you saw a figure in the distance. The haze of darkness, only partially alleviated by the moon's light, shrouded the person. They moved like a hunter, impossibly fast and calculated. You stopped moving and watched in paralyzed fear as they came closer. Adrenaline pumped through your body more than blood. Fear clouded your judgement and incapacitated all means of movement; both physically and mentally.

It was only then when the figure got closer that relief doused those flames of horror.

“Cregan?” Your voice, terribly quiet, floated through the cold chill of night. Cregan stood before you in nothing but a tunic, pants, and leather boots. His chest heaved and a sheen of sweat covered the exposed parts of his skin.

You had never seen him so uncovered before, and the white tunic he wore had the sleeves cut up just below the elbow and showed the top of his chest. On his skin, you could see the presence of countless scars. They marred his flesh and you could not help but wonder what creature could make such marks on him. The veins in his forearms flexed as he brought his hands up to grip your biceps.

“What are you doing out here?” His voice was deeper than usual, and the timbre sent vibrations through your bones.

“I… I heard something…” You stuttered out.

Cregan’s squeezed your flesh gently and looked down for a moment, “Fuck,” He lifted his gaze to look at you and that is when you noticed the unusual tint in his eyes - an odd glow, “You need to go back home. Lock all of the doors and windows and stay inside.”

“I don’t understand. Cregan, what is going on?” You had not heard the unknown shriek in a while, but the calls of wolf howls sounded closer and closer.

“Please just go inside.” His tone bordered on a plea, something completely out of character for him.

You blinked at him as his face got closer to yours. It was then that you realized what little clothing you also possessed. Your thin white shift with silver embroidered details glowed in the moonlight, but the thinness of the fabric left little to the imagination. Cregan took notice of your hypervigilance and his gaze swept over you quickly. He flushed slightly and looked at your face, unwilling to compromise the situation any further.

“Where is your cloak?” He questioned.

“I left it… the screaming… what in the seven hells is going on?” You tore your vision from Cregan and scanned around the empty street. The pounding in your head came back and you winced in pain.

You looked up at the full moon and the pain intensified. It felt like your skin was being peeled off. Tingling needles shot across your limbs. Your knees buckled and you lost your balance. Cregan cushioned your fall as the two of you reached the ground. His arms wrapped around your body and held your upper body off of the snow, resting it on his knees.

You tried with all your might to not voice your pain, but with each second it was becoming increasingly harder to resist. Tears pooled in your eyes and a sob ripped from your throat. Your eyes were locked onto the moon, its light enchanting you.

“Sweetheart, hey, look at me.” Cregan cupped one of your cheeks and patted it gently. You were not responding, completely unable to do so.

“Darling, you’re okay. Just come back,” His thumb brushed a stray tear from your skin, “Come back to me.”

The edges of your vision got dark, but the call of his voice drew you back, “What is happening to me? Why does this hurt so much?”

Your questions elicited a broken look from Cregan and a defeated sigh, “It’s alright. You’re okay, I got you.” The warmth of his embrace shrouded you from the cold. He gave off an unusually high temperature, but its comfort eased the intensifying pain. The wolf hows got closer.

Movement in the corner of your dimming vision caught your attention. Turning your head caused immense tension in your neck. Behind Cregan, in the distance, was a collection of a few wolves. They were larger than you had ever seen before and stared the two of you down. None of them moved forward, all watching carefully.

You wanted to warn Cregan of the danger - to have him make a run for safety - but your body could not take the anguish anymore. You collapsed into blackness as snow fell around you, in the arms of your friend.

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

There was no way any ounce of sanity remained in your body. It had been a few hours since you woke up; breathing heavily and stuck in a sweat. You had awoken in your room with your grandmother sleeping soundlessly in a chair next to your bed. It took a long time to get a grasp of your surroundings. Your grandmother helped you drink water and get your bearings.

However, what little consciousness you acquired soon fled with the conversation that followed.

It felt partly like a betrayal. Having information - vital information - about your past, family, and self withheld from you for so long was an unknown horror. Your grandmother explained it as calmly as she could, but truthfully there was little one could do in that situation.

Learning that your family had a history of werewolf tendencies was never a possibility one could consider encountering in their lifetime. Your grandmother had informed you of it all. How it had been a part of her family and typically skips a generation. You had pieced it together after that. Her being one and your mother not had led you to conclude that you were one.

In your grandmother’s words, you had been repressed. One typically knows if they inherited that trait when of age, but it had been purposefully hidden. The gift from your grandmother, that beloved scarlet cloak, had been the reason for your lack of transformation process. A simple enchantment that your grandmother had gotten passed down from her grandmother.

It was an attempt to keep you safe but ended up hurting you more than you could truly grasp.

Truthfully, you had not believed it. It took more convincing but you eventually relented. To your little gained knowledge, those who can transform are able to do it in the few days leading up to and after the full moon. Outside of that window, transformation is not possible. Though the person benefits from other skills. The possession of unusual strength, the ability to bear the cold, quick healing, and faster speed and agility.

It would have been a win if not for the fact that you were freaking out internally and had your entire worldview shattered.

You and your grandmother sat in chairs by the fireplace when a knock sounded at the door. Cregan walked in with a nervous look. It felt all too familiar to the first day you arrived in Winterfell. Yet, in just a week, the circumstances of the situation had changed drastically. Your grandmother, ever the peacekeeper, stepped away to allow privacy. Cregan did not sit in her seat but chose to kneel in front of you. He made no attempt to reach out to you and kept his hands on his knees. His eyes were kind and understanding, and his hair was put up in his signature knot.

You wanted to curse him out for looking so perfect in a situation where your trust was strained. For if he asked, you would fall into his arms.

“I know you may have a lot of questions, all of which you are entitled to. I promise that.” Cregan spoke, his voice soft and caring.

“Questions?” You huffed out with a hint of a laugh before channelling your frustration, “I have more than just questions.”

Cregan nodded, “Hit me, if you feel like it, just don’t be angry with me. I can’t take that.”

You were looking at your hands placed in your lap, “I am not angry at you. I couldn’t if I tried.” You heard a relieved sigh escape his lips before you spoke up again, “Are you… one too?”

“Yes,” Cregan answered. You looked at him and he continued, “Many people in Winterfell are. I am the leader.”

“I am just trying to wrap my head around all this.” You explained.

Cregan gave you a ghost of a smile, “Take all the time you need. But, now that you know, I need to warn you.” Cregan leaned forward and took your hands in his. His fingers swiped along your knuckles and he prepared to speak.

“Aegon is not who you think he is,” He spoke, “Darling, he is one of us and he is not a good man.”

You almost scoffed at his words, “Aegon isn’t one of us. He has also been nothing but kind and treated me with respect.” You were curious as to what angle Cregan was getting at. What gain did he get by undermining the man you were with?

“Be honest with yourself. Have you noticed anything unusual about him?” Cregan pressed further.

You leaned back in your chair as Cregan stopped rubbing your hands, but still grasped them. Your back hit the chair and you looked at the crackling fire. You could not curse your past self for being so oblivious, for you had no knowledge that such a world existed.

All of the quirks Aegon possessed seemed to compound; adding to another startling realization. It was curious how often a person could experience such amount of life-changing realizations in a short period. His unnatural strength for such a lean figure and how he never seemed cold. There was also a time he had injured himself - a long cut down his forearm - that healed within the week and left an almost indecipherable scar. Aegon claimed it was a good balm, but now you knew the truth.

“Seven hells,” You whispered. You were not fully satisfied with getting caught up with the events from last night. “What happened last night? What was that shrieking?”

Cregan hung his head in shame, “Someone from Winterfell was found outside of the walls… murdered. All signs point to it being a wolf.” You did not think of doing so, but your fingers instinctively traced his hairline down to his chin and he lifted his head at your touch.

“Is Winterfell safe?” You asked.

“As safe as it can be. Constant watch around the wall. I truly don’t know how this happened.” He seemed to get lost in thought and began to rant, “I am the Lord of Winterfell and I cannot even keep my people safe. For all I know, it could have been one of my men and I have no way of knowing.” He had got off his knees by you and moved to face the fireplace. His right arm rested against the stone mantel.

You got out of your seat and approached him. Cregan, in your time at Winterfell, managed to seize your heart. A feat not yet achieved by any man in your life. It drove you mad, how easily his mere presence made nerves harbour your stomach. While he had spent so much time ensuring your comfort, you felt as though you had failed to do so for him.

You rested your hand on the spot between his shoulder blades on his back. His muscles tensed for a moment before relaxing into your touch. You brushed that spot gently. Cregan slightly turned to you behind him. Your other hand cupped his cheek. He leaned into your warmth like flowers to the sun drinking in its light; their life depending on its radiance. You moved your hand to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his hair. You pulled him in to duck down and rest his head on your shoulder. His nose brushed the crook of your neck and his breath tickled your skin. Cregan’s arms circled your waist.

You knew he was often a man of little words and action. A large part of you wished to fill that wordless void in his life.

“You are a good lord, Cregan. Most importantly, you are a fine man. There are times when you will be challenged when events beyond your control transpire. It is not how they come about that is of importance. It is how you act afterward that dictates who you are.” Your words seemed to strike a chord in him and his hold tightened. He did not say anything, but his breaths seemed to ease. You stroked his back in comfort and gently swayed side to side.

It was there, in front of the cracking fire, that you felt your relationship with Cregan had begun to expand past the bonds of friendship.

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

“Do you get fleas?” The question you voiced as you sat on a wooden fence outside of the blacksmith building in Winterfell was met with laughs from both Cregan and Ser Dustin.

It had been a while since your morning conversation with Cregan and the tension between you two was palpable. You had followed him around for the day, asking countless questions regarding any detail of being a wolf. Cregan took your questions with grace and answered them all with no hesitation.

You had ended up at the blacksmith, where Cregan liked to help when he could as it was a skill he preferred. Normally, had it been Aegon, you would have excused yourself to be spared from the boring process of smithing. However, the image of Cregan in a thin white shirt, covered in a sheen of sweat, and with exposed forearms as he showcased his strength was not a view you wished to part from so easily.

You acted rather nonchalant for the view in front of you. Each time he hammered down on some fiery sword, you had to avert your gaze afterwards as he had a habit of looking at you. You know he knew you were looking, and you knew he did it on purpose. That damned man sure knew how to infuriate you, as stoically as he portrayed himself to others.

Ser Dustin placed down a tool he was wielding, “No we do not have fleas. I must leave for my shift of wall patrol. I’ll see you both later.” While Cregan was focused on his hammering, Ser Dustin sent you a teasing wink and gestured to his friend. You returned his glance with a look of disbelief. Once you and Cregan were alone, that tension that had been building only intensified.

Cregan grabbed the heavy sword and picked it up with one hand, his bicep flexing, and dunked it into water. He glanced at you briefly before looking back down on his task, “If you could tell ten-year-old me what would happen in the last week, he would not believe it.”

“It's a big thing, all of this stress.” You replied as you munched on a piece of bread. Your feet swung back and forth.

“I don’t mean that,” Cregan spoke before letting out a laugh of disbelief, “I spent most of my years as a child waiting for your summer visits and all of my summers competing for your attention.” He seemed focused on his task, but there was trepidation behind his actions.

You finally understood his actions towards you. How he was so quick to welcome you to Winterfell and spend every available moment around you. In your family’s absence, he took it upon himself to look after your grandmother. Cregan displayed a heartfelt dedication all these years since he was but a boy, just for the possibility of seeing you again.

Nobody had ever dedicated themselves to you with such fervour before. That fact alone had you stuck in shock upon the fence.

After a moment of your heartbeat skipping, you spoke up, “You’re rather bold to say such things.”

Cregan moved to you, his figure towering over yours. The tops of his thighs brushed your knees as he leaned in towards your right ear, “I am,” he declared, “Do you think I would be a fool and let this opportunity pass?” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and let his touch linger. By now your faces were close and breathes intermingled. If you could just lean in…

“And what is this opportunity that you speak of?” You whispered.

“Do not dance around the subject. Must I cut my heart out and show it to you? Show you the lines in it which spell out your name?” Cregan matched your whispered voice, “Or will you continue to torture me so? Please give me an answer, for in both sleep and awake I am plagued by you. This is the closest you have been to me in years, yet you are impossibly far away.”

His nose brushed over your cheek and you saw him close his eyes and inhale your scent, “Tell me now if you do not feel the same and I will leave you alone. I will cast myself out as lord if you simply wish to never see me again. But please, do not leave me with no answer, for I fear that is worse than death. Do you share, to any degree, the familiarity I feel for you?”

Cregan opened his eyes to look into yours. You were stuck by their intensity, the sheer volume of care confined into such a small area. You remember your mother saying they were windows to the soul and as a child, you thought it silly. Now, you understood. You truly understood the gravity of such words and relished in it.

He showed you, at that moment, that he could be a man of words if he willed it - if it was worth it. You saw that you were worth it to him. You nodded to his question, unable to form words other than some shaken breaths.

“Words, sweetheart, I need to hear you say it,” Cregan responded.

You swallowed before answering, “Yes, Cregan, I do.”

He pushed his body closer to yours - erasing what little room was left. Cregan’s forehead rested against yours and his nose brushed across your cheek as he leaned in. He paused, staring at your lips with intensity before coming to look into your eyes. He did not move but rather waited. You leaned towards him and brushed his lips with your own. The moment contact was made, it opened a floodgate. Cregan’s lips were soft and warm and he kissed you with an intensity not felt before.

He took it upon himself to slot his body between your legs with one hand splayed on your lower back and the other at the base of your neck; his thumb brushing your skin just above the collar of the pelt that rested on your shoulders. Your hands moved to his chest, feeling the small scars that marked his skin and his thumping heartbeat. His lips melded against yours, moving to express his feelings beyond words.

You were lost in the comfort of it all. His scent, pine and firewood, engulfed you and sent a tickling feeling to your stomach. It all dulled your senses to everything around you. Each moment you two slightly parted to breathe would quickly come to an end as you found each other’s lips again. Cregan drank you in like a man poisoned and given an antidote; his life just grasping for that reprieve.

His ability to drive you crazy no longer angered you. If Cregan could hold and kiss you like this again, you would forsake your mind and drown in madness.

He pulled away only slightly with his forehead resting on yours. The two of you breathed in and out erratically. You finally opened your eyes to meet Cregan’s already looking at you. His gaze never wavered. It was then when he gave you a full smile, the first one you ever saw on him. It almost left you as breathless as the kiss you shared. One of his hands cupped your cheek, its size engulfing a portion of your face.

“You need not make a final decision now. I have no doubt this last day alone has drained you. Know that I will wait for your answer, and I will obey your wishes.” Cregan left a searing kiss on your cheek and squeezed you in his hold a final time before pulling away. The sudden increase of cold as his warm body parted from yours could have sent you into shock if not for the fact that you too possessed that strange ability. He nodded his head to you, “Sleep well, my love.”

You stayed sitting on that wooden fence, replaying the last few minutes in your mind. Cregan had been waiting for you, waiting since your shared childhood. Those days of running through flower fields hand in hand as children were behind you. Childhood innocence melted away into devotion. You felt hurt, just slightly, for having forgotten about him but him still thinking of you for all that time.

You shuffled off of the fence and walked home slowly. Snow began to fall once again. The silence that came with snowfall muffled the world around you. The people of Winterfell were in their homes, each chimney erupting smoke into the air. You could not leave Winterfell to go back home, for the concept of home shifted more and more in favour of wherever Cregan happened to be.

When you arrived at the house, the fluttering in your stomach had yet to go away. You shrugged your cloak and furs off and hung them up by the door. “Grandmother, I’m home!”

Your grandmother had her back to you as she fussed over something in the kitchen. She was dressed up in her cloak with the hood up, a detail that made you halt in your steps. She did not greet you back. You looked at her figure and felt off. She was taller than you recalled. You walked closer, each step taken slowly as if approaching a wounded animal. Uncertainty plagued your features.

“Grandmother?” You questioned.

The figure turned and the hood slipped off their head. You were met with a flash of silver hair and a wicked grin belonging to Aegon. The enchanted smile you once held after your moment with Cregan morphed into fear.

“Welcome home,” Aegon spoke, “Why the sad face? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

You knew you had to act like everything was okay. You needed to pretend you had no knowledge of who he was and plastered on a fake smile, “I am just so shocked to see you, my love.”

You forced yourself from gagging at those sugar-coated words and moved to wrap him in a hug. He accepted it and buried his head in your hair. He sniffed you and his hold strengthened.

“You think I would not smell that foul man on you?” Aegon’s tone was sharp and laced with venom. You pulled away and gave him a puzzled look.

“What are you talking about?” You left his hold. Aegon looked down on the ground, nodding his head and laughing sardonically. This moment of distraction is all you need to rush towards the door. You pulled it open. Just as you were about to call out, a hand covered your mouth and an arm wrapped around your waist. Aegon pulled you back into the house and threw you on the ground, his strength causing you to tumble into the nearby table and to the ground.

Aegon locked the deadbolt on the door and sighed in disappointment, “A man can give, and give, and give… Yet all women seem to do is take.” He stalked towards you and kneeled to where you were. His hand stretched out and stroked your cheek with his index finger.

Without thinking, you spat in his face. His head turned away from you as he used his sleeve to wipe it from his skin when he turned to you with a fire in his eyes. You took that momentary lapse of awareness he had to land a punch to his nose. It was the first time you exerted that super strength you had inherited recently, and it shocked you to see his body move back with force.

“You fucking whore!” Aegoin shouted as he pulled back his hand to show a flood of blood dribbling over his mouth and down his chin.

The front door pounded once. Both you and Aegon looked towards it. The deadbolt rattled against the wood. One final push was given and the door swung open and hit the wall. Your tense body eased slightly on the ground having seen Cregan enter. The man stepped forward to move towards you, but Aegon was faster.

He moved towards you and picked you off the floor. Aegon pulled a knife that had fallen from the table and wrapped his arms around your neck, holding the blade against your throat. Cregan immediately halted his steps.

“One move at all and I’ll gut you,” Cregan spoke. His face was not one morphed into anger. The expression he held was calm and neutral. No twitch of the brow or bead of sweat - despite pummeling down a heavy oak door just seconds prior. There was an air around him as if he knew who held the real power. The only indicator of his grievance, besides his voice, was the unadulterated malice in his eyes. It was a look that chilled the bone yet set the soul ablaze with animosity.

Cregan was, if anything, a calculating man.

“We are leaving,” Aegon spoke, “I am taking my woman back.” His grip on the knife tightened.

“You are threatening the life of the very person you wish to seize… Not exactly a wise move.” Cregan looked Aegon up and down with silent judgement.

“She means nothing to me, but she has wronged me and will pay for it. So tell me, Lord Stark, will you let anything happen to her?” Aegon sent him a taunting smile.

“If you so much as make one more wrong move towards her, do you think there is a corner of the continent that you could hide from me?” Cregan’s voice was steeled and calm. Your fear spiked at the feeling of cool metal against your throat.

Aegon cackled, “Oh, I am positively frightened,” sarcasm dripped from his mouth, “If I do not make it back to this little one’s hometown in two days, I made sure her mother and brother will not live to see a moment longer.” He then held out the knife towards Cregan, “We will go now.”

He pulled you along with him, past Cregan and out the door towards the gates of Winterfell. Tears stung your cheeks as the monster of a man paraded you down the streets you came to love. You knew Cregan stalked closely behind, unable to interfere for risk of your safety. Once outside the gates, Aegon turned around.

“Not so close, Lord Stark,” Aegon moved the knife to rest under your chin, the blade cradling your face, “You will stay here in your shit home.”

Aegon seemed lost in whatever high he achieved through his perceived victory. The blade moved and nicked your skin. It did not cut deep, but enough to draw blood. The once neutral expression on Cregan crumbled. His eyebrows twitched and his nose flared. An almost thundering-like growl emitted from his throat.

Cregan’s gaze moved behind Aegon and suddenly that anger cooled down a bit. You sent him a questioning look. His eyes communicated to you then - a message of safety and assurance.

Cregan feigned defeat and raised his arms in surrounder, “You’ve won, Aegon.” While the words sounded pleasing to the silver-haired man, you could sense the falsity of them.

A quick whiz sound shot through the air behind you. It was fast and ended with a thunk. The force of whatever it was pushed Aegon forward and released you from his grip. You tumbled down to the ground with him but used the momentum to push yourself back up and run to Cregan. You slammed into his chest and wrapped your head around his neck. Your neck arched behind to see Aegon, splayed on the ground, with an arrow lodged into the back of his shoulder.

Ser Dustin came out of the woods with a bow in his grip. You sighed in relief knowing it was someone you trusted. The man came up to you and Cregan while Aegon laughed hysterically on the ground, rolling in the snow while clutching his wound.

Cregan looked to his friend, “Take her to my home and see to it she is guarded well. Wrangle up a group to go to the town over and find her mother and brother - bring them straight back here and get there fast. Instruct other guards to patrol for her grandmother.”

“Yes, lord.” Ser Dustin nodded to him. Cregan unwrapped his arms around you and nudged you over to his friend. Ser Dustin reached his hand out and offered it to you, “My lady?”

“Your whore is not worth the trouble,” Aegon coughed as he lay on the ground. His body began to shake and you could hear the sounds of bones cracking.

Cregan kissed your temple hastily and spoke to his friend, “Get her out of here, quickly.”

“No, I am not leaving you.” You responded. Cregan did not listen to you and nodded to Ser Dustin.

“Apologies, my lady,” Ser Dustin spoke before he lifted you by the waist, your head and torso hanging over his back. You fought back against his hold, but it was futile. The man moved back and you lifted your head to watch as you were carried away from Cregan. His back was to you, but you could see his muscles flex under the fabric.

Once inside the walls of Winterfell and a street down, you could hear the animalistic growls and shouts of two wolves mixed with the slashing of flesh.

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

You had been pacing Cregan’s chambers for longer than you would like to admit. Ser Dustin took you here, posted guards outside, and left with a group to save your family. You were given a bowl and salve for your cut, but it did not matter to you. All of your thoughts were scrambled. Your mother and brothers' safety was at risk, your grandmother was nowhere to be found, and Cregan was fighting Aegon. Yet here you were, cooped into a room and unable to do anything. The powerlessness was crippling.

Shuffling sounded outside the door to Cregan’s chambers. The wooden door opened and Cregan walked in. You did not think before flying into his arms. He winced but wrapped his arms around you. His face nuzzled into your shoulder and he breathed heavily. His shoulders sank and exhaustion caused him to lean against you.

You helped him move to the couch by the hearth and set him down. Now that you were looking at him, you could see the dried blood that covered his shirt. Cregan’s white shirt had been torn to almost shreds and newer cuts adorned his old scars. His eyes were closed as he struggled to stay alert. When you sat next to him with supplies to clean his wounds, he reached forward.

Cregan lifted your chin gently to see the cut you had received. His thumb brushed over it, “I should have killed him all those years ago. Exile was not good enough.” His voice was scratchy and the timbre reverberated through the room.

“Is he…?” Your voice trailed off.

“Dead? Almost. He is in a cell,” Cregan spoke, “It is your justice that needs to be met, not mine.”

You nodded at his words and made quick work of your movements. A wash basin with a cloth was on your lap. Your fingers gripped the cloth and soaked it through the water. Only the sounds of sloshing water and crack of firewood as it burned filled the room. Candles littered the space, giving you enough vision to assess the marks on his skin. Cregan used what little energy he had left to shrug off the tattered shirt. You started with one of his arms, the one closest to you.

It was when you moved to the other arm that Cregan talked, “Your grandmother is okay. She was found outside the walls. No injuries except a bump on her head - from Aegon knocking her out and taking her cloak. She is home and being tended by healers with guards posted both in and outside the house.”

You leaned in to place comforting kisses on his shoulder, slow and meaningful. You moved from there to his collarbone while staying careful to not brush over any of his wounds.

“Thank you.” You whispered. It was then that you moved to his back. Cregan turned so you could clean the blood and put a salve on the cuts without any trouble. With every few swipes of the cloth, you would place a kiss on his back. He would sigh with each one.

When you reached his front, it was hard for you not to be distracted by his muscles. You cursed your brain for focusing on that when he was injured. Your hands mended the cuts, trailing down further and to the muscles over his stomach. The cloth in your hands brushed over one of the v-lines peaking out from his pants. You blush under his gaze.

Once finished with your task, you got up and placed the supplies on a small round table by a chair next to the fire. You spotted what appeared to be a wardrobe and opened it. Shuffling through the shirt you found a nightshirt similar to the one he wore previously. You went back to him and helped him put it on as he winced to the movements.

Your hands went to adjust the collar. Cregan grabbed your right wrist and held it up, kissing the pulse point a few times with his eyes closed and brows furrowed. You wordlessly guided him to lie down on the couch with you. Your back hit the plush cushions as he rested his body partly over yours with his head on your shoulder. His arms encircled you and yours wrapped around his back. Mindful of the wounds, you rubbed his back gently. It was not much long after that he fell into slumber.

You waited a while before allowing yourself to sleep, for you wanted to make sure Cregan would rest.

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

The days following had been more eventful, but less chaotic. That next morning you had rushed to your grandmother to check on her. She was in good condition and more worried over your state, but when she saw the cuts and bruises across Cregan that peaked from his clothing, she fussed over his state. You remembered the words she uttered when Cregan told her he was alright.

“Do you think I was born yesterday, boy? Sit down and I’ll make some food.”

That day was spent drenched in worry for your mother and brother. However, Ser Dustin came back with his company of men and your family; completely safe and out of harm. That day you had cried in Cregan’s arms from relief. The stress of your trip, from your sick grandmother to discovering everything about your heritage, and Aegon had finally come down on you.

Aegon was executed after five days in a cell. Not an ounce of care was to be found in your heart. The trial he had was quick. Evidence collected by Ser Dustin caught him guilty to the murder of a resident of Winterfell, the one you heard screaming the night of the full moon. Cregan cut Aegon’s head from his body, and the remains were burned and discarded in the woods. All that was left of Aegon were memories - which would fade through the years to come.

Everything got easier as winter melted into spring. Your relationship with your mother healed over time, as you both got into a fight regarding her keeping such a secret from you for so long. To rectify this, you and her sat your brother down to tell him - to avoid every keeping secrets in your family from then on. Of course, that had quickly become a mistake as he began to hang around Cregan and his other friends who were wolves as well, asking an insurmountable amount of questions and counting down the days until he could become one. Cregan did not mind and reminded you of all the questions you had when you found out, to which you whacked his shoulder.

Over time, you and Cregan got into a routine. You continued to teach the children of Winterfell while taking on more duties to ease the stress off of Cregan. He welcomed your help and in exchange would visit the children often to give you breaks. You quickly found yourself spending more nights at his home than your grandmother's.

It was here, during one of your many nights together, that you found yourself under the furs of his bed. Both of your bodies were exposed and covered in a sheen of sweat. Cregan was on his back with your head resting on his chest. Your fingers traced the scars across his skin as one of his hands stroked your arm gently. His hand moved to cover yours and still its movements.

“My offer still stands for your family. There is plenty of room for them in this house.” Cregan brought your hand up to kiss the palm.

“I’ve been trying to convince them, but they feel you have already done enough to help.” You responded.

Cregan squeezed you closer to his body. “How bad would it look for the Lord of Winterfell to let his betrothed’s family stay in such a small cottage?” His tone bordered on teasing.

“Almost as bad as taking her virtue before the wedding.” You jested. You had lifted your head to look at him and Cregan feigned a look of offence.

“How dare you question the sanctity of my bride?” He began and then lowered his voice to an almost threatening tone, “That is a punishable offence.”

The two of you both laughed gently. You rested your head back onto his chest and sighed. Cregan adjusted his body to be turned and your back was lowered onto the bed. He sat up for a moment before trapping your head between his forearms, his body hovering over yours. Cregan lowered his face to be just inches above yours. You stifled a yawn and he raised one of his eyebrows.

“Why is my lady so tired?” He questioned.

You moved your hands up to push lightly on his bare chest, “Well, if you were not so insatiable with your appetite, I may have time to rest.”

A cheeky grin formed on his face, “And are you rested?”

“I could stay awake for a little while…” You answered. Cregan nodded at your words.

“That is good.” He lowered his face and captured your lips in a kiss. His lips were soft and pillowy against your own. It was slow and searing. Some of Cregan’s hair tickled your face. His mouth parted slightly with yours as he used his tongue to explore your mouth. You let out a whine and he responded with a low, almost indecipherable grumble from his chest.

His mouth moved to the side of yours, down your jaw, and to your collar bone; leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake. There were newly formed marks on your neck created just minutes prior and others over the past few days. He kissed each one again, marking his pride. His mouth would clamp down on the skin, biting and sucking ever so gently. Your eyes closed as you entered a state of relaxation.

You craved him more and more. Each day was a newly discovered ache of want, of need. Your attitude matched his own, though his unquenchable hunger for you had been undefeatable.

Cregan moved down further and further. One of his hands cupped your breast and began to massage it gently while his mouth went to the other. His finger teased your nipple, flicking it gently. He dedicated slow movements that made you suck in a breath and arch your back up closer to his touch. Cregan’s favourite activity in recent weeks was discovering every little thing that made you tick. Every inch of skin surveyed, most times more than once.

Keeping a hand on your breast, he shuffled down further to your stomach. His lips brushed across the smooth skin. The pelts were on his back but moved down with him, exposing your body to the cool air of the stone bedchamber. He kissed your hipbone, eliciting a sharp inhale of breath from you. You bit your lip as his hot breath brushed over your sensitive core. What exhaustion you previously had was completely abandoned as you felt your body come alive with an unrivalled energy.

Cregan could sense your newfound energy and chuckled lightly. Both of his hands gripped the sides of your thighs, parting your legs just enough for him. His fingers dug into the pillowy flesh and his thumbs rubbed hypnotic swipes back and forth. His mouth hovered just above your core when he stopped.

“Cregan,” you whined, “Please.” Your hips bucked up in desperation. He gave a quick swipe of his tongue along your core and pulled back. The single action made your head dizzy and your body thrum. You wriggled under his touch and intense stare, body shuddering in anticipation.

Cregan wasted no time in burying his face in you, ravishing every inch possible. His nose brushed your bud. The lewd moans that slipped from your mouth egged him on, encouraging him more. He groaned into your skin, sending a rumble throughout your core area. Your hands could not bear gripping the sheet below you so they moved to tangle in his dark locks.

When you tuged on the strands, Cregan growled lowly and picked up the pace of his movements. His tongue moved to your bud and sucked as one of his fingers moved up to rub your core, gently sinking into you. Your back shot off the bed and you let out a startled gasp. Your reaction only sparked more from Cregan.

His actions became feverish rather than carefully planned. His tongue worked in circular motions as he inserted another finger. His hand moved with reckless abandon, set on making you reach your peak. Your breaths became more erratic and lewd noises escaped your lips; each word encouraging Cregan more.

You were quickly reaching your peak when Cregan pushed another finger in, making your walls clench. The familiar pressure that coiled in your lower stomach built up. His tongue began making circular motions on your bud, speeding up intensity and pressure. Your body squirmed while it trembled under Cregan’s care.

In a moment of white-hot light, you reached your climax. It washed over you in waves, spreading out from your stomach. Cregan’s hands gripped your thighs and held your lower body down as you huffed and writhed on the bed. He pulled his fingers out but continued giving your core attention with his mouth. By then you were lost in the throes of ecstasy as he pushed you to overstimulation.

“Cregan!” Your shout was high-pitched as your lungs sucked in air. Cregan lifted his face and made eye contact with you. He smirked before kissing his way up your body again, similar to his trip down only minutes ago.

Cregan, now hovering above you, leaned down to give you a soft kiss. It was not feverish and rushed, but wrapped in care and devotion. You moaned into his mouth as his hands grabbed your hips and flipped you over suddenly. You let out a startled shout that melded into a joint laugh with him. Your thighs wrapped around his hips and it was then when you noticed the feel of him against your core.

You leaned down to kiss him and sighed knowing you would not get much rest that night.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ if you want to be added to any taglist, click here.

___________

This was my second time writing smut and I think I'm starting to get the hang of it!

Thank you all for your continued support!

series taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs @dracaryxzs @beebeechaos @libdarkheart @aisselasstuff @whodis? @void21 @l-uminescent @idontlikelizards @poppinspops @nixtape-foryou @bluryar14 @mynameisjxlia @asteria33

#hotd imagine #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan fanfiction #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #house stark #fairy tale retelling #fairy tale au

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infamous-light · 5 months ago

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You Belong to Me Ch. 5

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

Grogginess clouded your senses as you gradually came to.

The world around you seemed hazy and unfocused, with shadows dancing at the edges of your vision. Every attempt to concentrate or bring clarity to your thoughts was met with a heavy fog that refused to lift, making it difficult to know where you were or how you got there.

You became acutely aware of the dryness in your mouth, each breath feeling like sandpaper against your parched throat. The inside of your cheeks felt rough and sticky, as if covered with a film of grit. Your tongue lay like a foreign object in your mouth, swollen and sluggish, coated in a bitter residue that you couldn't identify. It tasted like a combination of metal and something medicinal, a flavor that made you want to scrape your tongue against your teeth to remove it.

When you attempted to shift your position, you discovered that your limbs weren't being responsive. It was as if your body had forgotten how to obey your commands, each movement slow and half-hearted. Your muscles ached with a deep, persistent fatigue, and a strange tingling sensation spread from your fingers to your toes, like tiny pinpricks dancing just beneath your skin.

As you lay there, a faint awareness began to seep into your mind. The surroundings, though still blurred and indistinct, began to register as unfamiliar. The bed beneath you was far too grand, its dimensions larger and its surface plusher than what you were used to. You could feel the mattress giving way just enough to cradle your body comfortably. The sheets caressed your skin with an unfamiliar softness, a level of luxury that hinted at high quality and expense. Silk, you guessed, or perhaps some other exotic fabric that you had only read about. Above you, the ceiling stretched high into the air, adorned with golden filigree that caught the dim light from the nearby flickering candle.

Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of the heavy drapes framing the windows. The fabric was rich and velvety, its deep red color absorbing the faint light that filtered through. They were only partially drawn, allowing a sliver of the outside world to be visible. Through the gap, you could see the night sky, the moon casting a pale glow over the village.

And that's when reality struck you.

The room, the bed, the view of the village, and the high ceiling all combined into a sudden, shocking realization that sent a jolt through your body.

You were in Lady Dimitrescu’s bedchambers.

Why were you here?

You wracked your brain, trying to piece together the events that led to your current predicament but nothing would come forth. You needed to get out of here.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you attempted to push yourself up from the bed. Each muscle in your body protested, sending jolts of pain through your already exhausted frame. Your arms trembled as you forced them to lift your weight, and a sharp, stinging sensation shot through your back and shoulders. Just then, a tall figure materialized beside the bed. Lady Dimitrescu’s expression was unreadable as she gently but firmly pressed you back down onto the mattress.

“You should stay in bed.” Her tone was soothing, yet it held an edge that made it clear she expected to be obeyed.

Her gaze locked onto yours, piercing and intense, holding you captive. Then, a faint, almost predatory smile played on her lips, sending a shiver through you.

“You're not ready to be up just yet.”

Desperately, you tried to remember what happened, but your mind was a hazy mess. Each thought was slow to form and quick to dissipate like smoke in the wind. You knew something was wrong, that this weakness and disorientation wasn’t normal. Your head throbbed with the effort of trying to recall.

There.

Clinging to that fleeting moment of clarity, you concentrated on the last clear memory you had. It was like grasping at shadows, but gradually, the scene started to sharpen. You recalled sitting at a dining table, a drink in your hand. The memory was vivid for a moment – the cool glass in your grip, the clink of crystal as you took a sip, bright golden eyes meeting yours from across the table – and then it faded into darkness.

The image of those eyes lingered, a focal point in the swirling confusion of your thoughts, drawing you back to that pivotal moment.

“You...drugged me.” You managed to whisper, your voice barely audible and cracking with the effort.

Lady Dimitrescu's smile broadened, offering no immediate confirmation or denial.

With a grace and tenderness that belied her massive stature, she reached out to adjust the blanket draped over you. It was an unexpectedly nurturing gesture, one that contrasted sharply with her cruel nature.

“Why?” The question slipped from your lips, your voice barely more than a quiver in the silence.

You searched her eyes for answers, for any hint of her intentions, but found only a disconcerting calmness.

Lady Dimitrescu's gaze remained fixed on you, her smile unwavering and enigmatic as her left hand rested against the side of your face. The touch of her palm on your cheek was both soothing and chilling. The coolness of her skin was a stark contrast to the feverish warmth of your own.

“All in good time. For now, you should rest.” She said lowly.

You wanted to protest, to demand answers, however, your body refused to cooperate, the strength draining from your limbs as if sapped by an unseen force. The words died in your throat, replaced by a deep, consuming fatigue. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, the room around you blurring into a comforting darkness. The effort to keep them open became a losing battle, the allure of sleep too strong to resist.

The drug's effects were unrelenting, pulling you under and you could do nothing but succumb to its relentless call.

***

The warmth of the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows roused you from a fitful sleep.

You blinked against the bright light, momentarily disoriented as your surroundings came into focus. As your awareness sharpened, you realized that something – or someone – was wrapped around you. The warmth against your back, the steady rise and fall of another's breath. It all pointed to one startling conclusion: you were enveloped in Lady Dimitrescu's arms. Her form was curled protectively around you, her body molded to yours in an intimate embrace.

Instinctively, you tried to wriggle free, your heart racing as adrenaline coursed through your veins. The sensation of her strong, unyielding arms holding you in place sent a jolt of panic through your system. You floundered, your movements frantic and desperate, but the attempt to break away only seemed to tighten her grip, her arms constricting around you with surprising strength.

“Please,” your voice was so weak. “L-Let go.”

Lady Dimitrescu stirred behind you, her presence shifting as she awoke more fully.

“Hush, darling, there's no need to fuss.” She murmured, her voice still thick with sleep but carrying a commanding tone that brooked no argument.

Her words did little to calm you. You struggled again but her grip was too strong, her fingers like iron bands around your arms. The sheer power she possessed was frightening, and the more you fought, the more futile your efforts seemed. It was as if she were effortlessly restraining a child. Lady Dimitrescu chuckled softly, the sound resonating deep within her chest and sending a vibration through your back.

“Shhh, pet,” she crooned, “You must learn to relax. If you don’t stop squirming, I won’t release you.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine.

The situation felt surreal, like a bizarre dream from which you couldn't wake. Yet, the heat from her body pressed against yours and the firmness of her grip were undeniably real. Resignation crept in, and you stopped struggling, your muscles tensing as you braced yourself for whatever was to come.

“That's better,” Lady Dimitrescu purred, her voice taking on a saccharine sweetness that made your skin crawl. “See? It's not so bad, is it?”

The gentle brush of her lips against your earlobe and the warmth of her breath against your neck was unnerving. It felt invasive, a forced intimacy that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“Now, let's enjoy the morning, shall we?”

***

Lady Dimitrescu sat regally in front of her vanity.

She was already dressed in her signature white dress, the fabric cascading around her like a waterfall of silk. She picked up her lipstick, a small tube of deep red, and applied the rich color to her lips with practiced precision. The crimson hue stood in stark contrast to her alabaster skin, highlighting her sharp, aristocratic features.

As she deftly traced the curves of her lips, perfecting the application, she caught movement from her bed in the reflection of her vanity mirror. Her eyes, sharp and observant, landed on you through the glass, and a small, amused smirk appeared on her lips.

“You’re awake, I see.” She commented casually.

She capped the lipstick and set it down on the vanity with a delicate touch. In one graceful motion, she rose from her seat, her dress flowing around her as she approached the side of the bed where you lay.

You gazed up at her hazily, blinking slowly as you tried to focus, your mind still foggy from sleep. Lady Dimitrescu made a cooing noise as she stared down at you, a sound that was both soothing and slightly mocking. She reached out and brushed your hair away from your forehead, her touch gentle.

“Don’t you look adorable like this.” She remarked.

There was a gleam in her eyes, a spark of satisfaction that suggested she enjoyed seeing you like this – helpless and at her mercy. The corners of her lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile before her expression changed into something inscrutable.

You couldn’t help but tremble as her gloved fingers moved from your forehead and traced down the curve of your jawline. Her touch was cool and calculated, sending goosebumps across your flesh. Her eyes scanned your face with an intensity that made your skin prickle. It felt as though she was dissecting every detail, analyzing and cataloging each feature.

She straightened up once more, her towering form casting a long shadow over you.

“I will have the staff prepare breakfast for you,” Lady Dimitrescu said tenderly. “I’ll be back shortly.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the bedroom.

The space suddenly felt colder and emptier.

All you could do was lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to recall more of your memories but the fog in your mind made it hard to grasp even the simplest of thoughts. Your brain felt like it was submerged in a thick, oppressive mist, where every attempt to form a coherent idea slipped away into the murk. It made everything that much harder and disjointed. You couldn’t remain like this. The longer you stayed motionless, the more the sense of urgency grew. You didn't want to stay in bed any longer; the idea of being confined felt suffocating, as if the bed itself was a trap holding you in a vice grip.

You forced your muscles to move, straining your arms and legs. The simple act of lifting an arm required immense concentration and willpower, each muscle fiber protesting the command. It felt like moving through thick syrup, every motion slow and difficult. The sheets clung to your body, adding to the resistance.

The moment you hit the floor, a sharp pain shot through your body. The initial impact left you momentarily breathless, and you gasped as the air was knocked out from your lungs. You lay there for a moment, gathering your strength, the chill seeping into your bones, before beginning to crawl across the hardwood floor.

Each movement was a challenge. Your arms felt like lead, barely able to support your weight, and your legs dragged uselessly behind you. The texture of the floor was unforgiving, pressing into your flesh, and you could feel the subtle grains and imperfections against your forearms. Every inch forward was a monumental effort, and your breath came in ragged gasps. Your lungs burned with the exertion, and sweat dripped down your face, stinging your eyes and blurring your vision.

The bedroom seemed to stretch endlessly before you.

Minutes felt like hours as you inched your way across the room, your body trembling with exhaustion. The cold, hard floor seemed to drain the last remnants of your strength with each painful shuffle forward. The door ahead seemed to taunt you, never getting any closer no matter how hard you tried. Just then, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, growing louder with each passing second. Panic flared up within you, but you were too tired to quicken your pace.

The door swung open and Lady Dimitrescu stepped inside. Her presence filled the doorway as she towered above you. She looked down at you with a mixture of disappointment and irritation, her lips curling into a frown. Her eyes, cold and piercing, bore into yours, making you feel even smaller and more insignificant.

“I should’ve expected this pathetic escape attempt.” She bit out with each word.

You felt a wave of helplessness wash over you, the fight draining from your limbs in an instant. With a resigned sigh of your own, you let your head rest on the floor, too exhausted to protest further.

Lady Dimitrescu walked over to you in a slow, deliberate stride. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor echoed throughout her bedchambers. Her shadow fell over you as she crouched down, scooping you up into her arms. The weight of her embrace was surprisingly gentle yet firm, cradling you as if you were something precious and delicate. As she carried you across the bedroom, you couldn't help but feel small and fragile in her grasp. Once Lady Dimitrescu reached the bedside, she laid you back on the mattress carefully, ensuring you were comfortable before letting go. She arranged the blankets around you with care, smoothing the covers with her hands. Her touch lingered slightly, as if reluctant to break the connection.

“I want you to stay in bed.” Lady Dimitrescu said firmly.

Frustration and exhaustion took over as tears began to well up in your eyes. God, you hated how vulnerable you were at this moment, the raw emotions bubbling to the surface despite your best efforts to contain them. Your vision blurred, and you tried to blink the tears away, but they only flowed more freely down your cheeks.

Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze softened slightly, her usually steely demeanor giving way to a moment of unexpected tenderness. She reached out, her hand large yet gentle, and wiped your tears away with her thumb.

“There’s no need to cry, darling,” she said, her voice low and reassuring. “Just rest.”

Her touch was oddly comforting, despite the circumstances that brought you here. Leaning in, she kissed your forehead, her lips cool against your clammy skin. The soft brush of her lips stirred a bittersweet ache within you, a mix of comfort and disdain.

You sobbed.

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil fanfic #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil #resident evil 8

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ksbrighton · 2 months ago

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A Party to Remember Part 1 [Sonic DC AU] This story was inspired by art created by @blu-ish

The wind cut sharply through the night air, rustling the rooftops of the sprawling city below. Dark clouds hung low, concealing the stars and blanketing the sky in ominous gloom. Bathog stood at the edge of the rooftop, a black silhouette cloaked in shadows, his red eyes narrowed as they scanned the city, waiting, watching. Gotham breathed beneath him, a city constantly on the verge of chaos. He could feel it in the cold wind, in the distant hum of traffic, in the muted whispers of a world teetering on the edge.

Suddenly, a soft whoosh broke the silence, barely audible to most, but Bathog didn’t flinch. Supersonic descended from the sky, his red cape catching the wind and billowing behind him like a flag. He landed with an effortless grace, his bright blue and red figure a sharp contrast to the dark, brooding skyline of Gotham. A cocky grin was plastered on his face as he sauntered up to Bathog, exuding confidence.

Supersonic crossed his arms, his eyes flicking to the glowing Bat-Signal projected in the sky. He quirked an eyeridge, the faintest snort escaping him.

"Subtle as always, Bats," he said, his voice light and teasing, the grin never leaving his face.

Bathog didn’t look at him, his cape fluttering slightly as the wind tugged at it. His reply was low, almost a growl.

"Coming from the one running around in a bright red cape?"

Supersonic chuckled, unfazed. He gave a small shrug, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Hey, it’s not my fault red looks good on me." He took a step closer, the playful tone in his voice as sharp as ever, daring Bathog to bite.

Bathog’s lips tugged into the faintest hint of a smirk, though it was quickly concealed by his usual stoic demeanor.

"Hmph, that’s beside the point. You act like I’m the one who made the Bat-Signal."

Supersonic tilted his head, his smirk widening.

"Well, it’s not like you don’t encourage it by answering." He uncrossed his arms, placing a hand on his hip, his posture relaxed, teasing —trying to get under Bathog's skin. “So what’s the reason for the sudden rooftop party invite?”

Bathog rolled his eyes, a low grunt escaping him. Without a word, he reached into his utility belt and pulled out a data pad, handing it to Supersonic. “What's this?”

"We’ve got a problem," Bathog said, his voice dropping, all business now. "I thought you’d want to know about it, considering it’s partially in your neck of the woods."

Supersonic raised an eyebrow, the usual cocky grin fading as he scanned the information on the screen. His green eyes flicked rapidly over the data, and his expression shifted from amused to serious, a grimace tugging at the corner of his mouth as he finished reading.

"How did you get this information on Ivo Luther?" Supersonic asked, his tone noticeably more focused now. "And why would he be delivering kryptonite to the Joker personally?" He handed the pad back to Bathog, his mind already racing with possibilities. "Also, how did you get this clear photo of Ivo? Is this his office—?"

"I have my ways." Bathog’s voice was stern, his red eyes flicking toward Supersonic as he slipped the data pad back into his belt. "They’re obviously planning something, and it includes debilitating you in some way."

Supersonic’s cocky grin returned as he nudged Bathog playfully with his elbow.

"Aw, are you worried about me?"

Bathog scowled, swatting at Supersonic’s arm, but there was no real malice behind the gesture.

"No. I’m simply letting you know that you should keep an eye out until we have more information... Speaking of..." He reached into his belt once more and handed Supersonic a small card.

"An invitation?" Supersonic quirked a brow, turning the card over in his hand. "To what?"

"Would it kill you to read?"

"Eh, I could but I just love hearing your voice."

"It's an invitation to the Robotnik Enterprises Charity Gala, you’ll need one to get in." Bathog replied completely ignoring Supersonic's comment, his tone even, but with a hint of flustered impatience. "I have a connection that informed me Ivo will be attending. I think that would be a good chance for us to get him alone and figure out what he’s up to."

"Us?" Supersonic’s voice was light with surprise, and his eyeridges shot up in disbelief. He leaned in slightly, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes.

"Yes, us," Bathog responded, his gaze steady. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Oh! No, no, it’s just... I know you like to work alone. I’m surprised you want to work together." Supersonic’s grin softened into something a bit more sincere, his tone hinting at something more than he was letting on.

Bathog crossed his arms, his cape brushing against the edge of the rooftop as he began walking toward the ledge.

"Your life is in danger, and I don’t feel like cleaning up your streets when you’re gone and I doubt any of the other heroes would want to pick up your slack. The obvious choice would be for us to team up and get this settled before it becomes dire."

Supersonic watched him with a thoughtful expression before muttering under his breath, "Why can’t it ever be just an invite to lunch or something…"

"What?" Bathog snapped, turning his head slightly but not fully looking back.

"Ah, nothing, I’ll see you at the gala." Supersonic replied quickly, waving it off with a grin.

Bathog rolled his eyes and, without another word, leapt off the building, his form gliding effortlessly into the night. The darkness swallowed him whole, leaving nothing but the faint sound of the wind in his wake.

Supersonic stood there for a moment, watching him disappear into the gloom, a hand brushing across his face in mild exasperation.

"Chaos... now I have to figure out a way to be at that gala without giving up my secret identity to Bats," he muttered to himself. "I bet Amy would want to get up close to some of the attendants for an in-depth interview... maybe she can cover for me while Bats and I interrogate Ivo..."

Supersonic nodded to himself, his resolve firming as he leapt into the air, shooting into the night sky like a golden comet. The wind whipped past him, but his mind was already on the upcoming gala.

[I was laughing every time I wrote *Bathog*, my humor is broken =.= @mars-wuz-herez @monotone90 @stormyy-bluezz01 I didn't forget about tagging you guys! :3 ]

Here’s Part 2

#sonadow #fanfic #sonic DC AU #Joker is Jet BTW because I thought it fit him #SonicxShadow DC AU Fanfic

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chosoclub · 8 months ago

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Art by nada_ge

Playlist based off of this work → here

CONSPECTUS: Suguru Geto is transfixed by you and he would eliminate anything that stands in the way of you and him. TAGS: MDNI! ° wc 3k ° dark content ° stalking ° cannibalistic idioms ° masturbation ° afab!reader ° cunnilingus (f!receiving) ° penetration ° fingering ° incel!suguru LMAO ° no y/n mention

SUTPHIN BLVD ⋆ SUGURU GETO&READER

The word soulmate has been churned and spit out with no vindication; Stellar collisions seldom occur frequently, and when two white dwarfs spin into each other, their mass instability can conceive a supernova so strong, that the dwarfs’ obsolete mass is thwarted into the galaxy. Yet, this word, soulmate, an event that is meant to encapsulate a feeling so obsessive, so thrusting and strong has been diluted to nothing but a mere expression of love.

When Suguru first saw you, neon and glowing, he empathized with the supernova. Partially from the alcohol that flowed up to his irises, partially from the way you dress hugged the concaves of your waist and thighs, he felt his vision vignette with you in the center. Your eyes sparkled like dew-misted grass, the words that came out of your lips blurry when they hit his ears,

“I said, I love this song! What’s it called?” You repeated after his second consecutive huh?

The music boomed through his headphones, making his head spin, and the motor functions flow out of his fingertips when spinning a knob to reverb to the next track.

“Techno? It sounds sick!” You yell over the crowd when he responds, your voice maintains a soft and silky tone even when you’re hollering.

The music in his ears ceases immediately when he rips the headphones off his head, “Take over for me,” body towards his partner, eyes still on you, watching you begin to dance and blend back into the crowd. The other grabs his headphones.

The feeling takes over him like ebony ink, swirling through his arteries until it fills him up from head to toe and he feels overtaken by the overwhelmingly obsessive jet black: Her.

At the end of the night, Suguru has you propped against the brick wall of the bathroom, a hand under your dress, kneading at your breast as you softly moan against his mouth. Your lips are glistening with spit, the plump coral splitting to moan his name in the blur of the club music. He sucks at your neck, the tension between his lips and your skin bleeding a red, purple, blue he laps his tongue over before moving lower to create another masterpiece on the skin.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” He slurs against your bare stomach, placing a kiss on the surface before bracing your legs on his shoulders and laving the entrance of your pussy. His warm tongue against your flesh contrasts the cold wall against your back as you groan his name against the brick. You can feel every ridge that protrudes his tongue as he flicks it in between the currents of your pussy. Suguru wants desperately to twist his tongue until you’re crumbling against him like putty, spinning you at his will until there’s nothing left.

The bass of the music feels even more intense when you’re so close to your orgasm and when his acute movements quicken, you have to grip at his long raven locks to keep conscious.

This routine develops over the next few months, and Suguru and his tongue become a presence you see more often. His arm leaning against the door frame when you swing the door open, the two of you both in agreement on terms he’s there for. He’d stay to chat, slowly unfolding you at the palm of his hand, learning more, understanding more about you, and then eventually in the night, fucking the daylights out of you. To you, he modulates into a friend who’s pretty good at making you feel good. One night, he’s sitting on the edge of the couch, arm on the cherry brown armrest, the other stretched against the back cushions and hovering over your head. His eyes have a warm crease to them.

“I like having you around,” you turn to him, smiling. The arm by your neck shifts so that he can rest his temple against his knuckles.

“Yeah? I’m not surprised.”

“Jesus, no, not like that,” pausing, “yes, like that, but also as someone to talk to.”

He smiles, eventually unable to help the toothy grin against his right palm. You lean to slide your tongue in between his teeth. He takes you in, arms shifting to each other’s hair, tongue sliding against the soft part of your cheek.

“I could say the same about you,” he groans against your lips. You tug lightly at his long, black hair, moaning softly when you feel the tip of his shaft poking your thigh. He slides down the couch to let you fully lay atop him and feel the girth of his dick. To Suguru, you begin to overtake every part of his brain. He can’t help but think of you at all hours of the day until the image of you is a constant in his brain, and the thought of you splitting to run to some derivative of him tightens his chest, the black inkling rising to his head until the only thing that can bring him back to Earth is the vision you opening the front door and welcoming him in. When he catches you gazing down at him, gluttonous on your core like licking a bloomed orchid in the spring, the thought of someone else having you at their will like this, eyes glossed over, chest heaving, has him digging his nails into the silk flesh of your thighs until the marks flush bright red slits.

You’re so fucking perfect, Suguru hovers over your lips, his velvet fingers swirling the nectar between your legs, streaks spilling out onto his knuckles. He couldn’t imagine someone else making you feel as good as he does.

Even when he’s not with you, a day off from work, he's stretched on the couch, one hand pawing at his dick, the other swiping through the collection of you – one sleeping soundly on his arm, one through the blinds of you leaning close to the mirror, mouth slightly agape, hand mid-brushing an ebony wand through your lashes, taken minutes before he knocked on your front door. All are unique in their setting, all similar of you unknowing.

Suguru pictures your velvet flesh, the gravitational pull in the way you lean against him, thrust against him, heave against him. He wonders what it would be like to devour you whole, too pretty too chew, too delicious to consume you only with his eyes. He thinks of your ruby-fresh blood, the way it percolates against your skin when he leaves hickeys all over your chest – wondering if he could bite hard enough to get a taste of the rouge, even picturing your eyes widening in surprise and possibly fear at the sudden action. Regardless, he wonders what it tastes like, expectantly sweet or bitter. He sighs at the thought, feeling his vision blur at the abrupt surge of a climax.

The next day, when the words, I think I met someone spill from your lips, a soft smile as you look at him expectantly for him to grin back, flash his pearly canines like he always does when you lean close to him on the couch, he only narrows his eyes.

“Who?”

“I don’t think you’d know him but I met him while I was out the other night,” your smile is sticking to your cheeks without you realizing it and Suguru despises it, at least when it’s for another man. He can feel his heart beginning to thunder in his ribcage and his blood speed through his veins until they’re protruding out of his skin.

This felt like a double entendre, one side to tell Suguru as a supposed friend, and the other, a shadow that grows along the room, to say it’s probably in due time we stop seeing each other sexually, but you can still stick around and listen to the new man I’ve been fucking, and Suguru was convinced he despised that even more. The jet-black feels like it’s overtaking every hair on his body, rage bubbling from his core until all he can do to suppress it all is slightly tighten his jaw.

“Shit, well, that’s great – I’d love to meet him sometime.” He thinks your smile is cruel; a pinnacle of some sort of game you’ve entered with yourself to make him feel like shit after all these months. He has to count his breaths to not offset the rhythm of you two. He gazes into your unfazed composure, the vignette growing until the innocent facade begins to slip away until all that’s left of you is skeletal and infuriating. He can’t help but hate you for this.

He thinks of this someone from the other night, wondering if he’d already been over and sat in the same place Suguru sits. If he’d been inside you already. How it went. What it felt like. He can’t help the way he quietly scowls towards the floor, rageful at someone and rageful at you.

He leaves your place that afternoon with a permanent narrow in his eyes, but the next night, he’s mapping the steps back to your place. Sutphin Boulevard, he murmurs to himself. He adores how idiotically you leave the blinds unfolded at night for anyone to walk by and peek into life inside. A sweet sigh of relief when he sees you alone cuddled on the couch, phone slipping from your numb hand, eyes closed and resting with the TV blaring.

He tsks disappointingly at how easy it is for someone to peer inside and watch you sleep. Hypnotic, his thoughts and the way he wants to pick you up and nestle you deep where you can rest forever, unbothered by anyone else but him. Suguru stands there a while, the street empty so late at night, watching and picturing you waking up with him above you flashing an impish smile; Once again his desires shift to see fear in your eyes at how easily he managed to get inside. He’d shake his head, a thumb sliding across your jaw, the other four fingers pressing down on the purple veins of your neck. He wondered if you’d hide from him, ghost him for a while; not answer texts or calls until he’d have no choice but to slip back inside your life. Found ya, sweetheart.

Things didn’t seem to be running smoothly for you and your new man, you find solace and trust in Suguru. You invite him out to the park nearby, the secluded lake that welcomes a pink and yellow sunset as you rant to Suguru about your new love life.

“I don’t know, he hasn’t been reaching out to me if I don't text first,” you say, “that sucks, doesn’t it?”

“You want someone to make an effort for you.”

This causes the blood pumping through Suguru’s chest to pump faster. This asshole doesn’t even know what he has in his hands, he thinks, fists suddenly tight as iron. The thought of you in pain, shedding a tear over this man has him feeling hot; He’s already flipping through scenario after scenario to seek out revenge for your hurt.

“Right.”

“You’re worth the effort.”

Your smile softens Suguru’s grip on the wooden bench. It’s different this time, full of genuine, sticky-sweet honey the way it glows like the sunset.

He couldn’t imagine you leaving; the possibility has him in shambles, that you would consider someone else in the first place has his heart sinking to his stomach. Suguru was so enamored with you he forgot about you seeking someone other than him – He couldn’t let you stagger away. The walks to your place became more frequent and the likelihood of him knocking to come inside dwindled. By this point, he’s convinced he’s in love, the only words that ring between his ears when you smile at him: soulmate. He grips his fists, nails digging into his palms with a sting. He feels like crying but physically can’t muster the tears and is thus stuck with a bitter scowl on his face and an anvil over his chest. He feels like he’s forgotten life before you and can’t picture a future without you in it.

Weeks later, it’s I think he’s ghosting me all the way down. He has to turn away from you to roll his eyes when you tell him, watching your tear ducts well up with tears as he turns his head. He hugs you tight, wanting your heartbeat to feel his in tandem. Then suggests getting your mind off that dickhead, sweet smile that facades his intentions. You sniffle against his chest, wet tears coating his neck when you nod. Suguru digs his hand into your hips, propping you against the wall and ramming into you until his name is the only one you think of and the only one you moan.

For the first time since you met him, Suguru doesn’t spend the night. You watch him hazily as he rubs a thumb against your damp cheek. He gives your face an affectionate tap.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll see you soon alright?” Then he adds, “I want to stay, but I can’t right now.” And all you can do is nod.

“It’s okay, Suguru, I’ll text you in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He spends the night rummaging through your social media to find any face that’s close to the one you’ve described and cried over. He’s on one of your Facebook posts, mouse hovering over the tag of a man, focus blurred from your shaky hand that took the selfie in a clear drunken state. But, when Suguru clicks on his profile, he has a clear spreadsheet of the man before him; his place of work, his habits, his education. He chuckles at how easy this man is to find; Suguru has already mapped out his schedule in his head. He’s completely submerged in adoration for you, the thought of another man hurting you is catastrophic to him just as much as you leaving him by choice.

He spends the next few days simply thinking. He doesn’t reach out much. He only sits at his desk and fantasizes. A punch to the gut, a punch to the nose to watch the blood spew out in droplets. A bat to the torso. A knife to the trunk to watch the rouge flow. All for you. Any of it, for you.

He’s planned it perfectly as days turn to weeks; He’s learned this other man’s entire day-to-day. Most likely wakes up at six, takes the subway from Sutphin across to Manhattan, stays at his desk job until seven, lingers around the Manhattan bars until late, and takes the subway back, he’s back in Sutphin by three in the morning, where the raven awaits.

When the silver doors slide open in the subway, Suguru bumps his shoulder against the other when he steps out onto the concrete.

“Fuck, sorry man. Hey, you know if I catch a cab from here?” He fake slurs. The other's eyes are bloodshot but they narrow in annoyance. “I don’t live around here, I gotta get back before my girl gets worried.”

There’s only a handful of others who are already gone by the time the other says, “I don’t think cabs are running right now, you need a ride?”

Great, Suguru thinks, an asshole and a reckless driver.

“Yeah, man, let’s get out from here, making ‘ma head ring.”

The two men stumble above ground, isolated in the night. The contents inside Suguru’s backpack shuffle as he fakes his best-drunk walk.

“Hold on, man. I gotta throw up.” The other stumbles into the alleyway that overlooks the park like a pawn piece that slides right into the path of the queen. Suguru can’t help the grin that takes over his face.

“Yeah, no worries.” He hovers behind the other, and when the asshole is hunched over vomiting over his shoes, Suguru lifts his leg to collide against the other’s backside, sending him hurling forward over the concrete.

Before he has the chance to finish his holler, Suguru is on top of him, punching at his nose, unnoticing his knuckles that ache instead relishes in the ruby red that glistens across the digits when he lands another blow. Sounds of crack! echo through the darkened alleyway and Suguru decides it still isn’t enough. The only thought in his mind is you, you when he retracts his bloodied hand, you when he gazes at the man below him, eyes barely keeping conscious, jaw unhinging to let out a gut-wrenching scream – You when Suguru reaches for his shiv, you when the stab retaliates blood across his cheek. The gush of blood spills onto the concrete, filling the ridges of the pavement and catching the moonlight as Suguru stands to snap gloves over his already bloodied hands. The blood leaves a trail when he drags it along the alley, a heavy and loud splash when he hurls the man's existence into the void of the lake.

The body sends soft waves across the surface that Suguru stands to watch until their flow eases. He sighs, then grins and lifts the back of his hand to smear the stranger’s blood that lays across his cheek. As he’s walking back around the block, reaching your place, he smiles again when he sees you forgot to turn your light off.

AN. Get you a man that would kill for you

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mtreebeardiles · 1 month ago

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IDEK

So, okay, I decided I'd try my hand at some...well. Mshakarian, because the Shepard that came through was a dude, so. Yeah. Idk. For all I give Garrus crap I do like him as a character and figured, hey, why not write some of the dynamic I'd like to see?

And then this happened.

Note: i have never done the Garrus romance, so idk how it happens in canon.

“Like what you see, Vakarian?”

Garrus imagined the commander had meant the question to be sarcastic, but Shepard had never been very good at instilling much bite into his words, his tone. Vestiges of the golden boy he’d been and might be again, one day, when they were far away from this time, this place, from these cruel choices they had to make. From whatever it was Jack had found in those files that had caused such a stir of tension in the air, winding tighter and tighter that it was no wonder Shepard had started to break.

Still, the Turian considered an answer.

He hadn’t seen him, before, not really: a realization that had crept up on him little by little, chipping away at the things he thought he knew about Commander Adrien Shepard. Classic good looks, as he understood it, thick dark hair and kind brown eyes set under heavy brows. Clean shaven, or at least that’s how he’d kept himself back on the SR-1, laugh lines starting to form around a mouth made for smiling.

But now his cheeks and chin were shadowed by a patchwork of stubble, and his lips were bitten and chapped, and there was no hint of those lines — just the new ones, the too-straight surgical scars, glowing softly red against lightly brown skin, constant reminders of the sort of loss Garrus could only rudimentarily understand.

But there was still that kindness in his eyes, somewhere beneath the exhaustion and the sleepless nights, and maybe there was a fair amount more despair in the set of the man’s shoulders, an air of desperation coiling muscles tense and tight, but at least Adrien kept his chin up. Watching, waiting, almost defiant, sensing, maybe, that Garrus was going to give an answer, but fuck he seemed so, so fragile all at once.

Horizon had hurt him. The meeting with Anderson had hurt him. He’d watched as the commander had haltingly requested a reversal of his KIA status at the Citadel, a haunting quiet surrounding him, the sort befitting a man who seemed more than half ghost these days.

He saw the cracks clearer now, the fault lines of history reaching deep, but even so…

Even so.

The man Shepard was at his core was still there.

He’d seen it when the man had intervened with the Quarian on the station, seen it in drawing firm lines with Zaeed on Zorya. Seen it with Jack after she hit the button on the bomb, with Tali when she’d learned of her father’s death. For all Adrien was torn to tatters, he always found more to give.

And here, maybe, in some small way, maybe Garrus could give a little back.

“Yeah,” he murmured, stepping into the other man’s space. He gently tugged the bottle of booze from his fingers and set it on the side table. “Yeah, Adri. I do.”

Those fathomless eyes seemed to track from one to the other of Garrus’s, and Adrien’s exhale was shaky.

“Yeah?”

He really has no idea, Garrus thought as he stepped closer, the effect he has.

Or maybe he did, and that was part of the problem.

And maybe that problem was partially on Garrus, too — for always engaging with the hero and not the man beneath the armor. For resorting to platitudes of service, to denigrations of duty, for comparing and contrasting and building his admiration into a pedestal Adrien had never asked for.

A pedestal, Garrus was rapidly understanding, that had isolated his friend rather than offering any real support.

No more of that, Garrus thought, and his heart seemed to skip in his chest as he brought his hand up, cradling that scruffy cheek, watching as Adri’s eyes fluttered shut and the tension seemed to bleed from his shoulders. Felt it as he relaxed against him, his soft, smooth skin so wonderful and strange against Garrus’s mouth as he pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Yeah. I see you, Adri.” And maybe his own breath was a little shaky as he felt Adri’s arms slip around him. Welcoming him.

“I see you,” he murmured. “And I promise I’ll always try to keep seeing you.”

A shudder and the other man leaned into him, and Garrus drew his talons carefully through those thick curls as his free hand moved to the commander’s back. Bracing. Supporting. Being there.

Always.

And maybe it wasn't the same as Adrien's interference back on the Citadel, blocking Garrus from making another huge mistake. But maybe that wasn't the point -- maybe it wasn't the size of the gesture that mattered, but rather that the gesture be made at all. To show up, and listen, and see, just see the man before him for who he really was. Flawed, broken, but so, so fucking earnest, so stubborn and determined, so…

So wonderfully, painfully human.

A strange expression, he'd always thought, whenever humans would say it -- 'I'm only human.' A redundancy, he'd thought, but now… now he thought maybe he understood.

It was a matter of perspective, an acknowledgment of one's limits -- not an offering of excuses. An honesty, an admission to the truth that fit so well with another of those human idioms.

"What's that your people say again?" Garrus asked, brushing a kiss to Adri's hair this time. Despite the alcohol on his breath, his hair still smelled of citrus. "'No man is alone on an island?'"

"'No man is an island,'" Adrien murmured, and Garrus thought he could feel the smile starting to form on the commander's face, pressed as it was against the softer skin of Garrus's neck.

"Yeah," he hummed in agreement, giving him a little squeeze. "That one. We're all an island, uh… together. So more of a continent, really." A huff of laughter, and Garrus's mandibles twitched in approval. "Listen, the point is there's a beach there somewhere, and what better place to sit and rest for a little while?"

"Are you saying you're the beach in this metaphor?" And it was such a relief to hear that hint of teasing back in the commander's voice.

"Palm trees and all," he replied solemnly. He cocked his head, considering. "Grunt's the volcano."

"I'd've thought Jack was the volcano. Or Zaeed."

"Zaeed is also a volcano, but like, a dormant one."

"Definitely wasn't very dormant back on Zorya," Adrien muttered.

"But he did wait a good twenty years for that revenge, so, I mean, I'm still correct."

Adrien was laughing against him at this point, and Garrus wrapped both arms firmly around him.

"The point is," he went on after a moment. "I'm here for you, Adri."

"I know," Adrien whispered softly, pulling back to look up at him. And he knew it was just a reprieve, a moment to catch their breath, and that the shitstorm that was their collective lives still raged on outside this slice of time and space.

But maybe the moment mattered anyway.

#i actually don't remember how long Zaeed waited its been a hot minute since i played ME2 #and i was gonna have this end on a more somber note but um #its me #and I like dorks #and Garrus is in fact a dork #and imma embrace that #i do what I want #my writing #Adrien Shepard #all i know of Adrien so far is that he's a spacer #sole survivor paragon #sentinel maybe? hmm #and transmasc #he just kinda came to me like an hour ago

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riding-with-the-wild-hunt · 1 year ago

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peoples of middle-earth ❖ the noldor

"Next came the Noldor, a name of wisdom, the people of Finwë. They are the Deep Elves, the friends of Aulë and they are renowned in song, for they fought and laboured long and grievously in the northern lands of old."

-JRR Tolkien, The Silmarillion, “Of the Coming of the Elves and the Captivity of Melkor”

[ID: a picspam comprised of 12 images in shades of amber and deep orange-toned red.

1: An ornately woven curtain / 2: The back of a tiger / 3: A person with brown skin and long, wavy dark hair that frames their face, which is partially obscured. They are raising their hands to their face and are wearing some gold jewelry / 4: White text in all caps reads “noldor” on a reddish background. The text has a faint echo in semi-transparent lighter red / 5: Pieces of amber in different shapes and colors / 6: Lightning in a dark sky / 7: Flames burning in a bowl of melted red wax or oil / 8: A series of archways framing a long hallway / 9: Same format as Image 4, but the text is in all lowercase and reads “deep elves” / 10: A person with tan skin looking out through their curly black hair, which is blowing across their face and obscuring them almost entirely / 11: Glowing metal being hammered on an anvil / 12: A rising or setting sun among some clouds /End ID]

#edits with the wild hunt #brought to you by me #the professor’s world #elves elves elves #noldor #the silmarillion #silmedit #elvensource #oneringnet #fandomaesnet #fantasycreatorsnet #tolkienedit #picspam #described #mepoc #i was really excited to do an edit with this color scheme...definitely one of the most colors of all time :)

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tallymonster · 9 months ago

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Memories of Us chapter 15 - Emotions

AO3 link || Master list

Thanks to everyone for being patient with me while I took my long break.

Thanks as always to @cheesy-cryptid for allowing me to use her art to write this. Thanks also goes out to @micropoe10 and @tragedybunny for giving this a little look before I posted this.

If anyone wants to be added to the tag list lemme know!!

Tags: @justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus @davenswitcher @wayward-hel

My eyes are closed.

I open them and look around.

I see a bed, rays of sun come in through the window.

His beautiful red eyes.

The bright light shines behind the silver hair that covers those crimson eyes that stay locked onto me.

I feel his loving stare, I never felt this way before.

My hand comes up to press against his skin, but it's not my hand.

I recognize this person, we’ve been here before.

I know you.

I feel my heart breaking now.

You aren't here.

You left in the night, you couldn't even tell me why.

Warm light shines through the window, Octavia shifts in her sleep, still laying on her couch wrapped in the plush blanket.

Suddenly, she startles awake.

The dream she was having felt so real, but was that Astarion?

She blinks a bit, the dull ache in her head settling in. How much did she drink last night? She shifts a bit and feels her legs touch the end of the couch. The dull pain in her neck made it hard to lift her head but when she does, she sees nothing at the other end.

Astarion must have left in the night. Why else would she wake up alone? Octavia feels a slight drop in her chest, a little twinge of heartbreak, maybe even disappointment.

It’s as if the little flame that she had little flashes of is slowly snuffed out. She sighs and wraps the blanket around herself. Slowly, she surveys the room. Her living room is a mess of clothes, bottles, and a couple of cushions thrown about haphazardly. Over by her door, she notices Astarion’s jacket hanging on the hook. Perhaps he’s still here?

Octavia drags the blanket along the carpet as she picks up her clothes; when out of the corner of her eye, she sees shadows at the end of the hallway connecting to her bedroom.

She quietly shuffles over to the door, pressing her ear against it. She tries to concentrate on the noise behind the door, only hearing some shuffling noises.

“I can hear you out there, you know. I figured you would've learned not to spy on people given what happened last time.” Astarion’s voice called from behind her private room.

Octavia scoffs, grinning slightly. She pushes the door open to find Astarion laying on top of the sheets she had recently washed. “Is it spying if it's my house?”, she asks sarcastically.

As she stands at the door, she sees his eyes glance up and quickly go back down to the book in his hands. Funny how he can take command of the room, even if it isn't his own. “You look comfortable. How's my bed feel?”

Astarion's wearing the same fitted black pants he wore the night before, his light gray shirt was lazily thrown on his toned frame. The fabric haphazardly clung to the rise and fall of the muscles on his chest.

He had closed the curtains in her room leaving it shrouded in partial darkness. There's lit candles throughout her room all flickering in a soft yellow glow. In contrast, Astarion’s features were highlighted by the faint shimmer from the flames.

Astarion was reading one of the many textbooks she still had from college, his fingers spread between the pages paint an obscene picture in her head. Octavia shakes it off and fully enters her room. He flips through the book languidly, responding back “Well, it would've definitely been better than the couch.”

The heat immediately rushed through her body, making her lack of clothing evident. Octavia clears her throat, trembling under the blanket. The cool air of her darkened room made her skin break out in gooseflesh. Astarion peers up from the book, he raises an eyebrow at her inquisitively.

“Something the matter, dear?” he asks, still flipping slowly through the book.

“I need to change, Astarion. Do you mind leaving the room for a few minutes?” Octavia wraps the fabric around herself tighter, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“Sweetness, do you remember that little detail about myself I mentioned to you?” he tilts his head and looks up at her from under his silvery gray lashes.

Octavia scoffs, crossing her arms and curling up tighter under the thin material. “You can wait in the hallway for five minutes can't you? Please?”

“You're really adorable when you're acting bashful, dear. Have you forgotten what we did last night?” He closes the book and slides over to the edge of the bed. His long legs fall over the side as he pulls Octavia closer by the fabric that drapes her.

Octavia settles in between his legs, she feels an arm wrap around her pulling her closer. The blanket rubs against her cold skin, making more goosebumps grow. She sucks air in through her teeth, shivering slightly.

“Astarion…I'm cold. Can I plea-” Octavia’s voice gets cut off as she feels Astarion begin to tug at the spot where Octavia’s hands held it closed. She blushes at the look on his face, his reddened eyes shine with a mischievous glint. She scoffs, playfully rolling her eyes, if it's a chase he wants, game on.

Octavia smirks and pulls away from him. Her eyes soften and she says with a coquettish grin, “No.”

She feels Astarion’s hands drop, he looks into her eyes with a pleading gaze. His brows tilt upward, his eyes become more rounded and soft, his lips turn down with a feigned pathetic pout. “Why not?” A low whine followed by him laying back and propping himself up on his elbows.

“Because.” Octavia smiles wider, she walks over to her wardrobe, and gathers some clothes. “Sometimes, being told no is just as good as being told yes. You have to be patient, Astarion. I can't give you everything all at once. You have to work for it.”

She gives him a kiss at the tip of his nose and turns, walking to the door. She drops the blanket and winks, stepping out before calling back “I won't be long, when I return, you and I are going to have a little talk.”

Astarion sits on her bed in her room. He glances around Octavia’s private space, and takes in the environment. Her bookshelves were full of different types of books. Historical texts, photo books, reference books, the majority of it revolved around the defeat of the Absolute.

That's…well she does work for me at the museum…research, of course.

His curiosity was getting the better of him, the roguish skills itching to be used again.

Astarion opens up one of the drawers of her nightstand. Inside he notices a couple of pens and some little cards. A stack of letters were under those, the topmost one had the name of a man on the return address.

Astarion pulls out the letter, quickly taking it out and unfolding it. He sees a small picture fall to the ground, he picks it up, quickly scanning the letter but stops when he sees “My darling, I long to see you again.”

Was she already in a relationship?? He continues on slowly to catch every detail.

My darling, I long to see you again. It's been at least eight months since you’ve come to visit. Your mother misses you, even if it's just an afternoon tea at her grave. I know you are quite busy at your new job at the museum, but do come by soon? It's almost Heroes’ Day and you know how much your mother loved that day. I sent you the drawing we had made back when you were my little historian, you and your mom looked so happy, figured you would love it. Let me know when you can come visit, I’ll have your favorite tea waiting.

Love always,

Dad

~Oh, I sent that old book and the letters! I knew this job would be what you needed to feel connected to your mom and her family. She would be so proud of you,Tavvy. I know I am.

Astarion’s taken back somewhat. There's something about that nickname that makes a knot grow in his chest. The mysterious familiarity that keeps following him. He shakes it off and looks back at the small drawing in his hand.

A small girl, whom he figures is Octavia, is in the middle of two adults. Her hair is in two buns with braids flowing down her back. A woman who looks like Octavia, is to her left. The woman's skin is tan like Octavia’s with brown curly hair that's tied up in a half up style. She's got gorgeous hazel eyes and her smile is just as brilliant looking as Octavia’s.

To Octavia’s right is what looks like an elven man, also with tan skin. His eyes are a beautiful green like the rings surrounding Octavia’s own eyes. His arm is draped around the woman’s in a tight embrace. They look happy, but a sadness looms over the picture. Astarion flips over the picture, a small note adorns the corner: Altavia, Ralomaer, Octavia: age 12.

Suddenly, Astarion hears some rustling in the room adjacent to Octavia’s. She must be finishing up with whatever she's doing. He quickly stuffs the letter and picture inside the envelope, shoving it inside the drawer and slamming it shut. He grabs a different book and throws himself on the bed, quickly acting preoccupied.

Octavia opens the door and walks in. Her hair is braided in a crown around her head, some tendrils fall on the sides of her temples. She's wearing a loose tunic and some leggings, a woven cardigan keeping her warm against the chill of the darkened room. “Why do I feel like you've gotten yourself into some trouble?”

Astarion lowers the book, an inconspicuous look painted on his face. He quirked an eyebrow to sell the lie. “I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, I was sitting here reading this book on…” he glances at the cover, “’Ecology and Reproduction of the Myconid species’? Huh…it was quite interesting. Like nothing I’ve read before.”

Closing the book, Astarion sits up on the edge of Octavia’s bed. “I mean it did remind me of last night…” he trails off suggestively, dropping his voice in that seductive tone, hoping it takes her off the suspicious trail she seemed to be going down.

“Is that right?” Octavia feeds into his energy, sliding in between his legs, taking the same position she was in before she took off. Astarion’s hands find their place back around her waist.

Octavia giggles and starts to run her fingers in his hair. “So which part reminded you of last night? The spore reproduction or the part where you are basically part of a hive mind that can communicate all at once?”

Astarion shivers under the gentle scratch of her nails on his scalp, a little hum coming out of his mouth. “Hmmm…I don't know. I might have to be reminded of a few key parts.” He runs his hands up her back, nuzzling her chest.

Octavia shakes her head, he clearly had a one track mind. If she was hoping to get her say, she would have to lean in some more. “Key parts like….you running your hands all over me?” Astarion’s face lights up with a fanged grin.

“I see you remember it as well, my little flower.” Astarion begins to kiss her breasts over her clothes, playing with the hem of her tunic. “Why don't we have a little replay of it? Maybe chat more about the parts we liked?”

Octavia laughs and pushes Astarion’s shoulder, making him lay back on the bed.

“Well, I’m glad you brought that up. I would love to have a little chat about last night.” She tried to maintain a serious stance, but seeing how flustered he was she couldn't help but crack a bit. “Are you alright?”

Astarion shakes his head, blinking himself out of his lovestruck trance. “Oh yes, my little temptress, I'm perfectly alright. After that display, are you sure all you want to do is talk?” he slides up onto Octavia’s bed, with that same look that makes her knees weak.

“Astarion…I’m trying to be serious with you.” she scoffs and walks towards him. Astarion stretches out, his lithe and sinewy form laid perfectly on her bed. He played a dirty game, and he knows he always has the upper hand.

“We can talk more here, love.” his blood red eyes pierce through her, picking out the parts that make her body burn. His sly smirk highlights his intentions, but is soothed by the innocent enough movement of his hand swiping the space next to him in bed. “Why don't you join me, sweet girl? This bed is awfully big for just one person…” he holds his hand out expectantly.

Octavia huffs and takes his hand. He leads her onto the bed, his movements soft and delicate against the ardor behind his eyes. She ends up sitting at the head of her bed, her back on the cushioned headboard, Astarion sees a perfect opportunity and lays his head on her thighs.

“You seem particularly comfortable now, are you trying to avoid this conversation?” Octavia runs her fingers through his hair again, its soft curls intertwine with her movements as if they're begging for more of her touch. “Hmmm not particularly, no..but..I can think of a few things I'd rather be doing with my tongue.” Astarion peeks up at her, then nuzzles his head on the swell of her thigh.

“You're so insufferable sometimes you know?” She says with an amused tilt. “You can try to avoid it all you want, but until we have this conversation….” Octavia takes Astarion’s hands, which had begun to snake themselves up her legs, and lifts them off. She starts to slide off the bed when she feels a tug beckoning her back.

Astarion’s arms wrap around her waist and pull her back into the bed. Octavia yelps as she hits the mattress on her side, giggling as Astarion nuzzles into the space between her shoulder and neck. “We are going to talk about this damnit!!” She laughs and turns to lay on her back.

Astarion sighs and copies her. “Fiiiineeee. If you insist. Let's talk then.” He turns his head and pouts at her dramatically. “I know it wasn't that you didn't enjoy yourself. From the way you were pulling at my clothes..” the pout twists into a devilish smirk, a haughty giggle flows out.

Octavia and Astarion lay in her bed, she twists to her side and stares at his profile. He really was incredibly beautiful and this light only enhanced it. She puts her hand on his chest, as his laughter dies, he closes his eyes and hums happily. Octavia felt the butterflies in her lungs going mad.

“What is this? What are we?” Damn, her mouth.

Astarion turns to her, blinking rapidly, his eyes wide with slight surprise. He bites the inside of his lip and smiles nervously. “I don't know…” he starts, “but isn't it nice, to not know?” He nervously smiles, his eyes dart, trying to look anywhere but her face.

Octavia is taken back, she didn't know how serious this would be afterwards. She was hoping for at least a little bit of a chance to grow whatever they had into something more, but with that answer, it seems like this is all it was going to be for him.

“Oh…” she starts, ”is that what you want? I mean I like you, but I..uh..” Octavia goes quiet, she plays with her hands not finding the words to continue.

Astarion turns to look at her, he hates seeing the same heartbreak and confusion he saw in Tav, gods, he's doing it again.

Stop, you fucking idiot.

“Octavia…you aren't just one night that's better to forget…I- I'm not sure what you are just yet…but whatever else could you be? It's all so complicated, honestly.”

He looks up at the ceiling, eyes full of sadness and regret, he swallows and exhales.

“My darling, you mean new possibilities to me. It's been a very long time since I’ve done anything like this. I'm sorry I can't define this yet.” He takes her hand off his chest and kisses the top of it. “I know that whatever you are, for now, you are very important to me.”

Octavia felt her heart shoot to her throat, this was all so different. Even though they had skipped the formality the previous night, she still wanted to know if there was a way to bloom into something more.

Astarion’s past was full of death and regret, he was still a giant mystery to be solved. His pain and grief was an obvious and invasive dark cloud that hung over perpetually drowning him in its downpour.

He pulls Octavia in closer, she trembles slightly, his whole existence terrified her. He could easily kill her, compel her to let him drain her blood, but his soft and vulnerable moments tell her to trust him even through the guarded veil he put up.

Astarion sits up on his elbow and drapes an arm over Octavia, locking her down to the bed. He smiles down at her and brushes some hair behind her ear. He leans down and kisses her cheek, then her nose, and finally her lips.

Octavia felt the warmth of his kisses on her skin. Even though he was technically dead, his touch felt alive and hot. She couldn't help but run her hands all over his hair. He would softly exhale feather soft moans with each pass of her hand through his scalp.

She could feel his emotions pouring into her with each kiss. The hunger and desperation to be loved, each missed chance, every regret. The unbearable weight of his heart being mended slowly with each brush of contact from her. His touch lit her skin in a pleasurable heat.

Astarion feels as if he couldn't stop himself. Each sound she made fueled his desperation to let go and be open to the flames growing within. Flaying and ripping him open from the inside, only to rise from the ashes of his own misery. Octavia’s hands are untangling his heart and cradling it in her loving web.

His hands work their way down to the hem of her sweater, stopping before they explore further. He pulls away, leaving her lips kiss bruised and red. She's fully flushed, lips parted, breathing ragged and heavy. She swallows and blinks a bit, looking up at him, half hooded eyes full of lust and confusion.

“I’m sorry…I went too far, I can't help it..it’s been so long and well..with you, gods I feel like an inexperienced youth. Fucking embarrassing.” He sits up, Octavia props herself up on her elbows and listens. “I've been thinking about you for months, all the things I would do if I had you here exactly like this but how am I supposed to do this and not ruin it?”

Octavia is just watching as he slides off the bed and begins to pace around her room. “Gods, am I really this out of practice? I used to bed so many people no problem, what the fuck is going on now? All I could think about was ruining you with my hands, my mouth, and my cock, all of it but it feels so manipulative to use you as my plaything when you're so sweet and beautiful and patient.”

He monologues, all while throwing his hands up in the air, rambling and not stopping. “Why is this so difficult??? If this was a normal situation I would have bedded you at least 5 times already.”

Octavia was taken back once again, he obviously is on a tangent and his brain is not at all in sync with his mouth. “Astarion…” Octavia interjects, but Astarion is on a roll, nothing can shake him from this rant “This keeps happening to me, I get close to someone and then it goes to shit. This is exactly what happened last time with-”

“ASTARION!” Octavia screams, interrupting him yet again. This time, it works, slapping him out of his passionate word vomit. Her voice was firm, but still laced with concern. “Sit with me.” She pats the space next to her, and holds her hand out, her turn now to lead him.

He looks at her with hesitation and sits on the edge of the bed next to her. “We can just sit here okay? Nothing more if you don't want to.” Octavia wraps an arm around him, bringing him close to her in a warm embrace. She holds him there, feeling him tense up and relax into her arms. His head rested in the crook of her neck again.

They sit in silence, she feels him wrap his arms around her waist. He takes a deep inhale and lets out a long shuddering breath. She feels a tremble come up from the base of his spine and it dissipates throughout his body. Octavia just hugs him tighter as he melts into her touch.

She rubs a hand down his back and she feels him tense up again. He pulls away from her hand immediately, arching his back away from her touch. “I'm sorry, too much?” She says quietly, pulling her hand back and instead placing it on his shoulder. He nods quietly and nestles his head back in its spot on her neck.

Octavia let her hand wander to his hair once more, she noticed earlier how his body reacted to the scratching of her nails on his scalp. His ears would twitch a little, he would breathe in a little slower, his eyes would close, the corners of his mouth would curve up a little.

Astarion leans up and kisses her neck, a soft peck under her jaw. He places a hand on her thigh and buries his head in her neck. Octavia couldn't help but smile at the neediness he was displaying. “ I can't help but feel like I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you.” he spoke quietly into her hair, taking in her scent.

“What do you mean? I think you deserve to be happy if that's what you want. You deserve something real and honest. Everyone does. Even you, even if you don't think so yourself.” Octavia takes her arm off his shoulder and plays with the hair on the back of his head.

Astarion rests his head on her shoulder as she continues. “I don't know what you've been through, but you aren't alone. I’m here aren't I? You have Gale, too…” Astarion huffs as she finishes speaking. “I like you better, though. You're prettier.”

Octavia aims to kiss his forehead, but as soon as she turns her head, Astarion catches her and kisses her deeply. “Tell me what you want, Astarion.” She places a hand on his jaw and rubs at his cheek with her thumb. “I will give you anything, whether it's with me or without as long as you're happy.”

He was taken back by her words, he couldn't imagine his life without her now. It's the same feeling he had with Tav, after he confessed his hidden intentions and foiled plans. The familiarity felt somewhat nice. To be flustered by someone who he considered completely unpredictable.

He kept his hand on hers, the warmth of her skin made him feel the same way, the feeling of home that he had willingly abandoned. All these years running away, spent alone and isolated, now seem to crumble away with her touch. “I want this. I want you. I want it all….. I just don't know if I should after all this time.”

Octavia tilts her head “You sure have a lot of reasons for why you shouldn't be happy. Can I give you one why you should?”

Astarion pulls away from her shoulder, sitting upright. Octavia turns his head and holds his gaze. A soft smile is on her face, as she begins to speak. “You have survived your past. I'm so sorry that it was what it was. I wish I could have known you then, but I know you now. For that, I am thankful for whatever led you here. So…I guess you can be happy we found each other?” She shifts a bit, breaking their gaze, but trying her hardest to console him.

“I’m really bad at this can't you tell?” she says after a few moments of awkward silence. Astarion scoffs “That's putting it mildly, dear. You're awful.” He starts to laugh, Octavia slightly pushes him off her shoulder. He keeps laughing louder and more animated.

Octavia joins him, mostly because of his unhinged response. Eventually he falls back and clutches at his stomach, he keeps going until his eyes start to water. “Gods, Astarion, it wasn't that funny.” she giggles more as he slows his laughter, coughing as he catches the breath he didn't need. “Oh fuck, I'm sorry. I have no idea what the hells that was..”

Octavia smiles and shakes her head. “It's fine. I like hearing you laugh like that. You sounded happy.” she lays next to him, their legs dangling off the bed. He slides his hand into hers and laces their fingers together. He keeps his gaze up at the ceiling not saying anything.

She closes her eyes and relaxes into the bed, their hands clasped still. “This is nice.” he says, his voice sounding hoarse after his laughing fit. “I missed this. The little things.” he sighs, taking her hand and placing it on his chest. Octavia opens her eyes and is greeted by him leaning over her.

“This is nice.” She agrees, and brushes some of his curls behind his ear. He lets out a small shudder and his face scrunches up. “That was new.” he says with an embarrassed laugh as Octavia’s hand lingers on his shoulder. “I look forward to finding out more new things about myself….with you.”

Oh…

“I think I'd like that very much.” Octavia could feel herself blushing, the heat in her cheeks surely leaving a reddish hue on her cheeks. “We don't even have to label anything like I said. No one has to know if you don't want them to. Not yet.” She smiles, her own secret was hidden beneath that statement.

He leans over her and gives her a soft kiss on the cheek, then another on her lips. “Thank you.” Octavia props herself up on her elbows, “For what?” she asks. Astarion takes her hand and kisses it softly, “Giving me a chance at something which I thought I couldn't find anymore. This is truly a gift. I won't forget it. Not for a long time.”

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #fic: memories of us #bg3 headcanon #modern au

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 1 year ago

Text

Foreign Perception

TW: Bruises, scratches and fights mentioned

Words: 1.2k

He was sprawled out on the couch, dressed in a black, satin robe, the edges of it lined with a wine red trim. The sunlight illuminated half of his form, seeming to highlight his features; the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones and his sleek figure as well as the curves of the softer features of his face, of his raven hair, all drawn in golden ink.

"Ah, you've woken up," he remarked softly, the usual scratchiness of his morning voice missing, sounding silkier instead. He'd been awake for a while, it seemed, which was strange because he wasn't really a morning person.

Outwardly, he seemed immaculate, tousled hair slightly damp from a shower, his skin looking healthy and well cared for. The luxuriant garment fell slightly as he shifted himself, exposing his collarbones and the tips of his shoulders.

A closer look at him revealed details of a different nature, the ones the sunlight refused to cast its golden glow on. The bruise on his left cheek, an ugly shade of purple and swollen, the dark bags under his eyes, the partially split lip, and a long, fading scratch partially exposed where the fabric of his robe wasn't hiding skin.

"Lie down with me," he suggested, in the same gentle and yet commanding tone, "you look tired." He gestured to the empty space next to him, an almost expectant look in his eyes.

So she obliged, not so much lying down as sitting next to him, her movements a little slow. He smelled like strong, expensive cologne; some sort of smoky wood and an elegant mix of spices.

"Relax, I won't bite," he supplied, a very slight hint of amusement in his tone that one could only pick up by spending a considerable amount of time around him.

Tentatively, she leaned back until her head rested against his chest, letting her arms fall limp at her sides. When the villain showed no indications of discomfort or annoyance, she slackened her posture a bit more.

"That's more like it," the villain praised, no hint of his usual biting sarcasm present. Most of their previous exchanges had involved snide remarks falling off of his sharp tongue and her snapping back at him. Not now, it seemed.

He slowly moved his arm so that it was around one of her shoulders, letting out a soft sigh, a perfect mix of exhausted and utterly relaxed.

The villain was usually unapproachable, even in more casual clothing, with a cryptic resting face that loosely resembled a dark scowl and an unreadable expression in his eyes. He seemed to emant danger, like he carried a warning sign everywhere. Right now, however, he looked impossibly soft, no mask to hide behind.

This time, he layed down completely on the couch, tapping her shoulder lightly so that she would follow his example. The hero found herself being pulled into strong arms, the villain's embrace being surprisingly warm.

"Why are we doing this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Despite that, she half-wished to stroke a hand through the criminal's hair, settling only for pushing the loose strands out of his eyes.

"I'm not very sure, maybe it's just calmer, you know. Than what we do every day." He gently guided her fingers through his locks. "It's okay. I think I actually like it when you touch my hair," he said softly.

So she ran her fingers through the villain's hair, noticing how his breathing slowed, how he closed his eyes and involuntarily leaned into the touch.

He opened his eyes and started tracing patterns into her arm absentmindedly with the fingers of one hand, the other still holding her close to him. "You're extremely quiet, which is very unlike you, any reason why?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know, Villain, I just don't have much to say. Maybe I talk too much, but I don't mind the quiet," she remarked, continuing to card her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp.

"I don't think you talk too much," he stage-whispered, smoothing down a wrinkle in her silken dress, his fingers toying with the embroidery on the skirt. It had been a birthday gift, another trademark of their weird, nonsensical to-hate-or-not-to-hate relationship.

"You? Of all people. I thought you hated it." She let a dry laugh make its way into her tone, disbelieving.

"I didn't appreciate being insulted," he replied, only slightly irritable, a glint of mirth visible in the emerald green eyes, "but it was pretty much a mutual thing, and I know people who talk too much, incessantly, but you're not one. It's not noise to me, maybe you talk more than I do, but you listen, so that's a good thing." His hand skirted down the side of her face, and he started tracing her cheekbones down to her jaw. There were small bruises scattered across her cheeks, a few old scars across her figure, and some newer scrapes from more recent fights, some of which, he came to realise, were his fault.

But again, it's not like she hadn't managed to leave any marks on him.

"You're pretty," he remarked before he could catch himself, "for someone who has to get into all these fights, a bit of a shame, really."

"Fighting crime's not a good enough reason to taint my beauty?" she asked, ironically drawing the shape of a scar on his chest with her fingers, blissfully cool against his skin.

"Not what I meant," he attested.

She simply laughed. "Easy. I'm messing with you. Want to know something a little crazy?" she questioned, now playing with the curls of his hair.

"Mhm."

"First time I saw you without a mask, as much as I despised you then, the first, unfiltered thought in my head was that you looked like someone from a perfume ad."

A rare, genuine smile graced the villain's lips. "This is the most oddly specific compliment I've ever received but I'll take it." He toyed with the strands of her hair, weaving his fingers down the length of it. "I don't think we're friends," he decided.

"No," she agreed, tugging a little at the roots of his hair.

"I don't think friends keep doing. . .whatever it is this is unannounced," the villain concluded.

"Being physically affectionate, yes."

"But you know we aren't lovers, either. Is this a side-effect of the whole marriage thing?"

"No, I don't think so," she answered, smoothing the criminal's stray hairs down, "I think we're something in between enemies and lovers. I also think we're both touch-starved, and this. . .this calms us both." She started rubbing a stiff knot in his neck, earning a few contented sighs and shivers from him.

His hand flitted to somewhere near her shoulder, delicately tracing patterns into the skin, increasing pressure sometimes when it seemed fit. Involuntarily, she nuzzled her head into the crook of the villain's neck, and soon his own head slumped forward.

They'd both fallen asleep, mortal enemies in each other's arms, feeling safer than they ever had before.

Few things can rival something as simple and primitive as a gentle touch. More powerful than what one would expect, a frivolous, sentimental luxury only to those who chose to be blind, to run away and hide behind walls of indifference covered in cracks and close to collapsing. Even those who consider it a foreign perception in their world come to realise its priceless value sooner than they would dare to expect.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @usernotfound000 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

#prompt #hero x villain #oblivious enemies to lovers #forced marriage au #fluff #a hint of romance #touch starved #sweet #hero/villain #fiction #writing #natalia's writing #female writers #writers on tumblr #bruises tw #injury tw #mentioned fights tw #f/m

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mknight0000 · 11 months ago

Text

Cross-Dimensional Answers Prologue-Ch 2 (Last Legacy)

A/N: HOLY HELL IT IS FINALLY HAPPENING. I really do apologize for waiting over a year to finally post this. I don't really want to go into it, but it is finally happening. Anyways below are the proper credits and I hope you enjoy it.

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Word Count: 2,368

Warnings: Swearing, Potentail poor grammar

Creators: Dev (creator and writer), Ciel (sprites, cgs, illustrations), Hika (bgs, illustrations, gfx), Lulu (writer), and Grace (writer)

-Carrd Link

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When I wake, a coughing fit rises within me. My lungs burn from the lack of air during the split second of paranormal emptiness. As my breathing becomes more steady, I am met with a cool breeze of earth and rain that flows through my partially undone ponytail. Despite the circumstances, my first thought is:

I feel like a mess.

I move from the ground, feeling the cobblestone-tile ground beneath my hands and knees, its smooth, but uneven texture set beneath me. I open my eyes to see endless firefly lights moving around me, the circles shining brightly. The whispered sound in my ears fades when another breeze blows past.

After letting my eyes adjust, I look around hoping to figure out what the hell happened. In front of me, I see a wide staircase leading up to a large, arched window. Crumpled stone walls surround me, exposing the open room to the forces of nature. I look past the walls into the…night sky?

Wait? What the hell? How is it already nighttime?

Still baffled by the sudden jump in time, I look upwards towards the sky to see clouds moving across the purple atmosphere, red-hued moonlight shining bright. As I glance around, I notice iron-chained chandeliers hanging from the parts of the room that still have a ceiling with faint light glowing from the lit candles.

Before I can take anything else in from the scene, a voice whispers close to me. It’s low and hoarse as if stricken by emotions of various kinds.

“Five years I’ve dreamt of this day…When at last we would be reunited”

Whilst still on the ground, I look to see someone standing above me, looking straight at me. His wavy, dark brown hair blows against his tan skin, giving a clear view of his gray eyes, brimmed with tears. The stranger wears a dark brown, unbuttoned vest over what seems to be a white, peasant blouse paired with light brown trousers. A black, long, velvety overcoat, adorned with gold accents, is draped over his shoulder and a book is strapped by a belt to his thigh.

He looks slightly familiar. I think to myself, though confused about who this stranger is.

“Yet it seems neither fate nor the stars can keep us apart.” He continues, his breathing labored.

The mysterious stranger approaches me, kneeling, taking my hands into his and interlocking them. My eyes widen slightly, thoughts of confusion still prominent in my mind.

“I never stopped looking for you, I never gave up,” he says as he presses a soft kiss to my knuckles.

My eyes widen even more as my face starts to warm, knowing very well that it is as red as a lowering sunset. Instead of the soft wind and his gentle murmurs, all I hear is my heartbeat, pulsing at a faster rate than before.

What in the depths of hell is going on?????!!!!!!!!!

“Oh! How I missed you!” he says with his lips quirking into a slanted grin, pulling me into a tight embrace.

“What–Oh!” I exclaimed at the sudden action.

I can feel his body shaking as I hear slight, silent sobs coming from the strange man. To comfort him, I pat his back lightly, but awkwardly, out of both confusion

and slight concern. In normal circumstances, I would’ve thrown this him off of me, but I can’t help but note the tone of great loss in his voice, leading my heart to pull just a little under the weight of the few words he has said to me. Though he is still sobbing, I decided now is the best time to intervene.

“Um, I think there has been a mistake,” I say genuinely whilst also feeling him stiffen up as the words leave my mouth, “My name is Megan. I think I may have been teleported here with this staff thingy to wherever this is–honestly, I don’t know, just uuuuhhhhhh….who are you?”

His face moves quickly, positioning himself in front of me. His slate gray eyes, rimmed with tears, widen, snapping to meet mine, and his brow jumps in shock at my statement.

“You-you're not Rime?” he asks, horror and desperation clear in his voice.

I shake my head back and forth. After his realization sets in, he leans away from me, his face reddened in embarrassment. He buries his face in his hands, staying in that position for a while with his shoulders trembling with each breath he takes.

At this point, I do not know what to do except sit there, resting on my knees, and stare at him in unrelenting confusion and worry, though, for some reason, not for myself.

….Should I say something?

As I open my mouth, about to attempt to comfort him, he groans, lifts his head out of his hands, and starts whipping the tears from his face.

“Bloody hells,” he croaks.��

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” he responds, “Now, what manner of void fiend are you then? Lich? Revenant? Behold with surplus eyes?”

Manner of void fiend? What is he talking about?

My forehead scrunches in confusion as I try to offer up an answer to his strange question.

“I’m a barista…if that’s what you’re asking.”

As soon as I answer, a flash of frustration passes his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he softly mutters to himself under his breath, his head slightly bent down.

After about a minute, he looks back up at me. He’s no longer crying but I can tell he’s just…tired. “It seems I’ve made a grave mistake,” he states, “Very well. Allow me to introduce myself.”

He shifts a bit further from me and stands. Before he continues, he offers his hand to me to help me stand up. I thank him as I grab it and get to my feet, though my legs wobble the tiniest bit when I initially stand. As I look back at him, he tucks the hand he offered to me behind his back, and bows deeply with a dramatic, noticeably practiced, flourish.

“My name is Fleix Iskandar Escellun. House unaffiliated. Necromancer,” he declared as he finished his bow.

My eyes widen at the mention of his last name. “Escellun? Like Magister Escell?!” I ask in bewilderment.

I can tell that my acknowledgment of his last name soured his mood slightly. His face darkens, and as soon as it does. I can see it. That salty glare that Felix is giving me is just like Escell’s!

He looks off to the side and grumbles at me. “Tch, he hasn’t been called ‘Magister’ since before i was born.”

“Wait, is he your father?”

He stays silent for a moment, looking me up in down. He’s clearly sizing me up.

“Yes, he is,” a hint of disdain in his voice, but then he looks back at me questionally. “How do you even know that name, barista?” he asks, “You are very clearly not from Astraea.”

My heart stops for a split second once the name of the magical land falls from his lips. I had to have imagined he said that.

“Astraea?” I softly ask him, because there is no way I am currently in the land I have spent countless hours in on a computer screen.

No way…If I am in Astraea, then that means that I have somehow been transported to the world of Last Legacy.

I honestly do not know how to react. I should be ecstatically jumping in the air, at least that would be the reaction of any superfan, but I’m not. Instead, my hands are clammy and my breath starts to falter. My heart is beating faster and everything around me starts to become slightly muffled.

I cannot be in a different world. I just can’t. This is some sick joke…or maybe I’m just dead?

I gather up my courage and ask, “Is this the afterlife? Am I dead? Why does heaven, or wherever I am, look like a video game?”

Felix looks back at me in slight shock and amusement in response to my question. “Is this cesspool truly how you imagined heaven? Mildew, rubble, me–utterly humiliated,” he humors but his lips turn into a smirk saying, “Although, I suppose I should be flattered you discerned anything divine about me.”

His voice is laced with complete sarcasm, except I catch him shyly lowering his eyes.

Still confused with this whole situation, I ask, “So are you saying this is more like limbo or hell?”

He turns slightly to the side, gets out his glasses, opens a strange book, and starts reading it. There is no way this book is new. Its frayed, maroon cloth cover is embossed with strange markings and a skull at the center. It’s worn with sand-colored pages that look like they’d crumble with one touch. It’s definitely not something you would find at your average book store.

“Please. If this were a hell there’d be a great deal more fire and at least twice as many rats,” he answers.

“Now, I must have mixed up my tals and pals when inscribing the spell circle…” he trails off muttering under his breath whilst flipping through the musty, old tome.

“So to be sure, I’m not dead?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.

He looks up from the pages, his gray eyes looking straight into mine. I just can’t stop thinking about the similarities between him and his father. I can’t help to feel a tad bit intimidated by the glare.

He responds to my question, saying, “Sleep, and death, and the void all share their similarities, but you are very much alive.”

“How poetic,” I respond as I look around my surroundings, still baffled at the jump in time.

He smirks at my retort, “Take it from someone who has died once or twice before.”

My head turns suddenly in his direction out of shock, my eyes widening.

My reaction makes him chuckle, but he returns back to his book reading what looks to be incomprehensible scribbles. I take this moment to try to calm myself down.

Okay Megan. Remember those breathing techniques Sarah recommended. Breathe in for five seconds, out for five more. In for five, out for five. In…and out…In…and out…

After a few more rounds, my heart calms, and my breathing evens out.

I may still be in a world full of wizards and mercenaries, but at least I am now calm…for now. Now, to find a way back to the convention center.

“So Felix, if you brought me here, does that mean you can send me home as well?”

“Oh I can definitely send you back”

I release a sigh of relief, and a smile overcomes my lips.

“Wonderful! Now how-” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Well probably.”

My face drops with disappointment.

“Probably? What do you mean probably? I can’t stay here!” I respond, my voice slowly climbing with anger.

“Well first I need the Astrolabe–” he responds but cuts himself off quickly, “er, that ‘staff-thingy’ you mentioned earlier.

“That’s it? That’s all you need?” I ask, hopefulness laced in between my words, “Then you can return me home?”

“Perhaps. Now, where is it?” he questions, looking around for the Astrolabe.

I shoot Felix an unknowing look.

“Oh well…um... “ I start, “When I went to pick it up it started glowing, but disappeared right after I touched it…so it may be somewhere around here.”

The color drains from his face at my response. Despite his face seeming still, his eyes fill with anger. He opens his mouth to speak, as if he's about to rip me a new one, but catches himself before speaking.

“Ah. Well…that complicates things,” he states as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What do you mean, ‘complicates things?” I werrily ask. The wind blows my partially undone ponytail, causing a chill to run down my spine, uneasiness filling my stomach.

Felix whips his head around, facing the door.

“I’ll explain after we’ve shed those pesky guards,” he responds hastily.

“What guar–” I start, but a loud bang interrupts me, causing me to jump.

I look over at the nearby chestnut-hued door as it buckles violently. The only thing holding it together is a few rusty, wobbling bolts.

“Damn it all. My summoning may have drawn some unwanted attention–Oh and did I mention we may be trespassing?”

I shoot him a glare, “Maybe you could’ve brought that up earlier!”

Felix merely looks at me and takes a deep breath, before making an arc gracefully in the air with his right hand. Seemingly, out of nothing, a black oval appears in midair. Though ripples emerge from the inky black center, there is a faint, but unclear, image that lies within.

“Hie thee through the portal,” he quickly remarks, making a shooing motion toward the obsidian entrance.

I stare back at him incredulously, “You want me to get into that? Where does it even go?”

Suddenly, the rickety door splinters and bows as it continuously keeps getting bashed in. One of the rusty bolts springs free, following onto the stone floor. I am fully aware my options are very small at the moment, but I don’t know how much I can trust this man.

“Somewhere safe,” he responds, “Or rather, to someone safe. Now, I’d appreciate it if you hurried. Holding this open is harder than it looks.”

Though every bone in my body is saying to run, there’s something in his voice that seems trusting and if I don’t listen, I may be in more trouble than I can handle.

As I take a step forward, Felix holds a hand out. My black backpack dangles from his hand by its strap. My heart lifts a bit at the sight.

Felix can see my apprehension when he states, “Fear not, barista. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

The guards had persevered in their efforts to break down the door, seeing seconds after Felix’s statement, a group of armored individuals bust into the room with a loud crash. There was no hesitation as I hurled my body into the dark portal, plunging into the unknown darkness.

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

Cannot wait to start the next part....Anisa my darling.

#last legacy #fictif #sage lesath #felix escellun #anisa anka #writing #oc x sage lesath #cross dimensional answers #my ocs

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slyandthefamilybook · 9 months ago

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okay here are my... face canons ? is that a thing? for the Wolf 359 main cast

Eiffel: Kinda goofy looking. Not conventionally attractive, but he grows on you. I imagine that the only care he puts towards his physical appearance is for sensory reasons (he shaves daily because he hates the feeling of stubble). Medium skin tone, soft eyes, long hair. Pretty much the generally accepted fanon appearance

Minkowski: I think Minkowski is actually fairly attractive, but in a subtle way. When she's on the Hephaestus she doesn't wear makeup and has her hair in a severe bun. But one day Eiffel finds one of her wedding photos and damn, she cleans up nice. She has a tattoo on her left forearm, but it's always covered by her jumpsuit. I think she's also the shortest of the cast

Hilbert: Obviously, Hilbert is canonically bald, so I'm not gonna mess with that. I think he has a short goatee which he grew for Hephaestus 2.0. I also like to imagine that Eiffel finds an old picture of Hilbert posing with his team in a lab in Russia, and while he's not conventionally attractive, he does have a certain magnatism. His eyes are cold and sharp as flint and his face is carved out of flat planes. He's also the tallest of the cast. Real beanpole of a man

Hera: I know everyone draws Hera with a face on a screen or as a hologram, but I don't think she has an appearance (beyond the hull of the Hephaestus). When we go into her mind, I think she's just a glowing featureless mannequin, or a ball of light

Lovelace: Lovelace looks like Cecelia Lynn-Jacobs. She just does. Look at her and tell me she doesn't

Kepler: Kepler is short. Well-muscled, but in a slim, athletic way. He's also the most conventionally attractive. I know there isn't a lot of competition for that title, but Kepler... he's a head-turner. He's always wearing a big smile, and he emotes primarily with his eyebrows.

Jacobi: Okay, hot take incoming. Jacobi... [🥁] is a fat, middle-aged man with a pate you could land a helicopter on. He has a dark, scraggly beard, and small but intelligent eyes. He's a bear. He's a bear. Bear Jacobi rights. He's always got a big smile, though, and seems warm and inviting (until you hear his lame sense of dad humor). Big man. Jacobi. Yeah..

Maxwell: Okay here's another hot take: Maxwell is alt. She has partially dyed hair in a side-shave, tons of piercings, permanent raccoon-eye eyeshadow. Her SI-5 uniform is black with red piping. She looks like a gamer girl. Kepler thinks she looks childish, but she's rocking it

Cutter: Cutter's face is entirely forgettable. Completely indistinct features. The second he leaves you forget what he looked like. He's just a guy

Pryce: With Pryce's obsession with "improving" herself, I think she's had so many botox injections she barely has a square inch of motile skin on her face left. Looks like a stretched balloon. It's really unsettling.

#atlas entry #wolf 359 #wolf359 #w359

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oldestenemy · 1 year ago

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“Ah, so I finally experience the pleasure of facing my father’s savior.” Watching the Rat shed his disguise is like watching a chrysalis break open a little too early. Flesh sloughs off of his form like it is rapidly decaying around him, melting into a puddle that turns from pale to red to burnt out black before vanishing in a pile of sour smelling smoke. “I would thank you—but I think I would prefer to see how well you fare before falling to my Titan. How fitting, to destroy the world and its supposed champion in the same blow.”

The wizard does not have the mind to respond to his taunting. They want this over.

“I abandon my disguise but you continue to wear yours—show me the face I will be vaporizing into nothing.”

The wizard tilts their head, hood following. A remnant from Darkmoor—some magic darkens this hood, leaving only the bright glow of golden eyes visible beneath. Something they figured useful when facing a master of disguise and deception. “My face is not for you,” They dip into the well of astral magic, letting it echo their words. “Let’s see what your false titan can do.”

Out of the corner of their vision, they can see Mellori watching them wide eyed with delight.

So maybe most of the fanfare is for her.

It’s easier to focus on something lighter.

They don’t want to let her see how bad this is.

How terrifying the possibility of rending the Spiral in two is to them.

But the concern is foundless.

Rat falls easier than Lorcan or Ghost Dog or even the Broodmother.

The Titan, for all its strength, crumbles to nothing as Rat drops to the ground.

The wizard throws out an arm when Mellori rushes forward—stopping her from getting any nearer just as Old Cob appears in the smoke and rubble.

“—You may be my favorite thing in this forsaken mess of broken worlds…”

They don’t respond, pulling Mellori back towards the entrance as the other pair dissolve into Shadow.

Favorite.

Right.

Just another reminder of their ongoing mistake.

“Shouldn’t we have tried to stop them?”

The wizard shakes their head, “No. The sky anchor is safe, Spider’s other children are still wreaking havoc. Better to let them go.” Mellori doesn’t look particularly happy about their reasoning, but they don’t care, they want to leave this place. The Sky Anchor makes their skin prickle and burn from all the energy.

~*~

“How come you keep your hood up now?” Mellori asks as they make the trek back down from Borealis Peak. “You had it down when we met—is it the scars? Because I think they’re—”

“—it’s not the scars.” the wizard replies, and it’s only partially a lie. They had pulled it up first after collecting the tusks, intending it just to be a way to hide imminent tears. But upon learning of the Rat’s skillset, decided it better to keep their face hidden, whether he knew he’d seen it at the palace or not.

That aside.

They don’t like the looks the scars get sometimes.

Tear tracks shadowbitten and shining. More cool-toned than the rest of their skin from where the ink-dark magic had run down their face on Khrysalis and in Nidavellir. After Khrysalis—it hadn’t been as long, the marks weren’t as noticeable. But they had let it flow for so long in Nidavellir, had pushed their limits so far and taken so much—

They had asked Ceren once if they could be healed, but he’d startled at the fact that they were magical in origin. Magic didn’t often leave scars. It had put them off asking anyone else, or asking about the other scar Shadow had left them with.

Sometimes the space under their ribs still aches where the Fiend had ripped into them.

“It was just a precaution, in case the Rat decided to use my appearance.” They finish, but they do not lower it again.

They escort Mellori and Baba Yaga from the Arcanum to Wizard City, bidding them goodbye outside of Ambrose’s office. They take a moment to think, to count the days since they left for Polaris. It hadn’t been long. A few weeks?

There’s something they want to do before coming back here properly.

A loose end.

So back to the Arcanum it is.

“Komeka?”

“Ah, hello Azure one.” Komeka smiles at their appearance, “I take it you are free to talk now?”

In a manner of speaking.

For the moment.

“Yes.”

“In that case, I would like to show you something.” They follow Komeka into the shelves of the Arcanum’s library, where the Aztecasaur pulls down a handful of small orbs the wizard recognizes as some kind of map. “In here—”

They are led off into a side room. Wide and round and blank walled, with a pedestal in the center. It reminds them somewhat of the tower off Ambrose’s office, where Gamma usually perches in the midst of the Spiral. As Komeka places the map down, they realize that comparison is not far off.

But the map that appears before them is nothing like the depictions of the Spiral as they’ve seen before. There are routes and pathways leading between worlds that look—

Ah.

It hits.

This is a skyway atlas.

Something to be used by traders like Baldur—or anyone who does not traverse using the Spiral Doors. But as interesting as it is to see all the little ways in which the Spiral is connected beyond the doors—the wizard doesn’t know why it’s being shown to them.

Komeka scans the glittering display, tracing through pathways with one clawed hand, the atlas allowing itself to be dragged this way and that towards different and more distant worlds. “Ah, here we are.” They alight on a small collection of densely forested land adrift off the coast of a world called—and under different circumstances they might have laughed at this—Skull Island. “Come here, I believe you will benefit from seeing this.”

The come to stand at Komeka’s side, looking up to where they are pointing. As they approach, Komeka drags the map downwards, expanding the little area until they can read the words Blood Shoals, and just beyond them—Xol Akmul. “It has been a very long time since anyone charted this area—but we did receive a newer, more complete map from a—lets say colleague—who makes port there often.” They pull out the first orb and replace it, plunging the room into brief darkness before it alights—this time in a completely different way. These are more photographic than navigational, they wonder if this sphere just holds stored photomancy. “This is Xol Akmul—to the Spiral at large it is considered barely more than a legend—but to those who know where to look—”

The wizard’s eyes go wide as the images take shape. Dense jungle and ruins built of intensely familiar stonework. Pyramids and archways and—oh—not ruins, not all of them, just old, just worn. “They survived?” It’s barely audible. Their gaze is fixed on the settlement full of Aztecasaurs.

“Long before you ever came to Azteca—longer still before Pacal and the others called out for aid—the Lords of Night sent a vision of the end times, and a small group escaped safely before Xiabalba ever began to drop herself from the sky.” Komeka is smiling down at them, “They are an insular place—well hidden from the Spiral—well protected by their leaders.”

The wizard is glad their hood is still up.

They are crying.

Properly.

Tears run hot and fast down the planes of their hidden face.

“Does Lady Sevenstar know?” They manage, still unable to tear their eyes away.

She must, they think.

Someone must have told her.

“Yes, though I was the one to tell her, as I am telling you now. The Arcanum does not have a loose grip on the knowledge it holds.” Komeka tells them, “In this case I think that is the correct choice, a settlement that small in an area that sought after—it would not be wise to allow it to become widespread knowledge.”

There is an underlying agreement to the words. A promise not to say anything.

And they won’t. They won’t go looking. They won’t run for Baldur and ask a favor they know he would accommodate. They are content to know. To see, even from afar, that some piece of Azteca—however small—survived.

This is enough.

Read the whole series here <3

#wizard101 #wizard101 fic #wizzy fandom #w101 #wizard101 fanfiction #wizard101 fanfic #wizard101 fandom #i have a writeblr for this but shh #stevie is still stuck in the spiral

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misskittyhart · 9 months ago

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CHAPTER 1: Crescent City Where The Jazz Is Gritty

It was a rainy afternoon in New Orleans, the year 1924. The city changed from a sleepy town to a loud, wild night. The cacophonous sound of jazz blared into the streets of the French quarter. The music was hot and blaring crashing down around any one who passed by it’s warm lit streets. Consuming you with the promise of a good time.

The rain had caught up many who were on the way to their jobs at the French Quarter, a gaggle of people huddled under an awning of a local business hoping for a break in this down pour. One of the faces in this crowd was a stunning milky skinned woman with auburn hair and the most stunning emerald green eyes. Her hair was partially pulled back in finger waves, a bright crystal encrusted magnolia adoring her red locks. She had a black fur coat pulled tight around her trying desperately to keep her beautiful dark sapphire beaded dress from getting wet. The dress was shin length, and was accompanied by fine black hosiery and dark blue heels that seemed to glimmer in the street light.

Her name was Kitty, she was a marvelous jazz singer at one of the largest jazz clubs in the quarter, The Silver Magnolia. She was looking at her delicate watch on her wrist wondering if she should risk the down pour as she would be late. People whispered around her, realizing who she was. She was new to the scene, only singing for a year now but she was the head lining act, especially on a Saturday where the joint was so packed it sucked the air from the room. Hot, loud and heavy music filled that room, a room you could lose yourself completely with the sweet taste of rye, you could forget everything. She was terribly worried if the rain didn’t let up soon she would be late for sound check.

A voice startled her suddenly, “you look like you could use an umbrella. You seem to be in a hurry to get somewhere, darling.” A sultry honeyed tone spoke from her side. She turned her face to the stranger to see who was talking to her. He was tall, slender and striking. He wore a bright grin on his handsome features, that made his light brown skin glow. His hazel eyes stared through small round glasses frames as he looked upon her. He was wearing a loud but dashing dark red suit fit with a charming dark red bow tie. He held the umbrella up over her. “I wouldn’t suppose you’d offer me the pleasure of walking you to your destination and allow me to keep you out of this mess.” He said in a very charming tone.

“Oh, yes. That would be very kind, mister?” She said wondering who this man was. Though he seemed very kind, there was an air of pride and arrogance about him.

“Ahhah! You can call me Alastor.” He said offering her his hand in a graceful manner.

“I’m kitty.” She said taking his hand. Which he so smoothly brought to his lips giving her knuckles a chaste kiss. His amber eyes keeping contact with her. He was extremely charming, She thought to her self.

“Well Miss Kitty it is a pleasure to run into such a stunning young woman like yourself!” That smile still on his face. He offered her his arm to take so he could walk her to her destination. She took it after a pause, and began walking along side him. “Tell me pretty one~ where are you headed? It would be my delight to make sure you arrive dry and safe~”

She looked up at him curiously. Alastor. He wouldn’t happen to be the famous radio host would he? She wondered. His question stopped her thoughts. “Oh I’m headed to the Silver Magnolia” she said simply, “I really appreciate your kindness I thought I might be late for sound check”

His eyes glistened with interest now. His smile widening as he looked down at her, almost towering over her smaller stature. “My, my! You wouldn’t happen to be a singer would you?” He asked interested in her.

“I would. I’m the star of the club you could say. At least that’s what they say in the posters and flyers.” She said walking in stride with him. She could feel rain splashing her feet slightly as they walked the water logged sidewalks arm in arm.

“My! That is so wonderful! You must be an amazing singer, I know the magnolia is a very popular jazz club. I may have to come and listen sometime. I’ve been known to cut a rug~” he said looking down at her studying her face, putting it to memory.

“We would love to have you some time.” She said looking at him, “I’m on in an hour if you have nothing to do.”

He grinned wider, “my if I couldn’t say any better, are you asking me out Miss Kitty?”

Kitty let out a silvery airy laugh at his words. “Oh heavens no darling~ I was just offering since you are providing such a service to me and the club.” She really felt like she heard his voice before. “Say…Mr. Alastor, you wouldn’t happen to be the Alastor, the radio host?” She asked him

His grin sparkled and his eyes lit up at being recognized so suddenly. “Why yes my darling! Have you listened to my broadcasts?” He asked now intrigued.

“Oh yes! I catch it quite regularly. You are very entertaining.” She said smiling warmly

“Ah how kind of you my dear! Well if you insist I have time to spare today before my broadcast late tonight. I would love to hear you sing” he offered. What a charming young woman she was, and quite the stunner. He could feel the jealous glances of men in the street and it made him swell with pride.

“I would be delighted to treat you to a stiff drink as a thanks, as well.” She said patting his arm lightly.

He grinned down at her his eyes studying her, “well my darling that would be a treat! I appreciate the offer. I suppose I can take you up on that, it would be rude to leave such a gorgeous creature to drink alone.”

Kitty laughed again “you certainly have a way with words darling~ I’m sure you have women wrapped around your pinky.” She teased him.

He grinned wide eyes focused on her.

Before much longer they arrived at a stunning bright white building with golden filigree on the outside. The bright street lights sparkled down on the name “The Silver Magnolia” It was a bright beacon in the dreary twilight downpour.

Kitty opened the doors walking in with him out of the rain. She sighed taking her coat off and draping it over her arm. Her dress was a stunning off the shoulder number that hugged in all the right ways and showed off her beautiful creamy white bosom. She was wearing a glittering crystal necklace that sat around her collar bone, and her earrings matched perfectly. He couldn’t help but give her a cheeky look over.

“My you are just stunning, darling~” he said teasing her with that tone dripping with honey. He was certainly the charmer.

Kitty laughed softly “why aren’t you just the charmer~” she teased.

“Kitty cat!” A male voice called out. It was a large man behind the bar with striking features and slicked back blonde hair.

“Hey Mike!” She said waving towards him

Mike looked over curiously at Alastor. “Oh? Who’s this? It’s rare for you to bring anyone around.” He smirked.

“Oh this is Alastor, you know the famous radio host. Fate would have it he showed up with an umbrella to keep me out of the mess out there.” She said smiling at him.

“Wow a local celebrity! Well welcome Alastor!” He smiled warmly.

Alastor offered him a grin. His pride swelling in his chest as his ego was stroked by the bar tender. “It’s a pleasure to be in this lovely establishment~ and a treat to have walked Miss Kitty here on my arm.”

Kitty shook her head at him. He sure was a silver tongued talker. His words dripped with confidence. “Would you pour us a drink before I sound check?” She asked walking to the bar and having a seat.

“Oh I’d be honored!” Mike grinned, “two fingers of rye as always?” He asked her

“You know me so well~” she said leaning her chin on her elegant hand.

“And for you mister Alastor?” Mike asked looking at him.

He sat down next to Kitty on the stool, “I’ll have what the lady is having~”

Mike nodded and turned to pour two glasses of rye. He slid them to each of them respectively.

Kitty took the glass in her hand swirling the brown liquid in her cup admiring it before taking a sip. She closed her eyes sighing enjoying the burn in her throat. Ah what a feeling.

Alastor watched her curiously, before taking a sip himself. “Ah~ that is some deliciously high quality whiskey.” He grinned, “you certainly have great taste, Miss Kitty~”

She laughed, “I suppose I do.”

His eyes were transfixed on the diva. His eyes had a glint of danger in them, but she seemed to not notice as she finished her whiskey. His ears pricked as he heard the sound of the band suddenly tuning their instruments. The faint tickle of piano keys got his attention, he turned looking over his shoulder at the stage. The lights now up as a jazz band collecting in front of the dark green velvet curtains. He raised a brow in interest.

Kitty set her glass down, it now drained of its contents. “That’s my queue” she said sliding off her stool. Show time was soon.

Alastor watched her walk toward the stage looking in her element.

“My dear Kitty!” A boisterous voice called.

Kitty looked over at the stage. “Glen!” She smiled brightly. Alastor paid close attention to how everyone seemed to light up when seeing her. It seem she brought starlight to the room when she entered. He raised a brow, what a charming woman indeed. He grinned.

“Who’s that young man over there? Is he your new boyfriend?” Glen asked taking his cigar from his mouth, “you better treat my little Kitty with care young man!”

Kitty flushed “Glen! That is not it at all, Mr. Alastor was kind enough to sheild me with his umbrella from the weather.”

Glen laughed softly, “I was wondering. I’ve never seen you bring a man here before.”

Kitty rolled her eyes. They’re relationship almost seemed like father and daughter, but he was the manager of the club.

Alastor laughed at the comment “I would be too lucky to have such a lovely creature on my arm~” he said with that charming honey dipped tone.

Kitty looked at him with contempt in her eyes. Men! She thought. “Time for the show.” She said climbing the stairs onto the stage. Her demeanor changed. She commanded that stage with great grace and power. Alastor admired the way she went about talking with the band going over notes, and there was an air of pride about her. Interesting~

She did a few warm ups into the mic as they tested sound. The band played a few small snippets of a song to make sure everything was good to go. Before they knew it the house was packed. Alastor was sat at a side table close to the stage where he could study all the action there. Kitty looked marvelous up there, like she belonged in that lime light. Her beads sparkled like stars in the night sky, her skin glowed like moon light. She certainly was a stunning creature. He rested his chin on his hands studying her intensely.

Kitty grabbed the mic like she would a lover. Cradling it with her delicate fingers, caressing the sparkling brace tenderly. When she sang and the music swelled she commanded every eye in that room. She was powerful. Her husky, sultry tones filled the room. He smiled brightly enjoying her command of the stage. A very interesting woman indeed. His eyes narrowed with intrigue. It wasn’t every day you ran into a dame like this. What a fun game this could be~

The music was coming down as she came to her final song. Her skin was glistening like diamonds in the hot stage light, as sweat trickling down her skin. She was pouring her heart and soul into her performance and it had the room holding its breath.

The trumpets whined, and the trombones roared, the piano tinkled their ivory keys, the drums pounding and the sound of the bass were crescendoing in anticipation to lead her voice to explode into the room.

She cupped the mic tenderly her red lips so close to the mic, ghosting against it as if it was her lover. Alastor watched hungrily and his eyes flickered with danger. When her husky voice erupted into song he felt a sense of desire swell in his chest.

To be or not to be~

That is not the question!

I decided long ago to be!

With me, it’s what to be~

Now, make me some suggestions~

Good or baaad

Which is the best for me?

When you’re after fun and laughter, oh this aggravates you~

Some reformers say a warmer climate awaits you~

If it’s naughty to your lips~

Shake your shoulders and shake your hips~

Let a lady convince, oh I want to be bad~

If it’s naughty to vamp the men~

Sleep each morning til after 10~

Then the answer is yes, I want to be baaad~

The thing is being a good little goodie is all very well~

What can you do when you’re loaded with plenty of health and vigor~

When you’re learning what lips are for~

And it’s naughty to ask for more ~

Let a lady confess~

Want

Baaaaaad~

Her song ended on that loud sultry high note. The band culled the music down until the room stilled to silence. The room exploded into thunderous applause and whistling. Kitty graciously took her bow as the curtains closed before her. She panted softly dabbing her face free of sweat with her handkerchief. She felt pride and the high of preforming buzzing in her body.

Alastor clapped so hard his hands hurt. She was so very stunning. Her voice commanded all attention in that room, it was thrilling. She looked like a goddess on that stage. Powerful and prideful. The way her lips grazed the microphone was so alluring. What a flirtatious and delicious creature she was. He couldn’t take his eyes from her.

Oh yes this little game of cat and mouse would be so fun~

He had a new fascination to occupy his time.

“Just lovely, darling~” he said watching her disappear behind the curtain.

His lips twisted into a wicked grin.

To be continued!

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfic #the radio demon #alastor the radio demon #New Orleans #1920s #Spotify

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snippychicke · 1 year ago

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For the Sake of a Smile (v.2) Chapter Nine

Title: For the Sake of a Smile (Revised)

Overall Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapter Rating: T for teen.

Trigger warnings: Nothing beyond the child abuse hinted in the series, though we do explore the consequences a bit more.

Main Pairing: Balam Shichiro/Reader

Summary: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen in your life. And the fact your coworker was a child.

A child named Suzuki Iruma, in fact. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but yet he smiled despite everything. It wasn’t long after meeting him that you decided you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a literal demon and signing your soul away.

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew.

And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life.

Masterlist | Ao3| Mairimashitai! Simps Discord

The rest of the final day had been an insane whirlwind, making you bite your nails as you kept an eye on Iruma as well as the rest of the Misfit teams. It had been a stressful race to the deadline, and you had feared that despite all of it, Iruma and Lied hadn't won.

Only for Jazz to protest, sealing their victory.

When you saw Iruma, you automatically broke out into a run. The boy barely had time to prepare before you snatched him up in a crushing hug.

"Mom!" He squeaked as you squeezed him tightly, causing you to reluctantly release him.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so excited for you!" You explained as you took a step back. And while you were excited for him, that was only partially the reason for the urge to fuss over him.

You didn't want to explain how terrified you had been, or how you still had those dark feelings of being a failed parent. They were pushed deep away in the corner of your mind, but still hung around like a dark shadow.

His beaming smile eased some of the anxiety before Iruma closed the distance between you to give you a bearhug. You quickly reciprocated the hug, and went as far as to press a kiss to his messy blue hair. "I'm so proud of you, kiddo. So very, very proud."

"Thank you," He answered quietly, face still pressed tight against your shoulder. "Thank you so much for being my mom."

Your heart squeezed in your chest as tight as you squeezed him, words failing you. How do you even respond to that, especially in public? You wanted to cry, to tell him how honored you were, how much you loved him. How much it meant to you to hear him say that.

"Hey, I helped too, Ms. Suzuki!" Lied chimed in with a teasing tone.

You pulled away from Iruma once again, covering Iruma as he rubbed his eyes while you focused on the blonde demon. "You're right, you did!" You grinned before pulling him in for a hug as well. "I'm proud of you too! Both of you did an amazing job!"

Lied's face was a bright red, though you didn't miss the almost-bashful smile on his face after he pulled away. "Of course we did! Lil' bro and I make the best team."

"Oh? Lil' bro?" That was news to you, and you were about to playfully grill the two about it before Clara seemed to appear out of nowhere, wrapping her arms around your shoulders as she pounced on your back.

"Iru-mama!"

Soon the whole Misfit class was swarming both the 'young kings' of the Harvest Festival as well as yourself.

You couldn't help but compliment all of them on their strategies and attempts to win the festival, earning varied flustered but glowing smiles at your praise. They all did their best, and you could easily see how much they had grown stronger underneath the special tutelage given to them.

And while Iruma would always hold a special part of your heart, you were filled with that maternal pride for all of them. You didn't care what others may think, but the Misfit class certainly stood above the rest of the students in their year, and you couldn't wait to see what they accomplished next.

--+--

The end of the Harvest festival was celebrated with a large banquet. The dining hall of the first year tower filled with students, faculty, and of course - food. Everyone was enjoying the break, the excuse to let loose and have fun.

Except you.

Within minutes of arriving, you realized Momonoki and Rami were hunting you for the infamous ‘girl talk’. You had barely escaped them the first time, and felt like a mouse being hunted by two starving cats.

Yes, you had vowed to set the record straight, but that was before everything became a wild mess. You were in no state to confront those two.

So, despite your reservations, you searched out Balam in the crowd, knowing he would help you without question - hopefully, at least - because you really didn't want to explain to him why you were so determined not to talk to the two tonight.

As it turned out, Kalego was standing close to Balam and apparently using him to ward off others as well. A small part of you balked, worried how the other teacher would react to your situation, but you had no other alternative.

"Please, hide me!" You begged as you approached, glancing left and right for a hint of pale blue or deep violet.

"What?" Kalgeo answered for Balam, though the taller demon seemed just as confused by your desperate plea.

But there was no time to explain. Not when you caught sight of Momonoki's signature ponytail next to Raim's horns. Without hesitating, you ducked between the two male demons and hid between them and the wall.

"Speak of the devils," Raim's voice carried as she approached, and you could only press closer to Balam - hoping you were out of sight. "Have you two seen our little librarian running around here?"

"We haven't," Kalego answered as he stepped closer to Balam, surprising you. You hadn't been expecting him to cover for you so easily. "She likely went home, seeing how the Chairdemon and Opera are absent."

"Hmmm, maybe," Momonoki replied after a moment, sounding somewhat convinced. "She doesn't socialize much - well, at least the rest of the faculty. You're pretty chummy with her, aren't you, Balam?"

Your blood ran cold at the insinuating tone in her voice. Oh god. No, no, no.

"I suppose," Balam answered. "We do share an interest in imaginary creatures. She actually has some interesting thoughts! From what she had studied, she believes that the human realm's avians are related to ancient dragons called 'dine sars'. Which, considering the close relationship between the Netherworld dragons and bird-types, I…"

"I think I hear my students calling me," Raim interrupted, sounding rather frantic. "Come on, Momonoki!"

You waited until you could feel Balam relax before peeking your head around his side carefully. His hand rested on your hair, ruffling it reassuringly as you looked up at him.

"And they call me antisocial," Kalego sighed, sipping at his glass. "At least I don't actively hide from my peers."

"Any other time, I would argue that," You shot back; wanting to defend your actions but at the same time, not wanting to mention The Rumor to them if at all possible. "But… I never had female friends before. They kinda scare me."

That wasn't quite the truth, but they both seemed to accept it.

"They can both be intense at times," Kalego acknowledged. "Of course that never seemed to stop you befo--"

His words were cut off by a sudden flash of light as he disappeared, and across the hall there was a loud cheer of 'Eggy-Sensei!' by many students.

"Oh dear," Balam sighed. "I guess Iruma must have Summoned him."

You could only imagine how upset Kalego was, or wonder what could convince Iruma to summon his familiar. But, those thoughts were quickly pushed aside with the more pressing matter that you were once again alone with Balam.

Okay, so the hall was packed with students and teachers alike, but none particularly close by. Before, it would have never bothered you. Hell, you would have preferred it; though you didn't mind Kalego's company either.

Yet with The Rumor repeating itself in the back of your mind like a broken record, it made you especially nervous. Was everyone noticing you two standing together, and that once again Balam's hand was in your hair as you remained overly close to him? Were they gossiping and whispering about the relationship between you?

"Were you able to see the Legendary Leaf?" He asked, dragging you out of your thoughts.

"Er, not before it transformed," You answered. "I heard it looked like a Salamander flower with an even dopier expression on its face."

Balam pulled his phone out, and from your vantage point you could see the gallery of saved images: many cute looking animals surrounded by the forest.

You probably should have stepped away from him - put more space between you - yet it was too hard. Not when he was happily going over the different animals in the pictures, like the Patched Cows with a calf, or a whole nest of Snuggling Squirrels.

Then near the end was a long series of what you presumed was the Legendary Leaf; a black, very dopey looking… thing. You really didn't know how else to describe the chubby creature at the end of a long, thin stem; Its eyes almost cartoonishly out of focus.

"No one has seen the Legendary Leaf since it was created," Balam explained as you studied the picture. "Lord Derkila left the Seed of Beginning and the Pot of Ending with the school for the Harvest Festival shortly before his disappearance with strict instructions on how it was to be hidden. In the decades that have followed, no one has been able to cause the Legendary Leaf to bloom - or even find the two objects."

It only made you even prouder of Iruma - which you hadn't thought was possible.

Speaking of which, he flipped to the next picture and froze. It was a shot of you hugging Iruma and Lied, sakura petals drifting in the air around you.

"I, uh, well," He started, face turning pink again when you looked up at him.

"I love it, could you send that to me?" You reassured, though felt your own face heating up as well, the tempo of your heart increasing its pace.

Once again, The Rumor whispered in your ear. But…would it be so bad, being in a relationship with Balam?

No, you would love to have a more intimate relationship with him. More than anything, you wished that was possible.

It was your rational mind that reminded you that you were separate species and that he was well aware of that fact; any possible signs of his attraction could be explained away as an enthusiast studying and learning more of their passion. His skinship habit meant any physical touches could have an entirely platonic meaning.

You were reading way too much into this - The Rumor and your own feelings affecting your perspective.

You didn't want to ruin the friendship that had developed between you. Plus the fact you hadn't realized how touch-starved you had been until now, and the thought of being devoid of his friendly touches made your heart ache. Even if they were platonic with no other motive, you loved being able to be so easily physically affectionate.

You were going to kill Sullivan and Opera when you got home for ruining this.

"O-of course! I'd be happy to." He quickly busied himself with sending the image, and you took the opportunity to take a step away - putting space between you and him as you scanned the crowd for lingering eyes.

Who else had heard? Who else was presuming you were in a relationship with Balam?

Did they frown upon it, as Momonoki implied they would? Or did they silently encourage it?

And really, what did your fake backstory matter to them? Did the Netherworld really not have single mothers, or did they not look for a second significant other after their first? It seemed odd, considering how their other social aspects seemed more progressive. But they were also very hierarchical.

Was that an issue? The fact you were 'unranked' and he was rank eight--Khet, if you remembered correctly. Was that the equivalent of a pauper and a lord forging a relationship?

Not that it would ever happen….

Your phone beeped startling you out of your thoughts to the point you actually jumped a bit.

"Are you alright?" Balam asked when you fumbled with your phone, saving the picture he had sent you. "I can understand not wanting to be roped into a conversation with Momonoki and Raim, but… you seem very on edge."

"It's nothing!" You quickly defended, sidestepping to avoid his hand as he reached out to reassure you. The expression on his face - or at least what you could see - about broke you, but… you couldn't give The Rumor more fuel than you already had. "Its-its nothing. I'm just, uh, worn out after everything. Could you tell Iruma I'll see him when he gets home if he happens to ask?"

Without waiting for an answer, you rushed towards the exit. You hated this, hated the confusing mess of thoughts and feelings rattling around in your head. Hated the fact it could irreparably damage your relationship with Balam.

You were going to kill Sullivan and Opera.

-+-

Balam watched you leave, the Buzzer ability ringing in his ears.

There was definitely something wrong, he could tell that even without his bloodline ability. Was it just nerves left over from the Harvest Festival? Or was something else going on?

Whatever it was, he hoped it passed soon, and things went back to normal. He wouldn't be so preoccupied with tutoring Asmodeus and Sabnock, so he was eager to spend more time with you…

Granted, with the fall molt approaching, maybe that wasn't such a wise idea…

--+--

The doors slammed open with a thunderous boom when you reached home. "Sullivan!" You yelled. "Opera!"

Both froze, mid-decorating the entrance hall for Iruma. "Yes, princess?" Sullivan answered warily, taking in your enraged expression.

"What the actual fuck?!" You swore, slamming your overnight bag down--things you had needed in the forest. "Why?! Why would you do that?"

"Well, mainly it was just to give you and Balam a little nudge," Sullivan replied meekly, eyes downcast as his hands knitted together in embarrassment.

Yet despite his reaction your fury barely calmed. "A nudge?! Why? We-we're just friends. There is nothing between us!" You gestured wildly as you paced the hallway, the anxiety and frustration bubbling and demanding release. "Yet now I'm sure half the school thinks otherwise! You do realize that Raim and Momonoki both love to gossip, right? Hell, I'm new here and I already know that!"

While Sullivan was chastened by your anger, Opera - as always - barely seemed fazed. "You both are obviously fond of each other. More than allies usually are. You both just need to realize and admit it."

"I may be fond of him, but we all know Balam. He isn't going to be interested in me like that. He's fully aware that I'm human! He's never going to see me as anything more than a source of knowledge for the earthly realm. Some weak but priceless creature to fuss over and protect." By the end of your tirade, you had worked yourself into a rather hysterical panic; all the stress, fears, and anxieties pouring out. Tears stung your eyes, your heart pounding.

It both helped as well as pushed you closer to crying as Sullivan quickly gathered you into his arms, pulling you into a tight hug. "Oh, sweetheart, you don't actually think that, do you?"

"Yes! No - I don't know!" You answered, burying your face in the fluff of his collar. "I can't get my hopes up, or even take that risk. Everything is perfect as it is, I shouldn't want more."

"My sweet dear girl, that goes against everything a demon is," Sullivan said as he stroked your hair tenderly. "We constantly strive after our ambitions, and never settle for anything less. Look at Iruma, striving to be the best he can be. Don't let the fear of failing stop you from chasing what you desire."

You stayed silent as you clung to him, seeking that paternal reassurance while also mulling over his words. Ambition? As much as you loved the fact Iruma was able to adapt so well to the Netherworld, you found it so much harder to leave behind the lessons you had learned on Earth. Especially the lesson that you should be content with what you had, else your selfishness will cause you to lose it all.

How many times did you see others take risks and gamble because they wanted more, only to lose everything -- sometimes even their own life.

And you had more than you could ever dream of. How could you dare to risk this?

The door opened, causing you to pull away from Sullivan. Iruma looked confused by the half-decorated hall, and then you looked as if you were minutes from crying your eyes out.

"Mom?" He asked, and you quickly wiped your eyes and offered a smile.

"Hey, welcome home!" You opened your arms widely, as if you felt far happier than you actually did. "Heh, I, um, interrupted gramps and Opera from finishing their decorations. Sorry about that…."

Opera popped a confetti popper, trying to break the mood. Instead, tears gathered in Iruma's bright blue eyes and before you knew it, you and Sullivan were both pulled into a hug, his hand waving towards Opera to join in. Which, they did, with a very feline-like sigh - though their ears betrayed their happiness to be included.

"I'm happy to be home," He confessed, relieving your worries that your own tears had upset him."I-I'm just so happy to be home."

"We're happy you're home as well," Sullivan said softly, pulling everyone closer.

This. This was why you couldn’t take the risk. You had everything you needed right here.

--+--

Hours later, you retired to your room; happy to flop back on the plush bed, surrounded with the soft silence of home instead of the forest nightlife just outside the tent walls, faculty talking near constantly in the background.

Knowing that just down the hall, Iruma was safe and sound. Sullivan was close by, as was Opera. Everyone that had become like family.

Your peaceful rest was interrupted by a soft knock at the door before it cracked open. You looked up as Iruma poke his head. "Hey, um, can I come in?"

You quickly sat up. "Yeah, of course," You answered easily enough, though you couldn't help but worry. "Is something wrong?"

Iruma worried his lip as he walked over and sat on the edge of the extra large bed. "That's actually what I wanted to ask."

You tilted your head, keeping silent to encourage him to continue. He fiddled with his hands a little bit before taking a deep breath. "I noticed that tonight, both at the celebration and at dinner you've been… preoccupied. And it made me realize I've been so caught up with my friends and everything, that we don't talk like we used to. I miss that. And…" He trailed off, looking down at his lap. "And I worry that we're not as close as we used to be."

"Oh, honey," You sighed before scooting closer to him to pull him into a hug, resting your head on his. "It's nothing like that. I'm so happy you have friends now; that you're able to just be a kid and not forced into being an adult. As for what's been bugging me, it's nothing for you to worry about, okay?"

He leaned into your embrace. "But you used to tell me things that bothered you before; from coworkers, our boss, even just random things."

You smiled softly at that, twinging your fingers with his. Both sets bore scars from working in the factory, gutting fish all day. More than once, both of you nicked your fingers with the knives; from shallow cuts to deep ones.

His hands weren't shaped like yours, yet they looked a lot alike in that sense. A bond borne not of blood, but circumstances. Yet it ran deeper than you could even imagine.

"Remember when Boss wanted you to move to another station with that idiot? I can't remember his name now, but I do remember he couldn't tell Tuna from Carp. And I knew it was 'cause Boss wanted you to pick up his slack and do twice the duty."

Iruma chuckled a bit. "They could hear you outside the office, swearing up a storm worse than the sailors when they came in. Everyone was whispering about you being a mother hen again."

"Damn right I was being a mother hen!" You pulled back so you could smile down at him. "I wasn't about to let them misuse you any more than they already did. At least when you were with me, I could keep an eye on you! You go out on the ship one time, and here we are, in the literal Netherworld with our souls sold to a demon. But you know what?"

"What?"

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before smoothing down his unruly blue hair. "I wouldn't change one thing. You are the best thing that's ever happened in my life, and I will always be grateful for that."

Tears filled his eyes again, and he quickly threw his arms around you. You pulled him tight, rocking him lightly. "We may not be bound by blood, Iruma dear. But ever since day one, I think I’ve known deep down you were meant to be my son. It just took a deal with the devil to make it happen."

He snorted at that. "Grandpa is hardly the devil."

You sighed, smiled fading lightly. With Sullivan apparently happy to propagate The Rumor, you were beginning to wonder. Still, both he and Opera seemed to have good intentions.

The saying went 'the road to hell was paved with good intentions', though you weren't quite sure how that proverb stood when you were already in hell.

Because of your own good intentions.

Iruma sensed your thoughts wandering and pulled away. "...are you sure you won't tell me what's bothering you?” He asked softly, bringing your attention back to him.

Oh no.

He had his puppy's eyes in effect. His already large blue eyes somehow wider and more innocent - looking on the verge of hurt - and looking towards you for help. You tried to close your eyes, but the pleading expression was burned into your memory.

"It's just a rumor" You finally broke with a sigh. "Your wonderful grandfather thought he was being helpful when he and Opera kinda shared with a few of the faculty that Professor Balam and I are courting - or, er, dating."

The puppy-eyed expression disappeared, to your relief, and was replaced with mild confusion. "Wait, Grandpa and Opera started that rumor?"

Wait. "You've heard it already?" Oh, god. How far had it reached? Did the entire school know by now?!

"Maybe?" He offered, his cheeks turning pink. "I mean, the rest of my class have been wondering the same thing for a long time, to be honest…"

"What?!" You screeched.

"Well, everyone else is scared of Professor Balam except for Kalego. Even the other teachers seemed to avoid him. And then Sabnock and Asmodeus admitted tonight that you were frequently dropping by during their training…."

You hadn't even thought of that. Sullivan and Opera didn't need to say anything, apparently. You rubbed your face with a groan, wishing that you had heard that little fact tomorrow instead of today. Because now there was definitely no way you were getting sleep.

"To be honest, I was happy," Iruma continued after a moment, shocking you. You looked up and saw him smiling to himself as he looked down at his lap. "I mean, Professor Balam is one of the nicest people I've ever met. And I could tell you're really happy when you're talking with him. So, I’ve kinda been rooting for you two."

A thousand thoughts and emotions fought inside you, leaving you speechless for a long moment. "You… you don't think it's weird? A human and a demon?" You finally voiced softly.

He shook his head. "No! Not at all! And Professor Balam knows you’re human, and he's always so cautious around both of us. He'd take good care of you. Besides, there's no other humans down here but us, and I want you to be happy."

You wiped away the tears in your eyes and pulled him into another hug. "When did you get wise beyond your years yet again?"

"My mom taught me well," Was his muffled reply, making you squeeze him tighter.

"She could stand to listen to her own advice then, huh?"

--+-- Su-Ki-Ma--+--

The next morning you stumbled into the kitchen, drawn by the delicious smells.

You swore no one could cook like Opera, not even the amazing staff in the kitchens of Babyls.

Opera still wouldn't let you help much in the kitchens, but you had finally learned it wasn't because they were being possessive of the kitchen, they were apparently doing it more to protect you and the rest of the household from your attempts.

Cooking in the Netherworld required mana to make things edible, apparently. Iruma with his ring had just a bit of difficulty brewing tea, but it was drinkable; unlike your own mess.

"I was hoping you would be down," Opera stated as you plopped next to the small kitchen table as they quickly appeared with a steaming pot of tea. "I wanted to talk with you."

You made a noise to indicate you were listening, even if you weren't quite awake. To your surprise, Opera took the seat across from you, hand folded on the table and their yellow eyes piercing.

There was a brief moment of panic as you worried you had messed up somewhere; and while Sullivan was too kind to scold you, Opera certainly wouldn't have any qualms. Afterall, they were both Lord Sullivans right-hand as well as security demon.

"Shichiro, as well as Kalego, are my kohai," They started. "I'm not sure if humans have something similar to the term, but they are as precious to me as Lord Sullivan is."

Well, kohai - or underclassmen - were a thing in the human realm, but it varied culture to culture and you had a feeling it was far more significant here than where you were from. But you kept those thoughts to yourself and merely nodded your head.

"I wanted you to be aware that if I thought you would be a bad mate for Shichiro, I would not be participating in Lord Sullivan’s plans," They continued, making you flush and start to protest, to which they held up a hand to silence you. "I'm aware you aren't pleased with our interference, but let me continue. Shichiro is a very unique demon, to say the least, and I had thought he would be content with his role as a professor and guardian of Babyls. But I see now, it would take an equally unique person to catch his attention, as you have done."

"...you really think he's interested in me?" You quietly interrupted, and Opera gave a short nod.

"I've known him since his first year of Babyls when I took him and Kalego as my kohai. In the many years since, I have never seen him take such interest in a person. But, I digress. I had just wanted to assure you that your fears are unfounded, because if you weren't suited for him, I would be sure to make it clear."

That last bit… sounded rather like a threat, especially paired with unblinking eyes and annoyed twitch of their tail and ears.

"Okay," You answered meekly. "I-I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

They nodded again before standing. "And that I agree with Lord Sullivan, your children are going to be absolutely adorable. I'll have to contact his mother. Shichiro was extremely cute as a child - although a bit of a handful, if I remember her stories right."

They left you to gawk in silence as your mind was invaded by thoughts of children. With Balam.

"Can- can humans and demons even, you know, reproduce?" You squeaked without thinking, and earned a very slight smile from the feline demon.

"Legends say they can, but you know who the expert in that field is. Perhaps you should ask him."

Right. Balam was the expert in imaginary creature history. But… asking him…if humans and demons… could have kids.

That was even worse than asking him about courting.

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #balam shichiro #balam/reader #suzuki iruma #lord sullivan #naberius kalego #opera #balam shichiro x reader

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headingalaxys-spicy · 2 years ago

Text

Hetalia Mating Season Au: Canada

IT"S MAPLE BOY TIME AHAHHAAHAHA.

The official warning here: THIS IS A SPICE POST!

Enjoy!

:readmore:

You’d been pinned harshly to the wall, Half-nude, with him more than halfway inside of you. Your vision was only accompanied by the light of the cracking fireplace. Your breath hitched, and a few tears escaped your eyelids. Your mind was reeling from the reality whiplash.

One moment you were fine and at home making maple cookies and some batter fell on your cheek. He playfully licked it off, and in doing so you could catch that familiar glint in his eyes. It wasn’t entirely full of malice; something else stood close to the lustful intent and threatened to come into the foreground. Heat, desire, and tension flooded the air. It blended in with the sweet batter making the musk of the air similar to that of Matthew’s characteristics.

He pulled out to let his cock trace the outside of your pussy to increase the budding pleasure. Earlier, he’d concocted an aphrodisiac lubricant that was created with some of the tree sap from the sacred dark forest. He’d been daydreaming and dreading this moment. The fear that would inevitably be in your eyes as you realized you’d been dragged to hell.

What was it about you that made him go wild like this? Normally participating in the mating season was something he avoided in favor of an elongated hibernation. But, that one night when winter's cold hung close, and the sun's warmth hardly lasted until noon.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I know this is jarring for you Maple.” His tone was sincere but stated in an inhuman voice that was deeper, like the depths of an abyss. Your mind was stunned by the entire experience, so you didn’t respond. You simply held your blank gaze just right outside of Matthew’s vision. He knew not to chase your orbs, even if he desperately wanted to so he could read all of the emotions that were flashing across your face. He didn’t dare to for now. He kept a firm grip on your bare hips.

You did pick up on the hints of sweetness that was in his threatening voice. It held the fresh spa of early spring, brimming with new life. You did let out a squeak when Matthews's nails had sunk into your soft skin a little too deeply. The air was still tense, but you were not going to suffocate in this vacuum-sealed silence forever.

“Matthew…” You finally bring your eyes to meet his glowing red and violet eyes. They reminded you of marbles.

He lowers himself down closer to your face, and his arms make their way down to your bare bum as he brings your heat closer to his half-hardened cock. Your heart rate immediately sped up. You could feel the thumps of his heart harmonize with yours.

‘Is this what it feels like to be alive?’ The flurry of emotions that you felt overwhelmed you. You’d been tossed into a cavernous flaming sea that was glowing with passion, fear, love, and confusion. You began to feel an excessive amount of heat pool to your thighs and vagina.

You were beginning to slip down from the wooden wall your hoodie that was protecting your breasts got caught on a coat hanger pin. A wild grin makes its way to Matthew’s face. His cock twitched in excitement. His strong thighs which were still partially covered by his black slacks, constricted around your legs. You could practically feel the hormones coursing through his body.

“You won’t be needing this Y/N.” The audible sounds of cotton and polyester being torn to shreds greeted your ears and rained on your eyes. There was no more protection from the King of Maple Fleau.

Shock covered your face initially; then it moved into begin to relax somewhat. The aphrodisiac was working its magic on the nerves that were more concerned with what reality you were actually in.

The sweet maple demon had entranced you. He was taking in your glorious bare form for a few more seconds before his hands were back on your booty as he reeled you in closer to him again.

Your face was smushed against his blood-red military jacket and you were able to inhale the Oud wood in his cologne. It only helped to intoxicate you more and you subconsciously wrapped your delicate arms around your demon boyfriend. Your hands grazed against his large leather wings while you did so.

“You look delicious Y/N.” The clear desire saturated his voice.

You purr out.

“Oui?” A small smirk arises on your face.

“Je suis chaud” His hands squeeze your butt once more before he lifted you into midair. It didn’t take much for him to feel much of his blood rush to his cock. He positions himself at the front of your entrance again. As he forced you down onto his magma-hot girth. Since you were on a stimulant, this only added to your heightened senses. You let out a long gasp that expressed undeniable pleasure and scorching pain.

“Ahhhhhhh ….nnnngh……umph….Matthew.. Unh.” You wrapped your legs tight around his waist so that you felt more support while being suspended midair, and so you could better take him in.

Matthew was allowing you to adjust to the size of his cock. You could feel your insides wanting to clench around him. Not yet. You wanted to have some fun. However, when you felt him grow inside of you a little more, your cheeks flushed with red paint. You threw your head back, and your low moan prompted him to continue thrusting. Watching your boobs bounce helplessly as he pounded into your core was a sight for dry eyes.

Once you finally recovered from his initial thrust and growth, your arms reel you back into Matthew’s torso and neck. It stood out in the sea of confusion you were in, like a well-lit lighthouse. You rested your head on his shoulder as you could feel that he’d fallen into a rhythm while he pounded into you ferociously. He was the same person but also different.

Matthew inhaled your sweet (favorite flower) lotion. It coaxed him closer to climax as his mind was flooded with nothing but thoughts of you and the life you could have together if you actually accept being his Queen of Maple Fleau. You wouldn’t abandon him like some of the others before. But, still doubt still had clouds that hung low in his heart.

“Matthew….” You snapped him out of his worry and back to the present, where looking straight into your eyes briefly brought him to snap.

“Y/N…ahhhhhhhh” He begins to moan as he released himself inside of you and continued to thrust so that he could ride out his orgasm. This process would reset again shortly. His body had missed too many Spring seasons. His hands made definite indents in the sides of your hips that would only get worse and possibly permanent throughout the night.

When he finished, you gently brought your hands to his face, which had been coated in a thick layer of sweat. You moved some of his golden locks of blonde hair from his face and tucked it behind his ears. Your bright (eye color) shined through the glim lighting. They fired ultraviolet lasers straight into Matthew’s heart. His heart is congested with so many emotions that his brain was unable to think of words to describe the predicament the two of you were in. Only 15 minutes ago the two of you were in your kitchen making Maple cookies to celebrate the oncoming of Spring and the new beginning of you deciding to move in with him after years of dating. This was an unexpected turn of events but not one that took you by total surprise.

“Do you want to verbalize at least what’s going on, Matthew? I’m not going to be angry….” Knowing he needed more reassurance for him to open up. You’ve realized that prefacing statements in this way gave him the go-ahead to be real with you. You felt his muscles relax and your feet finally touched the ground after 20 minutes of being in mid-air.

He bites his lower lip and you could see the all too familiar sharper than usual canines he had. His eyes turned back to his bright violets. He maintained his tight grip on you as if you were a wild deer that was trying to escape. He didn’t allow his gaze to meet yours, instead he had a staring match with the soft red rug that was beneath you.

“Yeah… but it’s hard to eh?” He finally says, as if he’d just been defeated after a war.

‘This is the end, isn’t it? She won’t accept. She’ll hate me and tell me …..’

“I love you, Matthew Williams, but how can you say it’s hard when you’re being fully honest now?” You begin to giggle a little at the absurdity of your current predicament. Fully naked, probably lost the ability to walk for a week, and your boyfriend of 3 years is a literal demon.

“And there is nothing wrong with what and who you are.” You do your best to try and get him to look at you, but he seemed to be frozen solid by the allure of the carpet. You roll your eyes as a mischievous grin spreads across your face like wildfire. You kiss him on the nose and playfully poke his lips.

The playful kiss sends cupids arrows to Matthew’s heart.

Y/N breaks from Matthews's titanium chain-like grip and in doing so immediately falls over due to not being fully capable of walking.

Just before you fully pummeled to the floor, Matthew’s tail catches you and brings you back to his tight embrace fully facing him. He snickered at your attempt of trying to be playfully sexy. Your willingness to face crazy things never ceased to enamor him.

“Alright, Y/N I admit it I’m a demon… But not just any demon, a demon King and it’s Spring, which means that it’s mating season for us. We all go up well, most of us go up each year to try and find a human mate that would be willing to become one with us and rule our kingdoms and if said partner is a woman, have our heirs. In the most basic sense. If we don’t like the partner we’ve chosen, we do have to kill them since all have either gone insane with knowing that hell does exist, or they would expose too much of the underworld to humans.”

Silence floated between the two of you for a few minutes. The crackling of the roaring fire was the only sound that your ears could pick up. It gave you the space to work out the further implications. You were going to ask him if it was possible for you to at least visit the surface world at least once in a while…..

“Y/N?” Your lack of response prompted him to search your bewildered eyes. He gave you a sympathetic smile as you turned your full attention to be on him again. He gave you a gentle peck on your lips.

“But, I promise I won’t hurt you …. I just….. I know I’ll be gentle… I know it’s a lot to ask …I..”

You kissed him on the lips simply to stop his ramblings.

“Matthew.” You managed to get him to look at you directly in your profound (eye color). Your hands were once again on the sides of his face. You hoisted yourself onto your tiptoes. You wanted to make sure that he had your full attention.

“It’s okay, I still love you, you know?” The words sound unreal to him and he was waiting for you to yell gotcha! It’s just a prank. He’s on a television show of sorts….But when you keep your stare directly on him with no other surprise to spring upon him he finally noticed that a few tears clouded his vision.

“Y/N…” A cracked voice rings out into the dull darkness of his large bedroom.

You led him in with a gentle kiss and turned up in passionate fervor.

Matthew could feel himself become extremely excited again as your tongues interlaced. He allowed himself to purely feel with less thought involved. Why would he need to when both he and you were intertwined with love?

He quickly discarded his slacks, socks, and shoes while you made progress with his coat and stuffy shirt. He ripped it off his black shirt and tossed it to somewhere in the room. At this moment, all that mattered was you. Thunderbolts hit the pit of your stomach as your hearts began to harmonize.

“Je serai doux.” You loved it when he lost himself and began to speak French. It sounded like a scared incantation only spoken to those who were special. His boner was once again raging and would need release soon. He pinned you to the ground, the fireplace illuminating your features perfectly. You look like a Renaissance painting splayed out for his liking. He drank in the sight of your fully nude form from the tip of your head to your toes. All of you looked magnificent to him.

‘How becoming of a Queen.’

He planted one more long kiss on your luscious lips. He dragged all of the air from your lungs. His boulder-like knees crashed down to the soft red rug between your legs. He forced them apart almost to a 180 angle. The same hot rod feeling from before greeted your entrance except this time it felt a few degrees hotter. Before you could ponder how that was possible, you felt your thighs begin to sweat profusely like the rest of your body. His dick traced the outside of your vagina while he left a few butterfly kisses on top of your forehead like a flower crown of sorts. Claiming you will be less stressed with the full knowledge that things will be alright between the two of you afterward.

“Je t’aime… Je t’aime….J’taime…” he chanted as he began to kiss your cheeks. His noes briefly grazed, and he kissed you briefly and swiftly moved to your neck. At first he licked your skin smoothly like it was soft-serve ice cream before brutally biting down on your smooth skin the smell of your (favorite flower) lotion intoxicating him like taking in a fresh line of white. As he left hickeys on your neck, his tail whipped around wildly, and his wings trembled immensely.

“Cela pourrait faire mal….”

He swiftly inserted the tip of his dick back inside. While he did this, he did his best to be slow so that he wouldn’t injure you. His right hand gathered both of yours and pinned them to the top of your head. He inhaled you as he railed you. (Yes, I’m going with that dumbass rhyming line.. I laughed my ass off writing this line.) He was determined to get you pregnant that night. One of your nipples was sucked on until somewhat raw. His tongue ravenously licked the underside of your other breast and bit down on your nipple harshly.

“Ah! Mattie!”

Your cries fell on deaf ears.

He continued his rampage on your body by using his wings to force your core closer to his dick so he could penetrate you deeper. His girth was becoming distending and filling you to the brim.

Your body was swelling with heat. Your mind could no longer concentrate on anything. All you could do was feel. You began to feel tiny seeds drop all over your body.

“Ahhhh!” Matthew had found your sweet spot and began to concentrate all of his efforts on it.

The jackhammer-like pounding was prominent in the forefront of your consciousness, along with the seeds beginning to sprout.

“Say my name Maple~” He practically roars out in a harmonious roar.

“Matthew! Ugh..” You were trying to adjust to his cock, but that was difficult to the size increase stretching you out. “Matthew…”

“Je’taime…..Je’taime….”He was beginning to reach his climax. His tail wrapped around your waist tightly to prep for the final push. Both his hands and the soon-to-be vegetative seeds constrain you tightly to the floor.

“Y/N!” He thrust his dick to the very center of your sweet spot and unleashed the pressure in his girth. He let out a loud moan, and his thrust became much more gentle. Seeds pooled upon the red carpet making a small sea. He brought you in for a long kiss as his otherworldly limbs allowed you space. When your lips finally did part, the two of you stared into the depths of each other's souls for a few moments.

You broke out of the trance with a deep sigh. Simply moving your legs was actually painful with all of the seeds that managed to escape Matthew. There were now seedlings residing in your womb.

“Let me help you, my sweet maple.” He picks you up bridal style and carries you to the wide white tiled shower. He turns on the hot water and he helps get you clean. The lavender-scented soap added charm to the atmosphere. All of the candles were neatly placed around the windows, sink, and tub.

“You really did think all of this through.” You wrap your arms around his neck and he gently sits down on the built-in shower chair. The warm water was a welcome feel on your beaten skin. Matthew’s firm hands cleanse you from tonight's fun.

“I love you Y/N.”

Thanks for reading! I made this one up on the fly and only followed the first page and a half then I spun this as quickly as I could. Hahah. Apparently, I like to torment myself. I’ll post the written draft tomorrow.

Translations:

Oui= Yes

Je suis chaud(e)= I’m Horny

Je serai doux= “I’ll be gentle.”

#hetalia #hetalia canada #hetalia demon au #yandere hetalia #hetalia mating season au #mating season au #headingalaxys #headingalaxys spicy #headingalaxys writes stuff #hws #hetalia fandom #hws canada #bruuuuuuuuuh I wrote this over the course of 1 day #the rawest of raw drafts #here we go #wsfn

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clown-fromthe-sewers · 1 year ago

Text

In All My Dreams I Drown

Sailor Au!Eden x Reader (songfic kinda?? Idk)

Warnings: Canon typical sex, referenced violence(not from Eden), dubcon/noncon, hallucinations(?), and a slight breeding kink(fuck you lizzy, deal with it), gender neutral/no pronouns, but fembodied reader. More under the bar.

It was storming, a nasty, howling and terrifying, making visions of the past whirl in your mind, full of only horror of the remembrance. The ship, it swayed, 'heave-ho, heave-ho's dripping from the deck, the sole other occupant getting to work for the night on ensuring the safety of the vessel for the time he'd be asleep, with you, on the dark and stormy blue.

The barks of the repeated word came to a stop and you could hear something other than the storm for once: his booted feet stomping below deck, followed soon by the slamming of the wooden door against the wall, both water-damaged and swelled from the weather. He was drenched in it, the storm having saturated his usually curly brown hair into a matted mess of glistening black, water pooling on his scruff like morning dew on grass, his face shining in the dim light. The wrinkle between his furrowed brows disappears at the sight of you, his shoulders relaxing as he made way to his bed, you laying there, wrapped only in his fur blankets.

"You haven't slept," he said, "in many suns and moons," he observed, though it was more like a command.

"Oh, I will sleep when we reach shore, and pray we get there soon-" you begin to protest, sitting up in the bed as the blankets fell from your body, exposing your breasts with the furs covering your lower half only, the necklace you wore falling between your cleavage. He interrupts you, digging through a drawer nailed into the wall of his cabin.

"Now hush love, here's your gown," he began, bringing forth a scanty white dress, lacy, and it looked as if it would come only to your mid thigh. "There's the bed-" He nods to you, as if to make his demands all the more obvious, "-lanterns down." His eyes drift to the oil lamp beside the bed, glowing in orange and red, casting deep shadows on everything the light could reach.

"But I don't want to go to sleep," you started, a dismayed grimace falling in place on your lips. Once more, you are cut off by him, he repeated the protest you'd said over and over your stay on the vessel.

"In all your dreams you drown," said he, an almost condescending tone to the words spoken in his deep voice. He strode over, demandingly shoving the gown to your breast, his hot hand making contact with your freezing skin, warmth finding you and making you relax despite your anger and apprehension toward this sailor.

You snatch it away, drawing it over your head and shoulders. It fell the rest of the way, covering your naked flesh that had begun to prickle at the exposure to cold once you'd been removed of the furs. Leaning back on the mattress, the back of your head colliding softly with the partially rotten wood of his boat, completely missing the look of desire that gleamed in his eye, the shine disappearing into the darkness when he snuffed the oil lamp.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he drawled, the words sending a spike of fear down your spine.

Eyes darting to his, you started once more to put up a fight, but the exhaustion weighed you down, keeping your movements sluggish and weak. Before you even began, you gave up, allowing Eden to take his place above you. As he peeled the blanket from your lower half, he let loose a growl, licking his dry lips, sweet with rainwater and salt from working deck all day, his pupils expanding to consume all of the hazel, leaving only a ring of green and brown around the black.

"It's time you go to sleep," he growled. Eden ripped open his pants, his ramshackle coat following suit to display the muscle built up from his time on the sea, then used his massive hands, reinforced by the masses of muscle behind on his bulging arms, to heft your hips up to his own, your legs hanging from his thighs.

Your calves interlap behind his back, crossing to bring him in closer as you felt the tent that came from his pelvis, kept trapped only by the white, threadbare briefs he wore, barely doing their purpose with how worn they were. You jolt as a clap of thunder sounded, unexpected without the flash of lightning. The fear triggers a vision of that pale, ivory figure and the shoving, rocking of a makeshift boat, laughs of children turning into screams of terror-

"Now hush love," whispered Eden, cooing as he stroked your cheek. "Here's your gown," he repeated, reminding you of your place, "There's the bed, lantern's down." His voice was the softest you'd heard it, placing a tender kiss to your lips after he spoke to remind you not only of your place, but to silently tell you of what you'd grown to be over the time you spent on his ship. It was like a dream with how slow everything moved, like it was all submerged in the thickest molasses. But you don't want to go to sleep, in all your dreams you drown.

"Captain! Captain," you cried for his attentions as he pulled the clothing down which restricted him, exposing himself to you and wetting his length in your arousal, "I will do your chores! I will warm your cot at night, and mop your cabin floors." Your voice was soft and begging, teary eyes staring up as you quiver beneath him. Your hands find his forearms, fingers dainty by comparison digging into his flesh. "Scold me! Hold me; I'll be yours to keep! The only thing I beg of you: don't make me go to sleep."

The next thing that leaves his mouth is a chuckle, then he leans over, nipping along your collarbone to under your ear, blowing hot air on your neck and making goosebumps bloom to the surface and your eyes closeon reflex. The sky flashed with lightning once more, the blood red moon barely exposed through the black, ravenous clouds sparking the visage of Eden's vessel sinking, the sheets lacing between your legs as the boat was rent and felled; Eden's in the water headed to the mouth of hell.

You're snapped from the lull as a roiling wave crashed against the side of the boat, making you in the bed and into Eden, he letting loose a groan of appreciation when he felt your warm, wet arousal on his engorged length. He positions himself at your entrance, leaking and tight in your virginity.

A growl is wrenched from his chest, throaty and deep and barbaric as he slid into you, leaving you to gasp as you felt a nauseating pinch deep within you, your hymen ripping and signaling your loss of innocence. He pants as he bottoms out, letting you adjust to the size of him for a few moments only before he was pulling out, slowly pushing himself back into your tender depths. His cock was smattered in in blood, but the new feeling gnawing at your gut blocked the gruesome sight from bothering you much at all.

The pillow fall from beneath your head, toeing to the brink of the cot with each rock of his hips that sent you jolting upwards, his thrusts increasing in speed each time he bottomed out. Your arms wrap around his neck and brought him down, your heels pressing at his ass to meld him into yourself. Moans from you, the sailor and the sea were accompanied by the groans of the cot, each thrust making it protest under your combined weight.

"Eden," you choke out when his stubbled jaw met your sensitive neck, his lips laying kisses and nips on your skin, painting a picture of his desire and leaving you mewling below him, falling into whatever he wished. "I need-" you couldn't get much else out, a gasp pulled from your chest that surprised even you when the head of his cock hit something inside which you'd never felt before.

Eden's lips found yours, locking in a lethargic kiss, bruising with each slow movement he made against you, a moan swallowed up between you as your first kiss was taken so passionately, something so surprising in a town such as this one.

Eyes rolling back in your head, you could feel the upbeat of all his rocks into you, stealing away breaths and letting a symphony of lewd noises and creaks sound through his cabin. His thumb fell to your clit as he pulled away from your lips, pupils blown as he trailed his gaze from the line of saliva connecting the two of you to your eyes, staring deep into you soul as he flicked at your sex, watching you break apart under his ministrations.

Your hand falls away from his shoulder, carmine staining the pads of your fingers and beneath your nails, grasping at his free hand and interlacing your dainty fingers with his calloused and work worn ones. A whining moan falls from his lips at that, his brows furrowing and his muscles clenching, hoping to hold back the high that threatened to end him then and there. His thumb hastens, pressing harshly against your nub and making that heat burn within like a fire, the coiling rope pulling taut until finally- it snaps, your vision blanking as a wailing moan comes forth, not only from you but also the wind whipping at the ship with the intense desire to sink you and Eden beneath the gnashing and moaning waves.

You finish with a clap of thunder, making the sight of a pale ivory figure overtake you mind, a hot feeling blooming in your innards with each spurt of Eden's searing seed.

Eden's berth rocked into you for a few moments after, releasing the rest of him in you with a quiet, drawn out groan, the sound bordering on either pain or satisfaction. The pillow falls from the edge as a result, a thump amidst the screeching wind and the tandem voices gasping for breath after such exertion.

"Good," Eden pants as he pulled out, drawing himself away from you and sitting on his heels to look on your spent form leaking his spend. Lazily, he pushed it back in your tender hole, you cringing at the sensitive flesh being agitated again. When he was finished, he brought the finger to your mouth, making you lap up the essence of your debauchery until he was atisfied with the cleanliness of the digit, pulling it from your lips with a breathless hum.

Eden crawls beside you and collapses, arms needily wrapping around your waist and drawing you close to him, and placing a chaste kiss to your bare shoulder, tucking himself close your body to sleep.

"It's time you go to sleep," he grumbles in that deep voice of his, the usual grimace adorning his face.

"Eden," you start to mumble again, but you're cut off once more by Eden.

"Hush now, hush love, heres your gown-" He tugs gently at the thin cloth of your night dress, then smooths his hand over the fur blanket, pulling it onto the both of you, "There's the bed, lantern's down," he reminded, whispering without thought.

"I'm begging you, please wake me up," you mumble, fatigue finally catching up when you couldn't even finish the last few words of the sentence you'd been relaying to him your entire stay, "In all my dreams I-" the rest of he sentence falling into oblivion, caught by the waves and breaking apart in their fury as you fell asleep, eyes closing slowly without even a yawn to warn you.

"Drown," he finished unbeknownst to you, clutching you tightly; that night, the first time since you'd been on the sea, you dreamt not of ivory, but warm brown consumed by black as sweaty curls of the same color dripped down rainwater from above, dotting your face in salty wetness.

So uh, that happened. Don't blame me, I was in a feverish haze for two days straight so I don't even know what this is.

#dol #degrees of lewdity #dol eden #eden x reader #dol eden x reader

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