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aphroditesmoon · 9 months

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wish you'd ask me

clarisse la rue x fem!demigod!reader

summary: you're not good at reading subtle hints, clarisse realises that maybe she should've been more upfront with her feelings for you.

warnings: fluff, oblivious!reader, clarisse is down bad, reader is very neurodivergent coded, kissing, flirting, title n fic inspired by 'Wish You'd Ask Me' by Matt Maltese.

A/N: thank you for 1.9k followers!! I love you all dearly, my ask box and dms r always open, im glad that my writing is being enjoyed by so many people<3

wc: 4.5k

You have been in camp half blood for more than 4 years. You have made yourself at home for the last several years.

It was easy to view yourself as lesser or inadequate in comparison to other mortals during your days in the real world before you were sent to camp. The world has never failed to remind you of how different you were. Always too much or not good enough, always special and never normal

And it wasn't like you were dying for some sort of diagnosis to justify why you are the way you are, but upon discovering that you were actually a demigod, it felt like all the questions you've been harboring to yourself was finally answering themselves.

Everything clicked. Everything made sense, though at the same time, it felt impossible. You were a very confused little girl when you first arrived at camp. A girl who just wanted someone to tell them that it'll all be alright in the end.

And you still remembered the first person to hold you by your shoulders and made you look into their eyes as they told you that it was all going to be okay.

The girl with beautiful long curls and dark piercing eyes. The girl that everyone else, apparently, was afraid of.

But you could never be afraid of Clarisse La Rue.

Not with the way she smiles when every time she sees you, the way she never fails to make you feel included even in activities you're not capable of participating in. Not with the way your whole body electrifies every time your skin touches, when your hands brush against each other.

It didn't matter what anyone think, because no one could change the perception you've built of her. Clarisse La Rue is good. Or at least she is to you.

When you first heard of the rumours surrounding her, you did think better than to force a friendship on her. You strayed away from her and stuck to your cabin siblings and your books, but you noticed daily how she'd still go out of her way to talk to you at least once a day.

It didn't need to be a long conversation, just a passing acknowledgement. An easygoing 'hey, how've you been doing.' Sometimes she'd even go as far as cracking a joke with you.

With how serious her face is whenever she make the jokes, you'd have to think twice as hard and thrice as faster than another person to try and guess if she was being genuine or not so you could fit in a necessary laugh when you needed to.

Even as her anger became more apparent because of the new kid's accidental climb to fame and embarrassing the Ares' cabin, she still found time to make a conversation with you.

It had been long since you tried to ignore or avoid her. You learned that her attention towards you is harmless, and that she seemed much more comfortable telling you certain things compared to others. If she has been viewing you as some sort of safe box, then you don't really mind it. You liked listening to her talk and keeping her heart's intent as your secret.

You too, talking to her. To some people, you are reserved,

and to others, talkative. Either way, people find it easy to discard you at any moment they decide you are irritating.

But Clarisse listens. And she asks questions, she's patient- much patient that anyone could anticipate or guess.

It may be hard for others to believe, but Clarisse is more complex than she seems. She had the capacity to be gentle, and she had the capacity to respect boundaries. The more time you spent with her, the more that side becomes easy for you to access.

Today, however, marks a new record for your friendship with her. A few weeks ago, she had informed you of her newfound interest in the history of folklore monsters. What a coincidence that you were currently self-studying on that specific topic.

She insisted that you hook her in on whatever it is you're learning. She had even gotten you a doughnut to eat together outside the library as you told her of your insights of dragons and their theorized blindness and incapability to differentiate a variety of prey.

The conversation went well, she seemed immensely in awe of your knowledge and had no problem telling you how she felt.

You even gave her some book recommendations, though you knew she wasn't much of a reader.

You felt a shift in your relationship that night and had spent the next three days studying more and more about the topic. And today, you had asked her to spend the evening with you.

You shouldn't feel so nervous asking her to hang out. That is what friends do, after all.

She found you in the library, sitting on the floor in between two large bookshelves. She had been right on time and enthusiastically so. The two of you sat together, hidden by the shelves as some semblance of privacy.

Clarisse looked confused when you had explained that you indeed wanted to spend the rest of the day in the library, but she accompanied you anyways.

You could never get sick of the smell of the books. Old and new, they all have some nostalgic past tied in between the pages, begging to be discovered.

You had your back on the walls with tinted windows above your head as she's seated opposite of you in a criss-crossed position.

Today, the library isn't as packed as usual. There were still people walking in and out and checking out the books on the counter, but not too many that it became obnoxiously loud and annoying.

After finishing another book of Monsters and how to spot them, you're feeling knowledgeable enough to explain the lore of the Giants to Clarisse, she had asked you about this the other day, giants have been long extinct to the point that some might even say they may have never even existed. And so you were interested in sharing with her all of the information you have learned about the majestic species of a beast.

You started with the general information. The basic understanding of what a Giant is the mythhs of Giants and the validity of those sources. Clarisse listened closely in the beginning, never interrupting you unless she had an actual question.

She seemed in awe of the stories you tell her of. You don't blame her, for you yourself have been most interested in the topic of Giants.

You were an hour an a half in when noticed her attention faltering. She leaned against the cases of books, her eyes twitched slightly when you began to explain the different types of giants, and the difference of how they operate.

Her hands are folded together on her lap, and you can feel her listening in on everything you're telling her as she adds in some commentary here and there, but you also felt that she wasn't entirely in on the conversation.

The dim lights of the library made the atmosphere feel warm and secluded, even with its vast space and many other campers hanging around in the other tables and shelves. You made sure to keep your voice low as you spoke in fear of the librarian kicking you out.

You had a good reputation with the library workers, they liked how organized and polite you were.

"A lot of people think their greatest strength is their size, which is valid, they are huge, but their real weapon is their mouth." You told Clarisse, ignoring the litter of books by your left that you had brought over for reference.

"They kiss you to death?" She asks suspiciously. You laughed shortly and shook your head. "No, I mean their breath."

She responds with an 'ohh.'

"They're giants, so their mouth is large too, and you can easily tell what they had for breakfast even from their tall height. Their breaths are also known to be so rancid it could kill you, because they don't exactly eat what we eat."

She raises a brow as she stretches her hands upwards. "Isn't that ogres?"

"It's both." You confirmed.

You were about to continue your explanation but halted by instinct as you notice how her mouth keeps pursing together as if unsatisfied, and she has that look on her face that mimicked a confused expression. You're don't think there's anything to be confused of.

"Are you okay?" You asked her worriedly. Clarisse sits up straighter at the question and waved a hand off to assure you she's fine. "Of course, no yeah- I'm fine."

"You seem bored, you're not really interested in what I'm saying are you?” She opens her mouth to counter your words but hesitates to say anything.

"I- well, I like giants-" She attempts, "-no you don't. "

"No. I don't." She admits with a sigh. "But I thought you said you were interested in these kind of stuff?" You questioned her. "Well, yeah, like the general idea of it. I mean, I don't hate it, and I like hearing you talk about it." She answers with a shrug.

"Then why do you look disappointed? If you didn't want to come, you could've just told me. I wouldn't get mad." You told her honestly. It was conflicting for you to see her so confused on what to say, being so picky with the words she chooses.

You figured she's probably reluctant to hurt your feelings. That is a notion you're used to. You'd rather she tell you the truth to your face than to be catered around like a time ticking bomb that everyone's so afraid might explode at any time.

"When you asked me out yesterday, you told me this would be an 'evening to remember." She tells you with such confidence like it was an explanation to her weird behaviour today.

"You don't think this is an evening to remember?" You sincerely inquire.

"No, I do! I just- well, when you said that I didn't think you'd mean we'd be doing this." Your frown deepens as you try to figure out what she means, eyeing her body language closely. “What do you mean? I told you I wanted to hang out.”

A part of you is offended. She was the one who had said she liked hearing you speak, why would she be disappointed that this was your idea of spending time together?

"I don't know, I thought we'd just be doing...something else?"

It didn't matter what she had really meant with that. You felt completely embarrassed once she finished her sentence. Why was it that everyone else had no problem having long conversations with their friends, but when it came to you, it's all too awkward, unnecessary, and odd?

You liked Clarisse, you considered her your friend. Sometimes you wonder if it could ever be more, but you never entertain those thoughts because you don't want to ruin what the two of you already have.

But moments like these resemble a huge slap in the face by the universe.

You couldn't even be good friends with her, how ridiculous of you to think that there could ever be something more.

"Okay, um, maybe we should just go back to our cabin." You decided whilst standing up and picking up the stack of books you're currently borrowing from the library, ready to leave the place without waiting for her.

"Hey, wait." She called out as you walked past her. You spared her a glance, trying your best not to show how upset you are. “We're friends." She says it so much like a question that you weren't sure if she's even sure of the fact herself until she continued speaking. "I like hanging out with you."

Another thing that you weren't sure if she really meant. "Sure." You replied thinking it's the most suitable response.

Before she could say anything else, you turned around and started picking up your pace until you disappeared out of her sight.

—

You have been consistently ignoring Clarisse. Which proved to be harder than expected.

When you pass by her camp or the training ground, you make a mental note to always look down or to your front as to never accidentally cross eyes with her.

And everytime you hear her call out your name, you keep walking like you didn't even hear her, knowing that she wouldn't be bold enough to call for you again. After all, she still had a reputation to uphold.

If ignoring her wasn't hard enough, having to deal with how you felt for her is worse.

You've been avoiding confrontation with yourself for weeks even before you decided to go no contact with her.

And so far, you thought you've been handling it pretty well. Except for days where you don't see her where she's expected to be. You tell yourself that you don't care as you make your way to training in the day and reading in the evening, and yet you still go back on your own words when you asked a passerby Ares kid on where his cabin leader was.

"She's dunking some kid's head into a toilet bowl." Of course she was.

You thanked the dude and went back on your way to your cabin. It's close to dusk, the sky is turning orange and the sun is dipping itself below the earth. You take your time returning to your cabin as you enjoy the way the sun slowly removes itself from anyone's viewing.

You wondered to yourself if things like these are what makes you weird or off-putting to some people.

Was enjoying nature and having niche interests only cute when it's done by girls pretty enough to be cool or if it's only in romance movies or books.

You don't find yourself weird, in fact you think all of your hobbies are pretty common and usual, and yet the way Clarisse had spoken to you at the library last week had made you feel unnatural.

You had wanted to do normal people things with her, but maybe your perception of normal is different to her.

Either way, you are pretty hurt with how she reacted. You loved her still, of course. It's kind of hard to unlike the girl you've been obsessed with since you were 15.

Once you finally reach your cabin, you quickly put down all of your books and your tiny sling back by the side before making it to the shower to refresh yourself before dinner.

You thought it hilarious of how hard you're trying not to care about Clarisse, and yet as you're cleaning yourself up, changing your clothes and attempting to read at least 15 pages of your World's Most Dangerous Beasts book, you could only think of her.

What would it take for her to think that you're cool, what kind of things did she want to do instead of listening to you yap around for 2 hours on what is an equivalent of a boring dinosaur facts, not that you really think dinosaurs are boring.

During dinner, you kept to siblings and had to make yourself finish your plate as your anxiety wrecking thoughts have a way of deriving you of an appetite. You also had to convince yourself to not search for her at the other tables which took more strength than one would expect.

But you succeeded, and you were now sure that the only obstacle left for the day was to try and fall asleep without the thoughts of her keeping you up.

Clarisse is a force, a fierce daughter of Ares, and a cabin leader who had much better things to do then hole up at quiet small places with you.

And just because she was nice enough to mantain a good relationship with you for 4 years, does not mean that you're worth her time. Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

That night, you managed to fall asleep after an hour of recalling Harpy facts in repetition. Counting sheeps had never worked on you, so you had to find something much more active to tire out your brain.

You dreamed of Clarisse with her hair down, holding your hand and pulling you closer so she could slip a flower on your ear.

And just as she's looking down at you, moving closer to do what it seemed like to kiss you, you awoke with a jolt, swearing under your breath as if you'd just gotten jumpscared by a ghost.

Someone's palms moved to shut your lips as you're met with a girl, hovering over you in the dark. Clarisse's dark eyes were recognizable, but it sent a shot of adrenaline through your body still.

"Shh." She whispered to your face, hand still keeping your mouth shut. "I'm going to remove my hands now." She whispered again. You nod in understanding and waited for her to pry her hand away from your face.

"What are you doing here?!" You exclaimed as quiet as possible as she helped you sit up.

"I'm sneaking you out." She answers with a wink. "It's 2 in the morning." You waved your hand around at the darkness and sleeping children. "3 in the morning, and yeah, I know. That's why it's called sneaking around." She corrects you with a grin so devilish that if you hadn't known her for a long time, you'd assume she's about to turn you into a new toilet bowl or dumpster boxing victim.

You sighed loudly and glared at her despite your fast beating heart. Her hand remained on top of yours until the minute becomes more awkward and she removes it as if she just remembered that she's been holding your hand.

Without explanation, she climbed out of your bed and tiptoes to the open cabin door. You're still sitting up and looking at her with conflicted feelings.

Only after she turns back to you, cocking her head towards the entrance, do you give into her request and softly leave the comfort of your bed and trail after her.

"Where are we going?" You asked after her as she kept walking. Instead of responding, she asks you another question back, "Can you swim?"

"We're going swimming?" You watch her shrug in return from behind her and became even more distressed.

"So, is this your idea of having fun and hanging out then?" She laughs drily and slowed down so you could catch up. You walked fast enough until you're beside her and waited for her to talk. "You sound surprised, I would've thought that after 4 years of friendship, you'd know by now that I love doing things that includes active movements."

You did know that, it's a bit hard to not notice how much working out, training and running fuels her even more.

"And why are we doing it in the middle of the night?" The walk towards the lake by the back of the forest was short, considering that your cabin is the closest to the location.

You almost tripped and fell over a stick, but Clarisse was quick to scoop you back up by the back of your shirt. "Thanks." You mumbled to her. "And you haven't answered my question."

Clarisse pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it on the ground without caring of your presence. You, having more moral obligations than her, twisted your face to your left when she began to pull her trousers off. "Too many people in broad daylight." She tells you.

That is a valid reason, this lake is mostly known as a hook up spot, and true to it's cause, many dating campers have been caught together here during dawn or late evenings.

You braved yourself to turn towards her again slowly and realised that she had already hopped into the water. She had a sports bra on and a boxer.

And though you yourself had a tank top and shorts on, you contemplate the idea of suicide as a better choice than having to strip in front of her.

"Are you gonna get in, or are you just gonna gawk at me from there?" You were grateful for the dark being able to hide your flushed face from her, but deep down, you knew that she probably saw it anyways because of the shining bright moonlight.

"I can't swim." You told her.

"That's fine, the water's not very deep." You ransacked your brain for reasons to decline her offer, but at the same time, a small part of you yearned to take this risk that you've been so afraid of for gods knows whatever reason.

Clarisse is there, in the water and under the moonlight. You are only a few steps away from her. And like she said, the water isn't deep, only waist length. She stares back at you with a raised brow like she's challenging you to join her.

"Turn around first." You tell her. She smirked slightly before slowly spinning to the opposite direction. "You know I've seen you naked before right?"

"What?" You choked out, aghast. "Who do you think changed your clothes for you when you first got to camp." Oh, that.

Your shoulder relaxes as you realize she's talking about the first time you met. "That's was a long time ago." You noted. She hummed im agreement. "Yeah, we've both grown since."

You told her she could turn around once you're inside the water. Forgetting about the heighy difference between you two, the water was high enough to reach your chest, trying your best not to trip underwater the way you always do on dry ground, your hand instinctively reached outnfor her shoulder.

Clarisse held your forearm tightly and drew your closer to her until you're inches away from eachother.

You breathed in sharply and felt the need to fill in the awkward silence. "So, you...like swimming, huh?"

"Yes, evidently so." She answered. "Right right, can't sit still and all that." She actually chuckled at your sarcasm, making you proud of yourself.

"You know, even before I came to camp Half Blood, I use to be a pretty active person, running track, volleyball, sometimes swimming." Your eyes widened in curiosity. "Really?" She nodded.

"The counselor told my mom that I just had so many untapped energy, which I guess is a code for anger issues." Her grip on your forearm moves higher until her palm is over your shoulder. "She told her that it'd be best for me to find a...healthy way, to channel that energy, and for my strong competitiveness. So I joined what I could, and that's how I spent most of my free time there. Besides, I never was that good academically. So, I ought to at least be good at something, right?"

"You are good." You blurted out. Your embarrassment faded away when you saw her smile. "You think so?"

"Yeah." You assured her. Her other hand had snaked around your waist without you noticing. Only when you moved slightly do you notice her holding you softly.

"The moon is really nice tonight, isn't it?" You said, trying to diffuse the tension. You pointed your finger up to the sky at the singular white orb.

She glanced up and let out a 'huh.'

"I like it when it's bright and whole like this, the moon in all of its glory. You don't even notice the starts around it when it's glowing like that." You could stare at the moom forever, even longer than the way you've been staring at the sun.

You believed in it the way children do with their birthday candle. To you, the moon has always been a symbol of hope or comfort for your future. Your fascination for it existed from when you were a child, the way it'd follow you from behind as you gazed upon it from the back of the car seat whilst your parent drove down the road.

The way it moved above you as you walked home from school, like one of the gods themselves watching over you.

"Nothing compares to the moon." You announced aloud, watching as the clouds around it began to gather over it. "Yeah, It's beautiful." You hear Clarisse speak.

As your head snapped back to her, you found that she had already been facing you.

"I like the moon...but not as much as I like you." She whispered loud enough for your ears only. Her face leans closer to yours, your noses brushing together. "Not as much as I like to hear your voice, when you tell me about your little harpy facts-"

"Oh, I haven't told you about the harpies yet." You cut her off. "I just finished that chapter this morning actually and-"

"-and, you can tell me about it after I'm done talking." You blushed and became silent, letting her speak.

Clarisse exhaled breathily, fanning your face with the subtle warm air. "I like doing things that friends do with you, but I don't want to be your friend anymore."

"Oh."

"I want to be more than friends." She elaborated.

"Oh." Oh.

You feel a sudden tightness in your chest, from anxiety or from butterflies is undecided. "You want to be best friends?" You joked, laughing nervously.

Clarisse snorted at your joke, but she was still grinning widely. "Best friends, If that's what you want to call it."

There was a moment of understanding shared between a second of shared gazes before her lips attached themselves to yours. An urgency, approval, meaning that can't be described by words.

Whatever gentleness there was inside of her before had vanished. Clarisse kissed you like a starved woman. Her lips craved yours like it'd be the last time she'll ever know how you taste like.

Your hands clasped on her shoulder and neck for support as she embraced you tighter to her body. You let her tongue slip into your mouth, meeting your own.

And as they danced together, inhaling all there is in your lips, every secret and every confession that have died on the tip ofnyour tongues, you are sure that no heaven nor hell could tear you open to see you back together like this.

You push her back abruptly, letting fresh air fill your empty lungs. "What's wrong?" Clarisse inquired worriedly.

"Last week." You sighed out, chest still heaving as your thoughts clicked together. "You thought I had asked you on a date, that's why you were disappointed."

She winced at the reminder, and for the first time in your life, you had been lucky enough to witness a flustered Clarisse.

"I'm right." Her silence confirmed. "Oh Clarisse, why didn't you just ask me?"

Huffing loudly, she rolls her eyes in irritation. "I thought I was obvious enough. "

Thinking back on it all, it did seem pretty obvious, but gods were you oblivious. The way you intepreted it all so wrongly.

"I've liked you for so long too." You admitted to her. Her scowl was gone at that, replaced by a teasing smile. "And what are you gonna do about it?" Her mouth returned to yours, letting go of all your fears and holding on to Clarisse like she's your anchor, you close the gap between your lips, welcoming the kind of pleasure that you've never tasted before.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #pjo series #pjo x reader #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #dior goodjohn #wlw

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myromanempiree · 1 month

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Only you, my girl, only you, babe

Azriel x Reader

word count- 1.1k

Summary - In the books, its usually the male getting jealous after a fresh mating bond. I don't see enough of the female getting jealous.

a/n - I read a lot of Azriel angst today, @azrielbrainrot 's "I laugh like me again, and she laughs like you" hurt so good. (go read it!) But I decided to write some fluff,because its good for my heart, and I needed to get back into the swing of writing and wanted to learn how to write smut. So this is kinda messy.

c/w - p in v, tooth rotting fluff, jealousy, fem reader

Again, he was talking to Elain again.

He was helping her work in the garden of your shared home, which he had asked her to do after learning your favorite flowers. Even though you knew it was just Azriel being his usual self, unable to let someone do work by themselves even when he asked for it, you still couldn't help but want him all for yourself.

Perhaps it was the freshly accepted mating bond, only about a month old. Yes, thats what's it was. Just some base, lesser instincts, not at all jealousy. No, not that.

Your piercing stare seems to garner the middle Archeron's attention, who excitedly waves you over. You walk through the garden, moving like a magnet to Azriel. Arm looped in his, your face buried into his bicep.

You ignored the conversation, focusing on your mates warm body. Eyes still hostile, gazing at Elain.

Everything seemed to be generally running smoothly until she touched his arm, your mates arm. There was nothing adherently flirtatious about the movement, she was simply thanking him for hauling heavy bags soil, but it still irked you.

In fact, it irked you enough to elicit a low growl from your throat. The Archeron's eyes light with amusement, a small smile on her pink lips. Your mate looking rather taken aback.

"You two should probably go back inside, Im almost done." Elain said, clapping her hands together. "Alright, help yourself to the pastries in the kitchen when you're done.' Your mate said kindly.

Then Azriel placed a scarred, warm hand on your back, guiding you inside of your cottage

"Love? What was that?" Your mate asked, a gentle smirk on his stupidly kissable lips. When you didn't answer he gently pulled you closer to him by your hand and small of your back. "Love?" He repeats.

You flush in embarrassment, looking at his shoulder, a shadow dancing along with Azriel's amusement.

You huff, moving past him, causing a soft laugh to escape his lips, following you to your shared bedroom.

After you hear the door click, you feel strong arms wrap around your waist, a firm body against your back. Azriel's warm breath dances across your skin as he buried his face into your neck.

"Answer me." He cooed softly, nuzzling his nose against the skin, his fingers drawing uncoordinated patterns on your hips. "Love?" Azriel began, kissing your skin. "Love of my life, sweetheart, darling, lovely. What happened?"

A silence enveloped the room, only for a few seconds before you whispered. "She touched your arm..."

You regretted it as soon as the words escaped your mouth, as soon as Azriel let out a deep, rumbling laugh that sent a heat to your core. The heat intensified as he moved his hands down to your thighs, kissing your neck.

"It didn't mean anything, my love..." Azriel began, "I know...I just—" you said softly.

"Were you jealous, little love?" His devilish smirk warm against your neck. And a soft nod of your head causes it to only widen. "You have nothing to be jealous of. You're the only one for me, only you." He mumbled truthfully, "A touch on the arm won't change that."

You still seemed a little wary, a little jealous. Azriel could feel it through the glimmering bond he had absolutely cherished since the moment he felt it. He slowly turns you around, picking you up in his arms. A soft, squealed "Azriel!" leaving your lips.

"Would you like me to prove it to you?" He said, laying you onto the bed, kissing along your collarbone, a soft sigh escaped you lips. Urging him forward, "That would be nice."

He grinned again, moving his calloused fingers up your thighs, dancing across the slightly dampened cloth of your panties. He began moving it aside to slide two of his thick fingers into you, eliciting a soft gasp as he continued.

Azriel's fingers curling inside you felt beyond heavenly, you squirm under him, placing your hands on his shoulders as he moved. He slowly kissing in between your breasts, humming contently and he scissors his fingers.

His thumb pushed against your clit, a breathy moan escaping you. "There we go..." He purred, "Such a good girl." You let out a soft squeal as his warm mouth attached to a pert nipple, "Azzie! Mh—...fuck, I'm close."

His mouth curved around your nipple, giving it one last flick of his tongue before finding the spongey spot inside you that made you see stars.

Azriel groaned, his forehead digging into your cleavage as you come down from your high. He slowly removed his fingers, causing a soft moan to leave your lips.

He gently kissing your lips and moved to bring down his trousers, freeing his aching cock. You hum and move to bring your mouth down to it, before he catches you. "No can do, pretty." He mumbled, smudging the pre and your cum along his length, before slowly insisting himself.

Even after almost a year of being together, the stretch still burned. You hissed softly, moving to get your fingers in his hair. Her gently placed a hand on the inside of your thigh, massaging softly. "Breathe, pretty. Deep breaths. Follow me.' He mumbled, guiding you in breathing,

"Just like that, love." Azriel cooed rewardingly, moving to test a soft thrust. When you didn't wince, he nods to himself, clasping his hands along you hip and thigh, holding you steady while he does all of the work.

You let out a soft whine, burying your face into the crook of his neck as taking in deep breaths as you slowly make love. He pressed gentle kisses along your hairline, his thumb stroking your hip reassuringly, the murmuring praises.

The room filled with pants, the rustling of wings, skin slapping together and the slight creaking of your shared bed. And as you both approached the edge together, a loud moan escaped your lips, and a mumbled curse from Azriel.

The couple sat in a cozy silence, before Azriel gently placed his head on her chest. "Did I prove you wrong?" He asked teasingly. "Mhm..." You lazily mumble, stroking his hair, a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

He then removed himself and moved to clean you up, scooping you into his arms and walking to the bathroom, perching you onto the counter. He dampened a cloth, gently wiping away your mixed cum and kissing your thighs.

After cleaning up, you both dress on another, and you mumble a soft apology for being jealous. "You're alright, it was cute.' He teased, kissing your forehead and guiding you to the kitchen to get water.

Elain sits at the table, a crumbly pastry in hand, and a small grin on her face, before extending the pastry box to the pair, with mirth dancing in her eyes.

"Croissant?"

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #Azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fluff #acotar fanfic #azriel #Azriel x you #azriel smut #azriel fic

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marvelandponder · 1 year

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one amazing thing about the Owl House finale is that it finally contextualized for me one of the central metaphors of the show. Spoilers for the series finale Watching and Dreaming ahead.

we good? no one spoiling themselves? beauty

for a long time now, I thought we had a pretty standard coming-of-age metaphor dichotomized by the show's central antagonists. you've got your protestant witch hunter Belos who introduces a maturity and ugliness to Luz's narrative; he clearly represents a particular, restricting form of adulthood, and just when Belos becomes his most threatening, boom, enter the Collector, Luz's dangerously naïve inner child to ruin all her development on the Boiling Isles. Seems simple enough

what I didn't anticipate was just how specific and personal their roles in the story actually are to Luz once you have the full context from the series finale

look again

this story - this whole series - is about the grief that a neurodivergent kid experienced at a young age, introducing the cruelty of loss and adulthood before she was ready to handle it. and, how to reclaim a more whole understanding of herself as she rebuilds her life with people who get her

Belos is designed to infect the titan carcass like a disease. a cancer. it's super goddamn significant that the titan is King's dad (King, who became Luz's younger brother). they set up Belos not just to be another fascist kids' cartoon villain (although yeah, he do be doing some of that), but to specifically become a force that oppressed the weirdness from the one place that understood Luz. the Iles. the dad. And by the end of the story, Belos's goopy body-horror isn't just for show, he's just like the cancer or other terminal disease that took Luz's dad from her

he's the thing Luz hasn't processed in season 1 that comes in at the end like a warning. he's the threat that forces Luz to grapple with her own humanity, feeling somehow (often completely unjustifiably) harmful to those around her, through the grief she doesn't want to be a burden or the weirdness (neurodivergence) others don't understand. he's the force that says there is something wrong with you, Luz, give in to your grief, this is what you can't face. this is the lie you've been telling to those closest to you: that you're okay

then you have the Collector. (notable that he's a collector, and we see Luz's mom and dad had quite the collection of nerdy memorabilia)

the Collector is the child too young to understand death. Too young to understand consequences, or why their playmates don't feel like playing anymore with someone so weird and maybe a bit too involved in their own world. The Collector is Luz's inner child, that kid we see right before the "worst week ever" — the one who didn't and couldn't understand what was about to happen even as it was going down. unapologetically weird, a bit destructive and short-sighted, but wholly colourful, wholly themselves. that's why the Collector wants to live out Luz's adventures, but without all the depth. just the fun escapist fantasy

but don't think I forgot the internal conflict! :D

because Camila's role also gets an added depth too: Camila was framed at the outset of the series as someone who loved Luz, but wanted her to fit inside a box that she just didn't. later, Luz completely misconstrued her mom's breakdown when she learned that Luz chose to run away. as many people have pointed out by now, Luz misremembers the actual dialogue that Camila says: Camila only wanted her daughter safe, not to lose her. Luz meanwhile felt like she had to choose to destroy this part of herself, or give up her connection with her mom altogether

but we know now Camila actually deeply relates to Luz. she may not understand Luz's fascination with horrific things like on the boiling isles (very akin to a kid getting more grim hobbies in the wake of a death, like Luz's taxidermy), but she loves Luz for who she is. all of her. she never wanted Luz to change

Luz was the one framing the central conflict of the show as go back to her mom or stay in the boiling isles. Luz was the one who felt like she had to punish herself by rejecting the one place where she felt like herself. once Camila realizes what's been going on, and how deeply connected it is to the loss of Luz's dad, she knows Luz is trying to make a "very bad choice for herself." And she won't let that happen (what a great mom!!)

But Luz does have one real choice ahead of her

because of the inner child who once again has to confront death (this time, Luz's own), Luz is able to connect with a father figure, the titan, the one place she feels understood. in the form of a power-up that makes her into a fantasy witch straight out of the Good Witch Azura, the one place she got joy after that huge loss, the titan gives her the strength to face the cancer—a force draining everything good in her life from her and making her question she deserves it in the first place—but only if she can choose herself

and that means choosing happiness, choosing found family, choosing love and friendship and self-discovery in the place she feels most at home! every bond she's forged, everything she's worked for, it all comes down to choosing to face grief and move on in life with weirdos who stick together.

hoot hoot, that's some good metaphor

#the owl house #toh spoilers #luz noceda #eda clawthorne #king clawthorne #the collector #emperor belos #camila noceda #i may update the post with images at some point but I figured that's more likely to unintentionally spoil others #watching and dreaming

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lure-of-writing · 1 year

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Never been good enough

Authors note: I haven't written in forever so please forgive me if this isn't the best but I would love to hear what you think!

Summary: You would never be good enough for Ariel

Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: Arguing, curse words, mentions of death, Elain slander, Tamlin makes an appearance

Part two: Left in regret

Part three: Why can't We?

There was always something so enticing about Azriel that you could never put your finger on. To simply put it he was fascinating. Being a part of the inner circle for as long as you have meant that you put your feelings for him aside, did what you thought was best for the group. Not only that but Azriel never gave you any signs that he was interested in you and there was no way you would let him know about your feelings. What if you guys dated and it didn't work out? Or worse, what if you told him and he didn’t feel the same way? These types of thoughts made a home in your head and they made it a point to consistently remind you that Azriel would only ever be a friend. But hey, better a friend then nothing at all, Right?

That was until Rhysand met Feyre and in turn met Nesta and Elain. This is where your downfall began. You were truly happy for your high lord and new high lady but could have done without her sisters. Nesta was always ready to pick a fight and tear you down with her words as if she were some wild animal backed into a corner that would bite if you tried to pet it. The comparison wasn’t far off, she basically was a wild animal. Elain on the other hand was, well, contemptible at best. From what you knew Elain was basically loved by all in the inner circle but you. There was just something about her that irked you to your core. In a world that praised the strong and belittled the weak, her innocence bothered you. Why did Feyre have to do everything for her sisters, especially the middle one? As an older sister yourself you would have made any sacrifice necessary to protect your little sister. In fact you did. Maybe that's why you resented the middle sister.

Before the new additions were made to your family life was perfect, before under the mountain of course, the group was a perfectly balanced number and each person had their person. Rys with Armen, Mor and Cassian, you and Azriel. The group would spend long days giving each other a run for their money with stupid bets and at night you would have an even longer night getting drunk at ritas, but ever since Ryhsand met Feyre things changed almost instantly. It was like the people you once knew completely changed over night. You still knew who they were to their core but you didn’t recognize who they had become.

Cassian bowed to an unwavering, impolite, ungrateful human turned fae also known as Nesta, he was willing to die for someone who would never give the time of day to even acknowledge that he existed. Amren found company in her ruthlessness, found friendship and understanding in her unbothered face.

Mor found sisterhood among the complexities of healing with Feyre, through the grief and joy and thousands of other emotions one feels when finding themselves after trauma.

Ryhsand found his mate, the one he never thought he would meet. The one he was willing to die for as long as that meant she was safe.

Azriel saw the need to protect someone as delicate as Elain. So he did.

And you, you found a changed group of people before your very own eyes.

“Azriel can I please hold the fancy special dagger?” the Shadowsinger simply stares at you from the other side of the ring. Today had been training day for everyone excluding Amren, if you asked her she would say it didn’t pertain to her, and while the boys took turns sparring you were teaching Mor a new fighting technique you learned recently. “No” the short answer was no surprise to you at all. “Why not? I even said please and I never say please” the inner circle could not wait to witness this scene unfold for this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence but considering that you were Azriels favorite amongst the group even if he refused to say it, they thought that maybe one day you would wear him down enough to the point where he lets you hold the truth teller. “y/n I have never let anyone hold that dagger and you will not be the first. You are more than capable of handling yourself without my blade.” “Exactly I am more than capable of handling a dagger Azriel. One day I will get the truth teller in my hands just you wait.” he simply raised his shoulders in a shrugging manner as if to say “yeah I’m not concerned”

To say you were surprised that Azriel gave Elain the truth teller would be an understatement but honestly you should of seen it coming. Not even a few days before he was rushing into the hybern camp to save Elain without any second thought. There was never a time in the five hundred years where Azriel threw himself into a situation like that where he didn’t at least take some time to plan everything out. As a spy yourself you knew that at least having a fraction of a plan could save your life but it appeared Arizel was willing to die to save her. Feyre's sister be damned. So to watch from afar as he handed over his dagger to inexperienced hands was truly a gut wrenching experience. How could your closest friend of literally hundreds of years spend his potentially last moments with someone who was basically a stranger instead of a true friend? It was a revealing moment, it either showed how kind he was to try and help a defenseless person have a means to defend themselves if the time came where it was needed or he truly had changed and no longer cared for you. You would have your answer sooner than you had hoped.

For as long as you have existed you were trained as a spy for the cover up of an assassin. It made you as deadly as anyone else in the inner circle, maybe even deadlier since no one ever saw their death by your hands coming. So when the time came to go to war you were ready. The Battle was bloody and ugly and cruel. It was long and it felt never ending for every body you cut down it seemed there was ten more to replace it. When you watched as Cassin dove from the sky just as the cauldron unleashed its power amongst the world, the fight seemed hopeless. How were you supposed to win when hybern had that kind of power to be used whenever the king wished? But as a warrior in your own right you just wished that when you died upon this battle field that it wasn’t for nothing. That everyone in your family made it home by the end of this war, you may not recognize your family anymore but they meant the world to you and you just wanted them to be safe no matter the cost.

Seeing help arrive re-established your hope that Hybern wouldn’t win and it pushed you to fight that much harder but the renewed sense of vigor made you lose focus and that was your downfall. A hybern soldier came charging at you with the anger of a thousand suns and sliced your stomach in one quick motion and before you knew it you were one the ground bleeding out.

The inner circle was checking on Cassian when an unexpected figure came walking in with your limp body in their arms. “Oh gods, y/n!’’ Mor was the first to stand up and gawk at you in Tamlins arms before the healers directed him to a place where they could properly work on you. Nothing was said as the healers started working, as the inner circles' minds were racing and as Tamlin was leaving. “Thank you” Tamlin didn’t even stop to acknowledge Rhysands form of gratitude. Azriel was the first to speak “How did we forget about her?” no one had an answer.

Once back in Velaris with your healing underway you could tell that something was off within the group besides the obvious effects of a battle like that and a gut feeling told what it was. You could feel this sense of guilt every time you stepped foot into a room and you knew it was that they forgot about you, they never said that they did but while you were unconscious you could hear everything, and what you heard broke your heart. You were becoming an outsider in your own family.

You watched day by day as Amren bickered with Nesta, Ryhsand flirt with Feyre and cassian with Nesta, watched as Elain and Azriel danced the line of lovers and watched as you were slowly distanced from the group but it all came to a head after a heated argument with Elain. You were sick and tired of her acting like she was helpless when she wasn’t. She was cauldron made and she needed to start acting like it or else it would get someone killed or even herself. It happened on a training day.

The sun was beating down on your tired body and the whisper of a breeze was doing little to help and listening to Elain ask Azriel for help was driving you up a wall. “Azriel can you help me? I don��t think I'm doing this right?” all she was doing was stretching and she needed help with it? “For fucks sake Elain do you want him to spoon feed you and wipe your ass for you while hes at it?” Everyone stopped at your outburst and stared at you. Nesta looked like she was ready to rip off your face but Azriel beat her to it “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you watched as she shifted her body to be behind his as if she knew he would fight her battles for her. “What it means Azriel” you stalked into his space until you were face to face and watched over his shoulder and Elain moved to seek comfort between her sister and the high lord and you couldn’t help but scoff at her theatrics

“Is that all this group ever seems to do is baby her! She is not a child, she can handle herself. She doesn’t need you to teach her how to touch her toes Azriel but heaven forbid poor sweet Elain has to do something on her own for once. I mean my gods what aren’t you willing to do for her Azriel? Correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t you give her the truth teller?” Azriel was quick to interrupt “Is that what this is seriously about?” if looks could kill he would be dead because your glare is cutting him up into pieces “I wasn’t done. You gave her your dagger, you went into a hybern camp to save her, you answer her every single beck and call as if she's not fully capable of doing things for herself. You all enable this, every single one of you!” you point to every member of the inner circle “ And I have had enough of this bullshit! Its ridiculous! Elain loves to play sweet and innocent but really she just loves having people dote on her and not having to do anything herself.” Everyone knew you were seething for they could see the redness creeping up your neck and into your face. And apparently you pissed off Elain

“So what if Azriel did those things for me it has nothing to do with you so mind your own business.” you knew she wasn’t as nice as she seemed. “This has everything to do with me! I used to be his best friend, me! Not you! I watched everyone change when your family came along and it ruined mine! I have been in love with Azriel since the day I met him and yet I’ve had to watch him fall for you, who he hasn’t even known for two seconds! I heard him say that they forgot about me on the battlefield after hybern! So yes this is about me, I am an outsider in my own family!” The silence was deafening after watching you fight to speak through your tears and cracking voice. No one dared to move for fear of upsetting you even more or maybe it was the weight of your words keeping them in place. Azriel went to place a hand on top of your shoulder but you were quick to step out of his reach. “Y/n I had no idea you felt that way” again you couldn’t help but scoff “Of course not because you were too busy with sweet Elain to notice anything else.” he shook his head as if in a silent no “I am so sorry that we forgot about you there is no excuse it should of never happened. I-we never knew you felt this way, felt like you were being pushed away. But y/n why didn’t you ever tell me that you had feelings for me?” something broke in Azriels heart watching you cry, watched as your face scrunched in pain while you fought back sobs from taking over your body. Something pulled him to comfort you but he knew better than that. He couldn’t, not with Elain here.

“I have been telling you for five hundred years Azriel how much more do you want me to do? I may have never flat out said it but why do you think I stayed up waiting for you to come home after missions, or why I defended you against the teasing, or why I showed you my love in a thousand different ways but you never noticed even though you are the head spy master of the night court.” a sob racked your body forcing you to stop and Azriel wanted nothing more than to hold you until the tears stopped flowing and you felt whole again something in his soul was pulling him towards you but your next words stopped him in his tracks. “I never told you because to you it seems that I have never just been good enough. I have never been enough for you.”

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel one shot #azriel fanfic #acotar imagine #acotar x you #azriel imagine #azriel angst #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger

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heartless-tate · 5 months

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Hi! If I may be so self indulgent and request something... 👉🏻👈🏻

Reader being a (for lack of better words) boring person. They're good at blending in within social circles but never standing out or having a circle or friend of their own. Good laughing at jokes but can't come up with good ones or even if they did, they don't have the courage to tell them outright. They're very much a chicken when it comes to expressing themselves as an individual because they're never comfortable enough around anyone. They are a chicken in general, to be honest. This essentially (and sadly) leaves them as an NPC in their own life. And they've accepted it, trying to come to terms with a life of extreme mediocrity. They're actively trying to push down any need of wanting more from life 99% of days.

However, when you're good at listening, you observe things much better and you learn things faster. And subconsciously, reader has been observing a lot of things about Velaris (including the IC). I'm not sure where this would lead but this is probably the only real skill they have; being a good observer and learner.

I leave the rest to you. I was thinking pairing them with Azriel (since he would probably understand her better) but I'm open to any modifications.

Also, just an afterthought, I've always wondered what job I would love to have in a fantasy world (and I don't know if this counts as an actual job) but something like observing the sky/stars to look for any forthcoming events sounds really cool. So I guess reader could do that since major events happen don't happen once in a hundred years or something which ultimately makes their job very boring. However, they love it because who wouldn't love spending their whole night star-gazing (potential date idea?? YESS).

Sorry this became way longer than I intended. I wouldn't judge if you chose not to write on it. Thanks & have a great day :)

Am I boring? | Azriel X boring F reader

A/N: Hiii! Tysm for your ask. I hope I captured what you were imagining right. 💖

summary: You’re a star mapper. And you’re boring with no hope of love. Or at least you believed that until Azriel came along.

1.2k words

warnings: no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, cussing??, romance?? That’s it?? I think?

The stars shined brighter tonight. Since you were a little girl, you had always been fascinated by them. How they sparkled. They were interesting, and beautiful- unlike you. Maybe that’s why you clung onto them.

You pulled a piece of parchment from your bag, and started mapping the stars. Rhysand, the highlord of the night court, had invited you to his court to observe and map stars from this part of the world. You accepted, wanting some change. Even if you knew it wouldn’t be much of a difference to you. The inner circle was more than nice to you, and you appreciated it.

Laughter bubbled from behind you. You currently sat with your telescope on the balcony of the House of Wind. This was your third week here. Rhysand had offered you a permanent place here in the night court, but you were yet to accept. You didn’t fit in. You were a background character. A random star mapper, a job would probably never be much of use to anyone. Except weird star fanatics. Aka you. You were sure he only offered you a place here because of pity.

The inner circle seemed to really like you, and whether that was because of your quiet and shy nature, or the fact you always listened and gave great advice, or the fact you always laughed to try and fit in even if you didn’t quite understand the joke, you didn’t know. The only one who seemed to see past your mask of people pleasing was the Shadowsinger.

Anytime you ‘laughed’ at Cassian’s jokes, he was always there, smirking with a known look at you. As if he knew you. As if he had known you your whole life. Azriel had seemed curious about you. It was uncomfortable. Nobody had ever been curious about you. Everyone always enjoyed someone that they could talk to about themselves for hours. But he was the one always interrupting the other members of the inner circle to question you, on you. And your own life. And sadly you didn’t have many answers other than, “oh I don’t know.”

It made you feel weird at how interested he seemed in you. It made you feel awkward. But you knew he would lose interest once he really discovered there wasn’t actually much to you. You were a bore.

“Those stars are named Arktos, Carynth, and Oristes. They shine above that mountain for a week once a year during the blood rite.” A voice said beside you. You flinched as you noticed Azriel sitting directly by you, his shadows swirling around you both. He was always appearing out of nowhere. He handed you a plate of cake.

“Courtesy of Elain. She baked dessert tonight.” Azriel said, lifting a bite of his cake to his mouth and chewing on it.

“Oh.” You responded, setting the plate down beside you. You quickly labeled the stars on your parchment. They were beautiful.

“Do you like cake?” He questioned.

You paused and stared blank at him.

“I’m not sure?” You responded, fiddling with your hands. “It’s okay, I guess.”

Azriel smiled at you knowingly. Loud laughter boomed from the room behind you two. He looked right at you with piercing amber eyes that seemed annoyed. As if he had noticed you flinching from the loud sounds.

“Come with me? Just trust me.” He whispered, grasping your hand gently with caution. It was sudden. And you weren’t sure. You didn’t know him much. How could you trust him? But something in your body and soul screamed yes. Why not? It was risky- but life was boring.

“Okay.” You responded, gasping as he pulled you close, his wings wrapping you close to him, and his shadows swarming around you both before all of a sudden you were now standing on a cliff. Oh gods. His hands were on your hips gently, his wings spread wide, letting you see the view.

You both stood on a cliff that overlooked a waterfall and river. The moon reflected in the water and the stars did too, creating a mirror effect. It was probably the most gorgeous sight you had ever seen.

“Its- it’s…” Your words fumbled, mouth open in shock. “Beautiful..” you whispered. His breath was hot against your ear.

“Very.” He whispered back. When you looked at him he wasn’t even looking at the view. His eyes were glued on you. And he was looking at you as if you were a goddess. Azriel’s eyes softened, with adoration. It scared you. Nobody had ever looked at you like that. With a blush you realized he was holding you like a lover. He smirked at you as if knowing you just realized it.

Azriel slowly let go and used his wing to guide you to turn around. Blankets and pillows were on the ground. Like a picnic but a nest. His shadows swirled excitedly around the set up. He guided you gently to the set up, helping you sit down before sitting beside you.

“Do you want your mapping materials? My shadows can retrieve them for you. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to just relax and enjoy this night or continue star mapping.” He murmured.

You thought for a second. This was odd. Was this a date? Or did he do this with all of his friends? Did you want to map or did you want to enjoy this night with him?

“No it’s okay.” You replied, eyes glued to the stars above. They were much clearer from this view then from the House of Wind. You guess the city lights blurred them out. But here? They were in their full glory.

“Why did you bring me here?” He seemed to pause before responding.

“My shadows told me you might be leaving soon. This is my attempt at convincing you to stay here. In the night court. With your mate.” Azriel confessed.

He watched your eyebrows furrow.

“Mate? I don’t have a mate-“ you panicked.

His wings cocooned you and his arm enveloped you. It was like he could sense your panic. He rocked you back and forth like a child. And it was comforting.

“I’m your mate. I’ve known since I’ve met you. I thought I would have more time to get to know you and the bond would snap for you, but then my shadows informed me of your soon departure.”

You swallowed, throat bobbing. You blinked a few times. “There isn’t anything about me to get to know.” You replied harshly. Azriel’s eyebrows furrowed with concern. Shadows swirled around you both, some tendrils caressing you.

“Don’t say that. I know it isn’t true. Everyday I learn something new about you. I don’t care what you say, you are the most interesting person I’ve ever met.” He said, words much louder and firmer now. He thinks you’re interesting?

“Stay. Stay with me. Let me get to know you. I don’t expect you to accept the bond anytime soon. But give me- give us a chance.” Azriel said, wings tightening around you both. His eyes bore into you, with a fierce and loving look in them. You couldn’t help but soften in his hold.

You realized then, you deserved love. And for once a belonging feeling overwhelmed your senses.

“I’ll stay.”

Hope you guys enjoyed 💗

#azriel #acosf #acotar #imagine #x reader #acotar 5 #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #acotar series #Azriel imagine #reader insert #azriel x reader fluff #fluff

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skzdarlings · 1 year

Text

the heist team | the threesome series ; skz ; minho/reader/changbin

masterlist.

threesome series part 2/4.

pairing: lee minho/reader/seo changbin content info: sexual content. threesome. friends2lovers. very cheesy criminal heist shenanigans (very "we're in" style hacking and some laser grids lol). "fake" kissing, getting sexy as a distraction, giving sex directions, sexual tension that gets resolved. pussy eating, dick sucking, coming inside. purple haired minho bc meow <3

The camper van was the best idea you ever had. It is much easier to enact dastardly schemes while inconspicuously hiding in plain sight.

On the outside, the van looks like any civilian camper, but the inside is a veritable den of high-tech con-artistry. It has a place for Minho to hang the get-ups for his grifting gambits, a compartment for Changbin to store his weapons and down-time dumbbells, and it has the sexiest, sleekest, most mouth-watering computer apparatus that has ever existed. You love it more than anything in this world.

Every job, you sit in the midst of your beloved computer screens, directing the operation while your boys do the ground work. Despite knowing of your undying love for this system, your best friends and partners-in-crime are presently trying to separate you from your baby.

“Is she calling the computer her baby again?” Minho asks from where he is getting dressed behind a curtain.

“Yes,” Changbin says. He is sitting in your computer chair with his arms distractingly crossed, his biceps bulging in his tight black shirt. He is wearing a lot of lycra, having formerly anticipated he would be doing physical work tonight.

That all changed when you realized the nature of tonight’s job.

You only ever target the obscenely rich, the kind of wealth that is obtained through its own nature of theft and villainy. Tonight’s targets are a bunch of pompous elites celebrating themselves. Upstairs is a gala kicking off a week-long set of dinners, auctions, and celebrations. Downstairs is millions of dollars worth of art and antiquities, set to go up for auction the following day.

It looked like a typical job, the kind where Minho could sweet-talk some fools while Changbin punched some security guards and you hacked the vault from the van. The security system around the haul turned out to be far more advanced. Operating with a form of artificial intelligence, it essentially learns as it goes, meaning hacking it from the outside is incredibly difficult as it will understand and respond to invasion. It will be easier to outsmart from the inside, where you can reach your hand into its virtual heart and pluck its digital ventricles one by one.

The boys do not have that kind of computer knowledge. So now Changbin is in your chair, Minho is doing his make-up, and you are waving around an emergency cocktail dress.

“Who’s gonna watch my baby if I’m in there!”

“Yah! Rude woman! You remember who helped you build this thing?” Changbin pats one of the computer towers to make his point. “I can do the basic work in here, but I can’t do your complicated nerd things.”

“I’m not a nerd!” You definitely are. You stare at the cocktail dress morosely. “You’re forgetting something super important. That I am a total weirdo and I panic whenever someone looks at me! There’s a reason I don’t do the people side of things! That’s what you guys are good at!”

“Technically I just hit them,” Changbin says.

“You are plenty charming when you want to be and you know it,” you say.

Changbin folds his hands behind his head, flexing all his muscles while grinning.

“How charming?” he teases, cocky. “Describe it to me.”

“Shut up.” You hit him with the cocktail dress to hide the fact he got you genuinely flustered. “I can’t go in there. People will know I don’t belong the second I walk in the room. We won’t even get close enough to the computer bank for me to disarm it because they’ll get one look at me and throw me out the window.”

“That won’t happen,” Minho says. His changing area is behind you and you hear the metallic slide of the curtain opening. “Because you won’t be going in there alone.”

You don’t even have to turn around to know Minho looks devastatingly gorgeous; it is written all over Changbin’s shocked face. His arms lower from behind his head and his cocksure expression shifts, his lips parting as he stares past you.

Despite having the benefit of bracing yourself, you are still struck dumb when you turn and look at Minho. It was always in the plan that Minho would serve as a distraction at the gala. To stand out accordingly, he dyed his hair with temporary dye this morning. The vibrant purple was more amusing than sexy when his hair was messy, but now it is neatly styled back, slick and off his handsome face. He is dressed all in white, his asymmetrical suit partially slit at the side to show some skin. There is an extra sparkle from his jewelry, plus the lightest dab of glitter in the sharper contours of his face. He is practically glowing.

He knows he looks good. His mouth quirks in a little smirk at your expressions. You and Changbin are both gawping at him, and it goes on long enough that his eyebrows lift and his smirk puckers with a surprised laugh.

“What? Really?” he asks, still laughing at you.

Changbin does an unexpected sign of the cross. You hit him with the cocktail dress again.

“Fine,” you say, mostly to have an excuse to duck behind the curtain because you think you might explode from lust and embarrassment and anxiety all at once. “At least no one will be looking at me.”

You step behind the curtain and snap it closed, leaving the boys to their banter.

You like dressing up so this part is no problem. The problem with parties is other people. You wholeheartedly admit you are better with zeroes and ones than human beings.

You try to focus on the fun elements of tonight: the dress, the glamour, and beating a high-tech security system at its own game. It will be so fun to have a real challenge for once. You know you can beat it but it will definitely push you more than your usual digital adversaries.

Also, you get to look at Minho looking like that. Your view of the boys is usually through security cameras, nestled in your van surrounded by your operating system, so the proximity will be a treat.

You open the curtain, scowling. You do not enjoy socializing so you seldom have occasion to dress up, so you anticipate the boys will lovingly berate you. But when you step forward, Changbin looks at you with the same dumbfounded expression he had for Minho. Minho is sitting on the bench, knees apart and arm slung across the backrest. His expression gets very serious when he looks at you. He shimmies his hips, his knees parting further.

“Turn around,” he says.

The van feels so tense and quiet that you obey, more confused than anything else.

Changbin’s gaze drops to your ass immediately, his jaw visibly clenching. Minho tips his head like he is studying something.

“Thank you,” Minho says.

You face them again, hot in the face. You cross your arms angrily.

“What was the point of that?” you demand.

Minho lifts a single eyebrow. “I wanted to see your ass,” he says, like it should be obvious. “It’s a good one. You should be proud.”

You throw your sweatpants at his stupid smirk. He catches it smoothly.

“Can we just go already?” You punctuate this with a stomp of your foot then storm out of your precious van.

It is very strange being on this side of the operation. You always have Minho and Changbin nattering in your earpiece, but usually you are sitting at your desk wearing proper headphones. It is strange wandering around with a tiny bud in your ear, listening to Changbin report from your usual seat.

You already have control of the hotel security cameras as they work on a separate operating system to the storeroom AI. You replaced the live feed with a looping reel of empty rooms so the security team inside will not see you moving around. It also gives Changbin a bird’s eye view of the gala and the rest of the hotel. You feel anxious at not seeing it for yourself, but you are placated when Changbin whistles and teases, “You two are the best looking there. You would be second best looking if I was there, so you’re lucky I’m not.”

You and Minho both smile, your expressions fond.

Minho gets you in the door with little more than a wink at the doorman. You stay quiet, hiding your nerves as best you can. Minho is a competent con-man and Changbin is plenty reliable so you try to focus on your own tasks. First you need to get to the ground floor network base so you can get the AI to chase your red herring. Once you are in, the AI will start responding, but with your virus acting as a decoy source within the building, you should be able to buy yourselves time to move onto the next phase of breaking down the system.

“There’s a lot of muscle at this party,” Changbin says seriously, no doubt taking stock of all the burly security guards. It is only natural Changbin would be as twitchy as you, also out of his element for the night. “I don’t like not being there with you,” he says.

“Easy,” Minho says in a calm voice. You think it is directed at both you and Changbin. He puts a hand on your lower back and gives you a knowing look. “You’re doing fine,” he says.

You feel like terror is written all over your face. It doesn’t help that Minho draws eyes the second you step into the hotel ballroom, men and women looking at him with the usual desire he draws. They are equally curious to look at you, their eyes on where his hand rests intimately low on your spine.

“I’m gonna hurl,” you say.

“Not a bad idea,” he says. He smiles with so much effortless charm that no one would suspect he is whispering criminal tips. “The best con,” he says, his lips brushing your ear, “is one that is close to the truth.” You shiver as his fingertips brush up your spine. He rests his hand on your nape. “Look sick,” he says. “We’ll say we’re looking for a restroom if someone asks.”

You follow his lead, weaving your way through the party. Looking sick is the easiest instruction to follow because you feel genuinely ill, your anxiety a toxic twist in your gut.

Only when you are wandering the empty hotel corridor do you feel at ease. You feel even more at ease when you find the ground floor network hub. Your first obstacle is a regular alarm code, twelve digits in length. It is obviously too long to guess so you physically unscrew the alarm box and start some manual fiddling. There is no way to fully disarm it without also setting it off, but that’s where your own AI gadget comes into play. You plug in your cypher scrambler and let it do its thing. It flickers through numbers, seeking the correct pattern, learning from its errors. You designed it yourself and though it is always accurate, it takes a while to pull the numbers. You and Minho are forced to hover in the hallway while it gradually reveals each piece of the code.

You are up to number seven out of twelve when Changbin inhales sharply.

“There’s a waiter walking in your direction,” he says. “It looks like he’s taking a shortcut to somewhere else, but you have less than two minutes until he’s on you.”

“What!” You start to panic immediately. “My decipher machine could take longer than that, what do we—”

“Relax, relax!” Changbin says at the same time Minho steps behind you and grasps your shoulders. He makes little shushing noises while massaging you, not that it does much to help.

“We’re good,” Minho says. “It’s just a waiter, not security.”

“I’m gonna get us killed,” you say.

“By a waiter?” Minho asks. He gives your shoulders another squeeze. “Is he going to beat us with a baguette? Hey, hey, relax.”

You are a vibrating bundle of nerves. Minho is not usually the type to dive into a hug but he turns you around and pulls you into his arms. You wrap your arms around his middle and hug him back, hiding your face in his neck.

“Yeah, that will work,” Changbin says.

“Huh?” you say, lifting your head.

Minho is staring into a security camera as if having a mute exchange with Changbin. He nods in agreement, though you still don’t understand.

“What will work?” you ask.

“Distraction,” Minho says. You just look at him with confusion.

“Baby,” Changbin says in a soft tone, “listen to my voice.”

The sudden gentleness of his voice makes you shiver. Your fingers are shaking when Minho takes your hand and rests it over his heart. You look up into his dark eyes as he smiles at you with familiar fondness. You open your mouth to speak but he shakes his head, shushing you gently. His eyes drift to the side in anticipation of an intruder.

“Baby,” Changbin says, his honeyed tone softening your nerves, “Minho is going to kiss you. Just do what I say, okay?”

Your heart skips a beat, your eyes widening.

“You trust us?” Changbin asks.

You nod, answering Changbin, gazing at Minho.

It’s the truth. You might be scared but you have been scared before and your boys always come through. Even when the rest of the world left you behind, when you turned to crime to keep yourself alive, Minho and Changbin were there. They have never let you down. You trust them with anything and everything.

Minho slips his hand around your waist, pulling you close to him. You have been close before, sharing the van, sharing hotel rooms, but this feels different. He looks at you with intent, his handsome face so close, a strand of dark purple hair curled over his forehead. Your hand finds that patch of bare skin when you touch his side. He is familiar and foreign at once, your Minho, and also a character, one who clasps his hand behind your back and ducks down to gently kiss your lips.

“Take a breath, baby,” Changbin says with a little chuckle. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“Mmf,” is the noise you make, affirming that observation. It makes Minho laugh, a breath against your lips.

“Waiter is thirty seconds away. You just want to look like a dumb, horny couple that wandered away from the party,” Changbin says. “Listen to me, I’ll tell you what do.”

You nod, sucking in a breath when Minho kisses you again. This time his mouth is a little more insistent, his lips coaxing yours open.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Changbin says. “Let your shoulders drop. Minho has you, it’s okay.”

You didn’t even realize how tense your shoulders were. You listen to Changbin, letting yourself go lax. Minho holds you, as promised, his arms sturdy around your waist as he kisses you deeply.

“Let Minho move you,” Changbin says. “He’s going to lean you against the wall to hide the device, okay? Put your hands on his shoulders. Higher, baby, go around his neck. Just like that. Let him lead you.”

Minho walks you backwards, carefully pressing you against the wall, hiding the dangling cypher scrambler with your bodies.

“We wanna give our intruder a little jump scare, okay?” Changbin says. “Minho.”

That is all the direction he gives Minho, trusting the adept con-man to know exactly what to do. Minho does, his hands sliding down to your hips to pull them flush against his. It arches your back. Your hands are hooked behind his neck and you squeak, your fingers instinctively sinking into his hair.

“God,” Changbin says. The sudden dark colour to his voice sends a spark of heat shooting through you. It clearly surprises Minho too, his lips parting with a caught breath. “You both look hot. Fuck.”

Changbin takes a steadying breath. You and Minho look at each other. You get to see his smirk for a split second, then his mouth is on yours and it is no longer gentle and questioning. It is a demand, hot and wanting, your lips opening with his guidance, your heart skipping beats when he licks in your mouth.

“Do it back,” Changbin says. “You want him to fuck you, baby. Make him believe it.”

You think the him is question is the waiter. Isn’t it? You don’t even know where the waiter is anymore, if he’s around the corner or watching. In the haziness of your kiss, it hardly seems to matter. You kiss Minho back with the same urgency, pulling him closer, whimpering when he bites your bottom lip.

“Fuck,” is the gentle whisper that Minho can’t fight. His brow is crinkled, his eyes closed. He kisses you again, his hands jumping up to gather yours. He laces his fingers with yours and presses your hands into the wall on either side of your head.

“Wrap your leg around his waist,” Changbin says. “Like that, that’s it, you’re okay.”

You lift one leg, shaky and unsure. Minho catches you under the knee and pulls it more certainly around him. He holds you there, his other hand grasping your throat very gently as he kisses and kisses and kisses you. Your hands are still splayed open by your head, thoughtlessly awaiting direction. Your fingers curl into your palm and you moan for real when Minho presses against you.

Minho is a good actor, but the hard shape in his pants is very real. When he grinds against you, so open and soft with your leg around his waist, it draws all those guttural sounds right out of you. Minho makes one back, swivelling his hips in a maddening grind against you. It is all too easy to imagine him fucking you like this, the effortless back-and-forth of his hips, your sweet sighs as he takes you, imagining Changbin there, his breath also stuttering.

You do not forget he is watching all this, especially when he lets another low laugh and asks, “She feel good?”

“Yes,” Minho answers without hesitation, breathing the word against your lips.

“Hold his face, baby,” Changbin says. “Kiss him like you mean it. Ask him to fuck you with it.”

You know what he means by that: to kiss Minho with fervency and heat. You do obey, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him deeply, but the fuzziness of desire mixed with Changbin’s words makes your brain go screwy with want. Not only does your kiss convey that desire, but words rush past your mouth, crashing into Minho’s lips in a breathless flurry.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please,” you say, your voice pitching up into a little whine as you rock against him. “Want you to fuck me so bad, baby,” you say, thinking of both of them at the same. You kiss Minho’s surprised, open mouth, your eyes closed, your voice loud in this hazy space as you say, “I’ve been thinking about it all night. Need it so bad. Please. Want you inside me. Want my mouth on you. Come in me. Come on me. Take me, please. I’m so hot and wet, it’ll feel so good, don’t you want to feel how wet I am? Don’t you want to fuck me too?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Changbin says, followed by a rush of even more inventive curses.

Minho settles on another simple, surprised, “Fuck.”

Then someone is clearing their throat. Minho jumps, his hands clamping tighter around you, protective.

“Oh, right, this clown,” Changbin says. “I hate that he’s too far away too punch.”

You giggle in spite of yourself, which is good because you think you might simultaneously die of embarrassment. You drop your leg and Minho lets you go, pulling himself together faster than you.

You let him do his thing, sliding a hand through his hair and smirking at the waiter as he saunters over. He makes his little speech, something-something-something a moment alone with the missus, something-something sorry-sorry-sorry. He walks the waiter back around the corner, giving you a knowing glance over his shoulder.

Thank god your cypher scrambler has its act together, even if you are a mess. It takes you longer to right yourself than it does for the scrambler to finish its job. Your hands are shaking as you break into the hub, but muscle memory takes over when you have your mini-laptop open.

Minho joins you a minute later. Your entire body lights up like a firework when he steps close to you. Nothing in his expression conveys anything more than professionalism – his queries are about the job and the job alone – but there is an ache between your thighs that won’t subside. You know he feels the same way as you can see he is still hard despite how much he glares at the wall. He adjusts his pants several times while standing in that closet of a hub with you. You keep glancing at each other, your gazes heady, speaking volumes more than your polite conversation.

When you leave and he puts his hand on your lower back, you shiver. You think you might double over from the persistent thumping of your easily-distracted pussy.

Changbin lets out a long sigh and a nervous giggle. “Good work, team,” he says.

You have worked enough jobs that you manage to set aside your personal feelings for the time being. It is easy to lose yourself in your work, especially when you really have to fight the security system.

You get inside the storeroom. You know it is filled with more traps and alarms so you sit down beside the door and type away on your laptop. You nearly break a sweat with the intensity of your work.

“She’s hot when she’s doing her thing,” Changbin suddenly says.

You lift your head and catch Minho’s eye. He smiles at you. “I agree,” he says.

Your heart starts skipping beats again. You look down at your laptop, feeling uncharacteristically shy under his gaze.

“Don’t distract me,” you say, making both of them laugh a little. You glare at Minho but there is no real animosity behind it.

At least they both acquiesce, going silent while you work. You manage to disarm most of the storeroom. The best you can do for the remainder of traps is trigger their subsequent lighting rigs so you can see them all. A labyrinth of blue light brightens the dark entry room, revealing each laser trigger that blocks your path to the locked compartments.

You look up at Minho whose calculating gaze is already tracing each intricate beam.

“Got it?” Changbin asks.

Minho starts unbuttoning his suit. “Always,” he says, smirking.

Minho flips the blazer down his arms, revealing just a tight white crop top beneath it. His jacket, shoes, and jewelry form a pile beside you. Minho does a few quick stretches before confidently approaching the laser grid.

Before his criminal life, Minho was a dancer, and a good one. He draws the same graceful lines with his body now, making each manoeuvre look easy even though you know it is incredibly difficult.

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” Changbin says.

“Yeah,” you say, biting your lip and watching Minho move. “Gotta agree.”

Minho slips over and under each laser, twisting and bending and sliding with ease. He pops up on the other side with a graceful twirl, throwing you a wink over his shoulder before flipping a switch on the control panel. It powers down the censors so you can scurry across the room to join him.

The compartment door unlocks with your final hacked access code, the door swinging open to reveal your loot. Changbin gives a successful holler into your earpiece, making you and Minho duck with his volume.

“I’ll bring the car around, baby,” Changbin says while you two roll your eyes but smile.

You pack your fold out bags with your selections. One key to success is never being overly greedy. You walk away with a substantial victory nonetheless.

You hurry out of the storeroom with your prize haul. Minho gets dressed again, though he doesn’t button up his jacket. He takes a second to catch his breath while you restore each alarm so nothing appears out of place. When you are ready to go, he takes your hand, smiling. You run hand-in-hand back down the corridor, making a few sharp turns until you find a staff exit. There is a small drop so Minho jumps down first then holds out his arms for you. Though you could make the jump easily, you still let yourself fall into his arms.

He holds you close as he puts you on your feet. You are riding the high of adrenaline and success, your heart soaring, which might be why you so easily surrender to desire. You kiss him, sudden and brief but tantalizing. He blinks back at you with surprise, his face scrunching with that astonished little laugh of his.

You smile at him. A line of sweat dots his hairline and you reach up, smoothing some messy strands of purple hair. The gentle caress changes the whole shape of his face, his eyes heavy-lidded, his breathing harder. You feel yourself change too, your heart pounding against his chest when he pulls you close.

You got greedy with that kiss and greediness has consequences. You are so distracted with each other that you don’t notice the security guards coming at you from the opposite direction.

“Hey!” one shouts. “What are you doing out here?”

You and Minho look over, then at each other. There is no time for conversation. You grab each other’s hands and start running, your bags of stolen goods bouncing on your shoulders.

“Hey!” the security guard shouts again. You can hear their heavy footsteps thundering after you, fast despite their muscle and bulk.

You turn the corner onto a backstreet just in time for the camper van to swing into view. The door slides open and Changbin jumps out. You pass each other, dropping hands so Changbin can dart between you.

Panting, you and Minho watch as Changbin effortlessly takes down the guards.

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” you say, giggling.

Minho laughs, nodding. “I agree,” he says.

Minho takes the steering wheel so you can apologize to your baby for abandoning her. Changbin jumps back in the van and the three of you drive away with another successful haul.

Later, back at the penthouse, Minho takes the longest shower in an effort to scrub the purple out of his hair. You are in your bedroom when he finally emerges. You can hear him and Changbin talking in the living room. By the sounds of it, the purple is still threaded in his dark brown hair, likely to last a few more days. You smile to yourself, listening to their playful back-and-forth as Changbin teases him and Minho snarkily retaliates.

It is tradition after a successful job to have a few drinks and relax. Contacting your fence and taking care of business can wait until tomorrow.

You can hear the usual music playing through the speakers, can hear the clink of bottles and glasses, can hear Changbin and Minho laughing and talking.

You look at your reflection in the mirror. Though you seldom have occasion to wear pretty luxuries, you have enough money at your disposal to treat yourself. You have been changing in and out of different lingerie sets since you got home. You think this one might be just right: a silky black set worn under a lacy black dress that falls to your thighs. It is suggestive but arguably casual. You could just be wearing it as pyjamas, right? Sure. Sure. Totally normal pyjamas for a totally normal night.

The best con is one that is close to the truth, Minho had said. Then he stuck his tongue in your mouth and you begged him to fuck you with Changbin’s help. Even you, who is terrible at reading and understanding people, know what truth was in that charade.

You take a deep breath and march to your bedroom door with determination. You throw it open so hard that it smashes into the wall, startling the boys in the other room. You ignore the crash and scurry into sight, avoiding eye contact.

“Hello,” you say.

There is a moment of prolonged silence then Changbin says, “Hi.”

You look up. They are both staring at you, both wide-eyed, both in sweatpants and t-shirts with their hair undone and fluffy. They look very casual and very surprised. Minho is clutching a beer bottle and Changbin is holding a bowl of popcorn. Both of them are frozen.

You smile a very awkward smile.

“Hello,” you say again. “I am… I am… dressed. For bed. My bed. For being in my bed, like this, as I am dressed right now. I am going to that bed, now, like this. You can… join me. If you want. If you don’t want, then, okay. Hello. And. Goodbye. Bye.”

You run back to your bedroom and slam the door closed.

Other than the soft music still swirling in the air, the penthouse is quiet. You cannot hear the boys, not a comment, not a sound, not a breath.

Then you hear the popcorn bowl hit the ground and a bottle smash. They shove and yell at each other as they stumble on the way to your bedroom. You are standing awkwardly in the middle of your room, hands folded in front of you, waiting as they crash into your bedroom door and curse at each other.

Changbin then very casually opens the door and they calmly walk inside.

“Hello,” you say.

“Hi,” Changbin replies.

You wish thoughts could be hacked like a computer. You cannot think of what to say or do next. You just stare at them and they stare back, although their gazes are considerably less nervous. Their stares are thirsty, drinking you in, looking from top to bottom and back again.

“Turn around,” Minho says, his gaze low.

You meet Changbin’s eye before obliging, slowly turning.

“Okay,” Minho says after a long moment, giving your heart plenty of time to go crazy in your chest. “Thank you.”

You turn back around, just as embarrassed as earlier but not angry at all. You cross your arms over your chest, flicking your gaze between them.

Minho reaches out and lightly punches Changbin on the arm. Changbin looks at him and Minho gives him a look, one you cannot decipher. You continue to stare at them.

Changbin nods at Minho then looks at you. He holds out his hand.

“Breathe, baby,” he says. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

You laugh but nod, taking his hand. He wastes no time pulling you close, guiding your hand to his heart as Minho did earlier. He holds your hand there and waits until you make eye contact so he can wink at you.

“I know I am the best looking man you have ever seen in your life,” he says, making you laugh again, “but I’m me. You trust us?”

You look at him then at Minho. His dark hair is still tinted purple, his bare face open and soft as he meets your eye. You smile and look back at Changbin, nodding.

“Always,” you say.

“Good,” Changbin says.

He cups your face and you lean towards him, anticipating a kiss, but he gently turns your face aside. You don’t even have time to be confused before Minho is kissing you. He swiftly draws all those sweet sounds out of you, pulling you towards him. Changbin steps behind you, holding your hips and kissing his way up your neck to your ear.

“Baby,” Changbin says while Minho slows his kiss to something gentle but heated, his tongue swiping at yours. “Listen to my voice, okay?”

You nod, light-headed but eager.

“Good,” Changbin says. “Come sit in my lap. Over here.”

Changbin is strong enough to haul you around. You barely have to move, letting yourself go soft in his arms. He sits on the edge of the bed and puts you in his lap, spreading your legs over his thighs. You stare up at Minho, out of breath, your thighs twitching to close for pressure. Changbin slides a hand down, stroking your inner thigh and making you jump, his other hand tugging down your dress and immediately going for your breast.

Minho sweeps a hand through his hair, taking a breath before stepping up to you.

“Still want your mouth on him, baby?” Changbin asks, reminding you of all the things you whispered in that heated moment.

You nod, whimpering when Changbin slides his hands into your panties and touches you directly. He circles and circles the most sensitive cluster of nerves, grunting and pressing his lips to your neck.

“She’s so fucking wet,” Changbin says. He slips his hand out of your panties and abruptly grabs Minho by the hand, tugging him closer. Minho brings that hand to his mouth, licking your wetness off Changbin’s fingertips. “Touch him baby,” Changbin says. “You see how hard he is for you?”

You can see. You can feel Changbin too, hard under you. Their sweatpants do little to disguise it.

You do not hesitate obeying, tugging on the waistband of Minho’s sweats. Everything feels so dreamy and good, surrounded by touch. It all seems to happen quickly; suddenly Changbin’s hand is in your panties, Minho’s dick is in your mouth, and Minho’s hands are tugging the straps of your dress down. This ends with you drooling messily all over the end of his dick, sucking on the head and murmuring nonsense while Changbin makes you come on his fingers. Then Minho kneels in front of you both, your legs end up over his shoulders, and you find yourself hurtling towards another orgasm on his mouth.

You dress ends up somewhere, the panties too. The bra is barely on, the straps hanging down your arms. Changbin finally kisses you when you are on your back in the middle of the bed. He lays between your open legs, his fingers filling you up as you continue to gush all over his hand. You grab him, squeezing his biceps as he effortlessly moves that strong hand between your legs. Minho climbs up too, his shirt somewhere across the room. He grabs your hands and pulls them over your head, pinning them into the pillows before ducking down to kiss you. You come for a third time before either of them even fucks you.

Then they do. Minho first, with you under him, listening to every direction Changbin murmurs in your ear. You lift your legs around his waist when Changbin says, then touch yourself when Changbin asks, and shudder when Minho comes inside you like you earlier begged.

Then Minho is behind you, holding you, touching you, protective and familiar while Changbin fucks you. Changbin has a surprisingly filthy mouth, continuing to tell you how good you feel and how good you look. Minho is quiet but fully entranced by you, his hands constantly wandering. He slides one hand down and rubs you off while Changbin fucks you. Then he leans over your shoulder and kisses Changbin on the mouth, making Changbin finish too.

The music is still playing in the next room. The three of you lay there in various states of undress, you in the middle, sweaty and messy, the boys panting and gently stroking your arms and thighs.

“I love you guys,” you say. It is incredibly cliché to make a love confession after several mind-blowing orgasms, but you don’t care. You don’t need to play games or tell lies or be good at socializing, not with your boys. You can just be your nerdy self, confessing your feelings even while drifting into sleep.

You smile when you feel Minho kissing your cheek, Changbin giggling on your other side.

“It will have to be big,” Changbin says. “The biggest.”

“Hmm?” you ask, looking at him strangely.

“The diamond we steal to put on your finger,” Changbin says, holding up your hand and circling your ring finger. You laugh and try to pull your hand back but Minho catches it, nodding in accord.

“I agree,” Minho says. He kisses your temple. “I know how criminals work,” he adds. “You’re not getting stolen away from us.”

He and Changbin exchange an affectionate glance over you, nodding at each other, then they are each kissing a side of your face as you squirm and laugh. You swipe at Minho’s purple hair and kiss Changbin’s cheek, then nestle into their arms as they wrap around you, protective as always.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee minho smut #seo changbin smut #lee minho x reader #seo changbin x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #skz x reader

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lucabyte · 5 months

Note

obligatory ramble about postcanon loop ask

also your art is amazing

Hiiiiiiiii :D thank you :)!!

and thank you for the excuse to post the. just absolute wall of text that i truncated down to form the tags of that post. (i did,,, hit the tag limit. i forgot tumblr had one of those...) so let me just paste that and tidy it up a bit...

I am putting this under a readmore because it's a bit long. but:

This is like. The General Context for all* of my postcanon doodles? (Except AUs obviously) Like this is the base idea I've been drawing them all in. So, feel free to backread with this in mind. I've basically had this 'postcanon' timeline set in my brain since finishing the game...

My general thoughts are that I like the idea of Loop (even if through dubiously ethical means) being able to slowly reintegrate with the party as a whole new person, because they are, in fact, their own person.

It's a muddle of thematic threads im pulling on and "wouldn't it be fucked up if", but. (at its core, it's powered by the fact that like, while narratively isat's theme of 'the only person who can truly take the first step to help you is yourself'. (wrt: loop helping the party help siffrin in act 5) which i LOVE AND IS GREAT NARRATIVELY…. would be super fucked up irl to learn that your friend 'learned as a lesson' while you stood by kinda uselessly. I know i'd be upset about it. but thats mostly background here. doesn't really come up. at least not until loop has to explain who they are and the party realises they had to fall back on literally themselves again for help, but i digress,)

The real core concept is: Occam's razor. It is like, inherently, a buckwild thing to accuse a person of being somehow a clone or copy of your friend. Even if they start vaguely alluding to a backstory it's far more likely they were some other person before all that. (I still think Odile has that theory in the back pocket but she's rational enough to know it's a really long shot without a solid explanation. and i think Loop deep down knows this, and would, if cornered into confessing, turn the situation around to go J'ACCUSE and make HER explain it instead. Ever longer dodging being direct with their emotions...)

And the party are nice! And if someone has changed and wants to keep stuff secret it's kind of not their business? (Though it's hard not to speculate… see: the main joke of the doodles) And they seem important to Siffrin so they just try to accept them abrasive quirks and all. And eventually the question of their prior identity just fades away since, well, they're Loop. Their friend Loop.

but yeah. personal headcanon is that a few months/weeks after picking up and getting aquainted with Nille** (since that was presumably the IMMEDIATE TASK postgame), Loop reappears (either after a literal period of nonexistance, or just spending a few months wandering the french countryside alone being attacked by wild dogs). Since Siffrin has had a while to be therapised by the party they're doing mostly okay, but Loop showing up and still being agitated/aggressive pulls them both into a bit of a backslide behaviourally and puts the party on the back foot again.

Hooowever, I do think that due to no longer being literally stewing in the worst pressure cooker of all time together, the two do mostly actually sort themselves out with productive conversation. (Via a cycle of: genuinely distressing argument -> weeeird lovebombing -> ok we're good -> repeat, that gets less intense over time)

Thus, allowing the party to just. Integrate loop as a new person. They and Siffrin shuffle into different ecological niches (Loop taking over stuff Siffrin is now too squeamish for, etc (see: hunting, mostly)), and while it's not exactly what Loop wanted they generally get that beggars can't be choosers and it's a pretty good deal. And the rest of the party does straight up just like them as a friend, especially when Loop quits trying to actively antagonise them after a few weeks of being around them, since they just can't keep up being mean to people they like forever.

As for how I think the truth eventually drags itself out. This is where I invoke The Isabeau Torment Nexus™. So its gonna get shippy here for a bit hold on.

Which is, I think giving them time before Loop reappears long enough that Siffrin and Iseabeau actually manage to become established, Isabeau has to be the one to nudge the pair of them and go. "Hey. You know we're in Vaugarde right. I'm okay with polyamory if we all communicate." Before Loop and Siffrin actually even acknowledge that whatever the fuck they have going on kinda looks a lot like a relationship of some kind. (or have already been agonising about that via fighting and arguing, depending) (Obviously this comes after Isa "Emotionally intelligent enough to keep a lid on the jealousy" Beau has managed to use that big brain of his to Not just go Scream somewhere on the daily because oh godddd they keep talking like theyre suicide-baiting each other jesus chriiist. is it overstepping his boundaries to bring that up?? god)

This, taking a bunch of the tension out of Loop and Isabeau's relationship (Since I imagine Loop is a. being weird for the obvious reasons and b. feeling kinda guilty about 'getting in the way of' Siffrin and Iseabeau), allows them to actually get close in a normal friend way. (I think an interesting turning point could be Isabeau actually taking Loop's side in an argument vs Siffrin, which would absolutely break Loop's brain. Especially if it's an argument that matters. Like what do you mean he isn't just going to play favourites. What?)

Then Isabeau, just actually open minded and charmed by Loop (and maybe even somewhat at Siffrin's suggestion?) tries to close the final open side on the polyamory triangle here and that's the final straw for Loop on "This lie by omission is too unethical to keep up, this is just actually sick and wrong. I can't do this while he doesn't know who I am." Though. Obviously it probably goes. Very poorly with emotions high like that. And the added element of several months of deceit. Getting dark here for a second but that dagger is going MISSING and so are THEY for a hot minute.

Then yaaay everything works out in the end 👍 yippieee!! all it took was maybe a lot of harrowed recontextualisation of all the weird shit your new friend said and did when it turns out they're your old friend. It's fine.

But yeah. this is basically the context all of my postcanon doodles have existed within? And those exist to give other people something to chew on. So this does too.

I suppose TL;DR: Imagine if sloopis almost fucking happens before isabeau knows who loop is. can you fucking imagine. can you imagine having to navigate that. nightmare.

*Yes this includes the implied cannibalism comic. Uhh. Comes part and parcel with headcanoning that Loop went way off the deep end similar to A5 Sif But Maybe Worse before giving in. Add weepy half-asleep confessions to murder wherever you see fit in your mind palace. 👍👍👍

**Re: Nille footnote. I don't have anywhere to put this besides here! I have some thoughts on Loop and Nille having an odd dynamic. I don't imagine Nille to be super gung-ho on trusting a bunch of adults (even if they are majority around her age) given their implied backstory. It's probably a big shock to the system, especially since Bambouche is a good couple hundred Kilometers up north from Dormont and these guys don't seem to have trains. She would've been unfrozen and without Bonnie for some time....

Which is to say: I think she's suspicious of them. I think she may be looking for excuses to distance herself, keep Bonnie safe. SO.... A new guy showing up? And antagonising the party? What do they know that I don't...? I should find out.

And since... Loop didn't ever know Nille, they have no ammunition or real reason to be cruel. Plus, if they're trying to stay on Bonnie's good side (SINCE... if Bonnie thought Loop was cringe they may as well kill themselves. In their mind.) they SUPER have no reason to antagonise Nille.

Mostly, they might be able to open up to each other easier than they can the rest of the party?

I feel like this resolves with Loop feeling compelled to apologise for what they and Siffrin let happen to Bonnie, though... Hmm... Depends on how you interpret Nille that they'd be glad nobody else had been told about that yet, or furious it had been secret this long. I lean toward the former.

#PHEW THIS IS LONG. i wrote some extra footnotes and tidied it up a bit. but uh. here you go! my personal headcanon baseline for postcanon.#i could probably elaborate more but that would get unwieldy. like i have opinions on loop's dynamics w each party member but. LONG POST...#lucabytetalks #isat #isat spoilers #in stars and time #isat loop #isiloop #sloopis #WONT be tagging everyone thats absurd. loop centric post though with a chunk about nille at the end #isat act 6 spoilers

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the-traveling-poet · 1 month

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Her Kind Heart

How, after all he had seen her endure, could she still smile? How could her heart be so full after being so broken? It was something Levi had admired, and soon came to love. How could he not, when she taught him many a value?

Pairing: Levi x F!Reader

Warnings: none, just platonic-to-lovers, Levi POV

Taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe @pelicanpizza @humanitys-strongest-brat @raginginferno267 @ackermanswifee If you’d like to be added to the taglist for new Levi contact, just DM me :)

A/N: I got this request over on Wattpad, but I wanted to post this here as well. Also ps, I meant to post this earlier in the day (for me, in EST time) but I got into a fight with a drunk man aka my father so it got postponed :)

Time and time again, he’d witnessed battle outside the walls harden and change many a cadet and captain alike.

They would become closed off, emotionally absent or angry. Some became paranoid and even lashed out against command from angers and griefs understood by themselves only.

Yet others succumbed to their traumas and became a shell of who they once were; a mere shadow of a soldier fighting for a cause they no longer believed in.

Why then, if this held true more often than not, hadn’t she fallen to these outcomes? How was her fate different than anyone else before her?

He’d seen her around HQ often enough to notice her usual cheer undiminished by the obstacles they all faced inside and outside the walls as Scouts. Ever she remained as radiant as the day he’d met her, against the odds he had silently betted upon.

Ms. Y/N L/N. She was as puzzling as she was alluring.

He’d supposed her rise in ranks might dull her gentle approach to her comrades and that kind twinkle ever present in her eye, but these things hadn’t changed. Not once. He’d never once seen even a flinch in her presentation.

How could someone witness such carnage and hopelessness, and yet remain so positive? So in control over their own heart and mind? Yet she managed, with a grace that surprised even the most weathered of veterans.

He’d managed to ask her once, masking indifference to her response despite his inner turmoil. And her answer had been as assertive as ever she always was;

“Someone needs to bring forth the morale in the barracks around HQ, so I stepped up. Many have and many will, so why not me also? Is that an issue?”

“I never said it was an issue, but how can you have the energy for it? Many have filled those shoes and fallen into the same pit they tried to help others out of,”

Levi had recounted, leaned against the stone wall at his back.

At first, he figured by her silence that Y/N wouldn’t have an answer; something he had been banking on. But to his surprise, she eventually met his eye from across the narrow hall with a kind and somehow knowing smile adorning her face.

“Why give up based on another’s downfall? They did what they could with what they had, and that’s what I plan to do. They deserve happiness just as much as myself. As we all do. Even you, Captain. Especially you.”

He’d looked at her differently ever since.

Sure, he could have snapped back with some crude imitation of humor, or pressed his rank above her at the time to show he’d know better than her how far morale got one in this line of work.

But something in him just couldn’t fathom arguing her point; she was right, after all.

And she’d spoke with such a calm certainty, that even he believed her the moment she spoke.

He began to see just how wise in the way of emotions she could be, if one paid close enough attention. And after that first official interaction, he certainly had.

As time passed, in which he mulled her response over daily, he supposed he’d never thought of things her way.

Morale was important to maintain within one’s own squad, to follow command efficiently and without doubt in your leader to complete the mission; or at least attribute to it.

He’d learned this through his training with Erwin following his ‘capture’. So of course, he was sure of this knowledge. Hadn't he been?

But to instill that hope in those around you who couldn’t find it within their own mind and heart to have a hope beyond their mundane lives? Especially those outside the line of command and even outside the military itself that had no connection to her personally? To show them that same hope and leadership, without the military rank to back it up…What would she gain?

What of the merchants he’d witnessed her pass and bid good luck onto? What of the common people she would pass on horseback on her way back into the safety of the walls after an expedition and offer her condolences before she even recognized her own exhaustion? How had they earned her personal reassurance?

He admired this about her, admittedly. It wasn’t often he found himself admiring others, he later came to realize. Not because he felt himself superior to anyone; far from it. Rather, he supposed he’d never allowed room in his heart for such grievances and responsibility outside his personal loyalties. Of course, his loyalties were to saving and freeing mankind; but had he ever considered the finer details of emotion ranging into areas he hadn’t yet reached himself? Or at least, allowed himself to reach?

That was where his friendship with Y/N had first blossomed; over idle chitchat debating one’s idea of freedom, should it come to humanity one day. Soon enough they debated their differing opinions on affairs both inside and outside the military; some of which he came to realize he agreed with her on over his own views. Her care for those around her, regardless of the profit it would gain her, which often times was none, continued to surprise him.

A sullen cadet at wit’s end, a Captain stressed to their limits, a child in the town with a quivering lip…She would tend to them as if they were her own. This in itself took him the longest to understand. And even when he had finally asked, and she had explained, it took him a little longer to fully grasp.

“That cadet wasn’t assigned to you. It’s their Captain’s job to see to their well-being,” Levi had hummed, encountering her after such an event. Y/N had merely shrugged, a warm smile still perched on her lips.

“I didn’t see their Captain around; yet they still looked so distraught.” She’d shrugged.

“You aren’t their mother.” Levi had huffed, though there was no venom to his quip. Y/N seemed to pick up on this, and offered no scowl.

“Why couldn’t I be, at least temporarily? We all need unity in times of uncertainty. That’s what makes us human.”

And how that phrase had stuck with him for years to come. Perhaps it wasn’t so wrong to reach out for guidance and company when needed…

It wasn’t until a handful of years into knowing her as his trusted friend and companion did he realize what allure she held. Not just in spirit, but in beauty; though he supposed deep down he’d always seen her attraction.

Wether it was from the looks he observantly noted with distain from the townsfolk or fellow military men and women in the MP that made him feel bitter, or from the time spent comfortably in her company being guided and comforted by her words alone; he’d realized a little late that he’d fallen for her wise and caring charisma.

Another handful of years would pass with him being stuck in his own denial and self diagnosed delusion, until he’d have the courage to face these ever growing emotions within his heart when they became too much for him to keep silently to himself. And perhaps even a little longer still until he’d actually act upon them.

But for the meantime, he was content with keeping her closer than anyone else around him, devoting his all to her saftey and her well-being in hopes to repay her own emotional support and understanding to him all these years.

Until he deemed the time was right to confess his heart, her ever present serene and calming aura was something he knew he couldn’t ever give up.

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thebirthofvenusfly · 6 months

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okay but i like thinking about the events of ISAT/siffrin's struggles not as them going from a party of normal people with normal struggles to "everyone essentially now has to help Sif heal from That," but as, "everyone in the party has had their own immense, long-term struggles, and this happens to be Siffrin's." like, siffrin is not just a, "problem child," or the standalone outlier in terms of angst

here me out

[major ISAT spoilers, especially for acts 3-5 btw]

siffrin doesn't know all these things in act 1, but:

Odile has had a life-long struggle with identity. Her mother abandoned her family at a young age, her father (presumably heartbroken and betrayed) has never kept any mementos or photos or stories of her and likely avoided speaking of her at any and all opportunities. For the most part, Odile loves her culture but admits she was an outlier in Ka Bue and always stood out from the texture of her hair and eyebrows. She's tried to settle before for the peace of just letting it be, but after meeting that travelling merchant, she realizes how badly she does want to bridge that gap in her identity and has now spent years travelling--all only to find that it didn't quite fix her problem and she hasn't been able to find herself entirely in Vaugarde either. She doesn't dwell too much on her mother, but I feel there is a part of her that could never forgive the hole her mother left behind.

Mirabelle has similarly struggled, though in terms of religion and sexuality. She holds herself to a very high standard of Changing and being a, "good," Housemaiden, and has gone to great lengths to learn as much as she can in efforts to reinvent herself and Change, as she feels she, "should," do, because that's what Housemaidens and diligent followers of the House of Change, "should," do. She is so adamant about this that even prior to the game, even prior to the King's reign--which was several months-a full year before ISAT begins--she is forcing herself to look into relationships to potentially date, bond, and even have children with someone and she doesn't want to do any of that it. She is distraught because she doesn't want to change that aspect. She doesn't want to become what she's not, or try to force herself to feel things she doesn't and can't feel, but she isn't being a good Housemaiden or a good member of her society if she stagnates.

Bonnie's plight primarily comes in with the King's reign, which again, has been for a few months now. They live with their older sister who loves them and cares for them tirelessly, but she is taken by the King's Curse and frozen in time--an event which presumably happens in front of Bonnie, who is encouraged by their sister's last words to just run from the village as far as they can to safety. If that isn't terrifying enough, this leads to them wandering the wilderness for days, exhausted, dehydrated, presumably starved/ill-fed, and lonely, and likely scared out of their mind. Their only saving grace is Siffrin, who happens to find them and save them. The comfort they feel with Sif is called into question when they have to watch Siffrin take a permanent, debilitating injury to the eye to protect them. While the incident seems to roll off Siffrin's worries pretty seamlessly, this is a lot for Bonnie, who by now, has recognized a pattern of the people they love being permanently hurt or altered in some way all just to protect them. They're convinced they're a recurring problem, and after the death ritual talk in the House, has to prepare themselves for the haunting reality that they might really lose everyone they love (and, again, this is a lot. Especially for a child).

Isabeau has tried Changing before, and while it did help him make leaps and bounds, he is still in a constant struggle to love himself fully. Let's be honest here: Isabeau is easily the most emotionally put-together party member, and most equipped to handle the stresses of the party in terms of feelings. This does not make him immune, however, to his own negative feelings. He even cites as wanting to become someone that Siffrin wouldn't be, "ashamed," to know. He also mentions that he is remorseful of the new image he's given himself, as an air-headed, jock type of person, which often leads people into genuinely believing he's stupid and thus treating him that way. Not to mention, as the emotional mediator of the party, I'm sure he occasionally gets stretched thin between helping everyone else manage their problems and altercations.

all this is to say: everyone in the party has their problems, and a good sum of these are not all instantly solved by the end of the story. all of them, siffrin included, are left in a space where they have plenty of healing to do but can confidently and comfortably still rely on one another.

ISAT is just siffrin's chapter of major emotional plight, and everyone else's is presumed prior to the narrative (i can also acknowledge that siffrin definitely got the worst of it though LMAO)

#isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #mirabelle #isabeau #odile #bonnie #siffrin

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drakaripykiros130ac · 5 months

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“Rhaenyra and Alicent are the same. They are both greedy, selfish women who fight for the throne.”

No, they’re not. They are not the same.

Rhaenyra Targaryen was a very happy child (up until her mother died, at least).

All she ever wanted was to live her princess life, marry the love of her life and ride her dragon, Syrax.

Rhaenyra never cared about the Iron Throne. She was more than okay with her mother giving her a little brother who would shoulder the responsibility.

But everything changed when Viserys chose her as his heir. That meant the world to Rhaenyra. Imagine being the first princess in history chosen by your father to succeed him. That has never happened before. It gave her a sense of worth, of purpose, which she adored.

And then for the first time in history, the lords of the Realm presented themselves in front of a princess and swore to uphold her claim.

In that moment, it was as if Rhaenyra herself had sworn an oath to the Realm, to be their future Queen. She took on the responsibility, and sat beside her father at Court, learning everything about politicking. She then moved to Dragonstone when she was sixteen and learned to govern.

Rhaenyra was willing to give up on her dreams so she could make her father proud, so she could take on the responsibility and lead her House. And that’s just what she did. She spent years preparing to rule. She had to endure a marriage to someone like Laenor Velaryon (the ultimate challenge: have children with a man of a different sexual preference, and who is also unwilling to bed you, at a time when the whole Realm expects you to produce heirs).

And then…to have all that she was promised taken away from her.

I would rage.

To have sacrificed all these years of my life, to have endured childbirth for the sake of the Realm despite knowing that my own mother died in childbirth, to have to deal with greedy and backstabbing people all on my own…all that for nothing.

Rhaenyra didn’t covet the throne. She never wanted it, but it was promised to her. And for all she had sacrificed, she would be damned if she let her abusive stepmother and her worthless, lazy spawns take away what she worked hard for.

Alicent Hightower, on the other hand, was an upstart from the beginning. Being the daughter of a second son who had no fortune of his own, she couldn’t have expected to have too many prospects. She therefore slithered her way in Court life with the help of her father, became a lady in waiting and bid her time until the moment came to seduce the King and take the crown. She became the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, the Queen. She was given privileges which she abused, her children were well taken care of and lacked for nothing (and they rarely appreciated it).

But this was not enough for Alicent (or Otto). She wanted more. She was greedy. She wouldn’t settle for anything less than having her own blood on the throne, and she committed high treason to make that happen. A decision which destroyed her family.

So, no, the stories of these two women are not the same.

Rhaenyra fought for the oaths which had been sworn to her, for her father’s wish.

Alicent fought for her own selfish desires.

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pessimisticpigeonsworld · 9 months

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People in the ASOIAF fandom are very obsessed with passive women they can project onto. The obsessions with the characters of show!Alicent, Sansa, Elia, and Helaena are perfect examples of this.

In the show, Alicent is changed from a woman who actively seeks power and heads the scheming of the green faction into a passive victim who watches and reacts to the men around her. And yet, despite this being a much more boring characterization, the show version is vastly more preferred by her stans. They condemn her book character as simply an "evil stepmother trope" while completely ignoring how their fav is just as blank and tropey as they accuse her book counterpart to be. Alicent stans want her to be the show's blank victimized canvas.

Helaena is someone who the show changed very little in the adaptation, because both book and show Helaena have little impact on the plot other than to be victims of their surroundings. Both women are forced to marry Aegon at thirteen and have his children, go through B&C, and are the least active members of the green faction. The show only added elements to make her more tragic: her dreaming and autistic behaviors. Helaena's character makes her the perfect canvas for certain fans to project themselves onto as she simply exists to be victimized and play the dutiful wife/daughter despite her circumstances, just like the show version of her mother.

Elia Martell is a woman who we know very little about. She died thirteen years before the events of ASOIAF and, unlike characters like Rhaegar and Lyanna, she has no pov characters who think about her enough for us to learn anything about her. The only things we know are that she was loved by her family, was in an arranged marriage to Rhaegar, had his two (confirmed) children, and was brutally raped and murdered by Lannister men. She is an unknown character and, again unlike Rhaegar and Lyanna, has no known active role in the events surrounding the Rebellion. Because of these things, she is, again, the perfect blank canvas for people to project on.

Sansa is, despite being a prominent pov character in ASOIAF, a very passive character. She rarely takes action in her circumstances and simply reacts to them while trying to survive. There's nothing wrong with this, she's a young girl who has never had to fight for anything in her life, it's not unexpected or condemnable for her reaction to her circumstances to be this way. However, her passivity is something her stans obsess over. She is praised for being the "perfect lady" and they project their desires to see her rule onto her and how they view her story.

These women have been chosen by these fans because of their passivity and tragedy. They love that the women have suffered in the name of the "duty" they believe is higher than them. Because they love passivity, they hate the women of ASOIAF who are active in their own lives and fight to better their circumstances. Characters like Rhaenyra, Arya, Daenerys, and Lyanna are all massive influences on the world and purposely chose to challenge the patriarchy. Since they did not take their suffering silently, theses certain fans view them as wrong and hate them. They only love the women they can project on and who simply refuse to fight for better lives.

#anti sansa stans #anti alicent stans #elia martell #anti team green stans #asoiaf #asoiaf fandom #fandom critical #anti alicent hightower

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magua-vida · 5 months

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SLAY THE QUEEN THORN

I was inspired by Abby's sketch of a hypothetical Queen version of the Princess, so I tried my hand at it with a few vessels, including this one. I... ended up drawing something akin to a fashion design concept art rather than a practical design that won't be tiring to draw over and over after a handful of sprites later. I also had to use a bit more artistic license growing unnatural poppies on the dress and the thick twirly prickly noodles.

some explanations behind the process

For the "mended" Thorn, I pretty much just removed the foreground thorns and added the dirt.

rambling/fangirling/screenshots below:

The Thorn is one of my favorites. If I had to choose only five vessels to offer to Shifty and there's no replayable feature, she'll definitely be one of them. I'm one of those suckers who's into Hurt/Comfort stories. Almost like a masochist for those fics, you could say. If the climax to an Action-heavy story is the defeat of one party, then the catharsis of Hurt/Comfort is when the two characters... well, comfort each other- either due to hurt from each other or someone else. In The Thorn's case, she started off rather innocently, Damsel-like, but not quite. She still had caution. It was until she was literally stabbed in the back that she learned that it was a mistake. And when Long Quiet offered sincere regret and admission of fault, she stabbed him... but she didn't feel the relief she thought she'd get from it. I think many relate to having been betrayed and/or betraying someone they trusted, and the scratches are felt by many players.

The thorns curve inward, as if it's more painful to leave her than it is to approach her.

Poppies grow around along the bramble. Many mistook them for roses because they're red and there are brambles (tbh, I actually dunno if they're brambles or briars, I looked them up and I got confused, forgive me, plant enthusiasts ;.;) that grow around the patches of those poppies. Death and romance~

This brings back to Chapter 1 where Hero was kinda-sorta-maybe-definitely crushing on the Princess and wants to give her the benefit of the doubt, not only because of feelings, but for a reasonable cause of wanting to rescue someone who possibly may actually be a victim of circumstance.

Look, I have reasons why Thorn route is one of my favorites and it definitely doesn't have anything to do with both characters having massive trust issues and the capability to change themselves for better or worse and the emotional moments hitting me like a lovely diamond-dusted dagger. Both of them are rather cat-like with pointy ears too.

I appreciate that you're still given the options to leave or stab Thorn, as if the situation isn't pitiable enough. Even her tiara looks like a crown of thorns. It's as if she views the thorns as both a form of penance and a defence mechanism to protect herself from being hurt again, even though she's hurt by her own making this time.

I chose for the Long Quiet to save her and leave the cabin together.

This part stabbed me the most. Even when shown genuine help, she shrinks back.

This part burns a bit of the jadedness away. Trust is a scary thing, so is love. How can you be so sure that you won't be hurt by the one you love again? But just like what The Prisoner says, it's about trust- blind trust. Thorn looks more human than her previous self- less animalistic, softer. A part of The Damsel returns, even in the music.

I recall weighing on whether I prefer the version with the Voice of the Cheated or Voice of the Smitten. I vaguely remember wondering if there was an option to ask her if it's okay to kiss her. I guess the ideal would be is to have that choice, but I suppose the climactic moment calls for it and she doesn't mind it, at least. It's like the option to hug Astarion from BG3, but you're not sure whether he'd be comfy with it after being hurt so much. He gave approval for it too~

As much as Thorn is one of my favorites, I'm not attracted to her and any of the vessels. Instead, I ship her with the Long Quiet- the character himself. I don't really see myself AS the Long Quiet, more like choosing what actions on what he does and I separate myself from him a lot for many reasons. It's a bit like the Harry situation from Disco Elysium in terms of seemingly blank-slate protagonists.

Instead, I kinda put myself into her situation to feel how she felt in this route. The poppies not only felt symbolic of her nature as part of the Shifting Mound, but also specifically the end of the mutual treachery you've inflicted on each other, potentially beginning anew on a path of healing.

==============ramble-bramble over===================

#black tabby games #slay the queen #slay the princess #the thorn #stp the thorn #surprise astarion from bg3 #blood

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alavestineneas · 5 months

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and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, mentions of sa (!), blood and other parts of body, very non-healthy relationships chapter 1 - chapter 2 !this work is part 2 to the i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest! word count: 7,3k

author's notes: hi beautiful people! today, I have finally finished this chapter! be aware that this piece of literature is explicit and touches on some very heavy themes, including sa and child abuse. Please be mindful of it! As always, your opinions, suggestions, and critiques are welcome in the comments. Love you, and have a tasty read!

There are a lot of books stored in her memory, locked in the neurocytes safely. They are tucked into the cortex with love and tenderness that YN otherwise taught herself to suppress as a sign of her weaker self. But papers were non-living, so she felt like it was less dangerous for her to show warmth towards them; after all, if the objects can not acknowledge your love, does it really count as real? She read everything, mostly in an attempt to prepare herself for something she did not know the face of; she read to build the shield around herself, in desperate hope to be able to help at least her future self. YN read even now, although her foolish childhood desires were long gone, just to get a glimpse of the girl she was before the monsters escaped the pages.

The book she re-read the most was nothing special, nothing suiting the image she moulded herself into—a giant, relatively old encyclopaedia of animals inhabiting the furthest corners of Known Imperium. The letters inside, although faded a little, were left almost untouched by eyes—maybe it was what drew her in in the first place—to cherish something seen as unneeded. YN learned the small paragraphs almost by heart; she liked the idea of someone taking enough time to observe something as small as a roden to know its habits. She liked the idea of it happening to her one day. As it always is, it did not.

She chose her favourite animal without that much thought. Although even the notion of having something beloved was foolish, YN was made to choose; she and her sisters played the game of forest most often. The game was simple: pretend to be a creature you are not, forgetting the countless rules they had to follow. Pretending they have claws and teeth; pretending they can protect themselves not through intrigues and hidden motives but through open, bold force. Irulan was always a Katanga Lioness; she liked it because of the proximity to their house's symbol. YN did not; the grey pages of her beloved book described them as "observed to also scavenge on carrion of animals that were killed by other predators or died from natural causes''. What king of the animals steals the work of others simply to feed themselves? She did not tell Irulan that, of course—why would she?

YN chose a mountain lion for herself. Sure, she may have made a mistake thinking it was just another type of lion, but the game went too far to change anything, so she stuck with that. She even grew to love it—the drawing of the mountain lion on her character sheet, the way it prowled through the forest in her mind's eye. It had many names and many homes. Adaptive. Captivating.

She does not know why it came into her mind suddenly—maybe it was the dim light of the closed arena. The air circulated here freely, cooling through the complex systems of vents, even though it seemed to be deprived of any life—just a mechanical circle of the same molecules moving around her seated figure and returning to the hidden openings again and again. YN looked straight ahead; the two men were still sparring.

From her bench, they looked like one—two bodies moved so swiftly that one was unable to differentiate where the lines of their limbs ended. YN squinted her eyes; she was alone in the seating area, and still, she dared not move closer. The taller, thinner figure possessed skin so white it looked almost translucent underneath the cold light—YN wondered if she would be able to see the structures in his body through his clothed stomach. He moved well, almost too well for her not to press her lower row of teeth to the top one, hiding the tongue in a cave of pearl bones—she had hoped he was worse with his bare hands. YN had counted four hundred and five seconds before he made a mistake in his steps; it was a lot more than her own results, but for a man, he was good.

Feyd-Rautha had style; she had to give him that. He fought like a serpent would: calculated, precise. His fists knew the most effective targets, and his legs knew how to escape the blows of his opponent. If YN was to guess, he relied on muscle memory less than a usual fighter would, preferring to dwell in the moment instead. It made for a good show, sure, but it was not practical. She smiled to herself; of course, the na-Baron could not know what the real battle was like. How unfortunate for him—how delightful for her. YN still can't believe he let her watch his training every morning—was he really that stupid not to realise her motive? Was he too confident to consider having weaknesses?

Regardless, she saw what she needed to do - for three hours every day, she set unmovingly on the third bench in a small fighting ground, imprinting his every move in her mind. There are so many moves you can use and so many tricks you can do before she learns them all. YN did not care for the cold gaze thrown in her direction when Feyd-Rautha collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to rest before lurching onto his opponent again. She can wait.

Mountain lions are stealthy predators.

The days she spent here changed into months, their slow steps morphing into each other until time became a blur, a concept she did not grasp. Feyd-Rautha was a hard one to warm, but before she would mould him into something she wanted, YN needed to heat his DNA to a certain magnitude; otherwise, he would simply break. She would've gladly accepted this turn of fate too, but right now, keeping na-Baron alive is far more convenient for the Bene Gessarit. For her.

A concubine. A slap in the face: it seemed like life was determined to dissolve the small bits of her dignity in its endless pool of secrets. She was not a wife to Harkonnen na-Baron; no, she was to be his whore. If she was not too tired, she would've felt a pang of fear on her rising with oxygen lungs; a concubine's position is even lower here compared to one of a lawful wife's. YN remembers the words of her teacher as she prepared her for the union: Harkonnen concubines are killed after their first night in a position; if one is lucky enough to escape the fate by being with a child, she bears him until it's time for the baby to be born. One of the greatest honours for a Harkonnen is to take the life of his mother as soon as he enters the world.

She was to join na-Baron for breakfast today—a proposal YN waited long to receive, but part of her wishes she never did. It was worded like an invitation; YN knows it was not. Harkonnens rarely spoke when they did not give orders—a creature of habit, she supposed. So, she did what she had to: follow the slave to the chambers designated for the meal. The hem of her dress shone with a colour so foreign to the fort around her; YN needed to make herself stand out. Men are much like children, she learned—the more colourful the toy, the more likely they will want to play with it.

The walls were heavy here. They didn't bend in the shapes she was used to, preferring to stand tall. They didn't have to hide their strength underneath a complicated facade—quite the opposite. They paraded it, wearing it like the honour it is. Staying unremorsefully unbending. Maybe it's the air or a different measure of gravity; maybe it's her habit of soaking up the surroundings and letting them poison her insides, growing rotten in between the folds of her stomach tissue, but her legs are metal, stone-cold, pulling YN deeper and deeper into the floor. She tries so hard to ignore the three creatures in the corner.

They are hairless, much like the man in front of her, and dressed in matching black. YN would've mistaken them for Harkonnen royalty if it were not for the iron collars on their necks and the glowing black eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She would've been happy to have some company and not be forced into solitude with na-Baron if it were not for a still convulsing body on the floor. A body she did not recognise, but it could've easily been her own.

The creatures seemed to enjoy the involuntary moves of the soon-to-be corpse; they closed their eyes in delight and bared the sharp, black-coloured teeth in sheer pleasure as they lurched into the white flesh. They ripped it apart with only their hands, not bothering to use the prepared knives for more than a big incision from head to stomach. The sounds of chewing and gnawing filled the room, echoing off the walls and sending electric impulses down her body. YN was used to the metallic smell and the bright colour of arterial blood, but this was not a simple death. It was a show, and she was the long-awaited watcher.

Feyd-Rautha seemed unbothered by the sight near him. His hands, covered in thick streaks of blood, were deep to his elbows in the body. He dissected the corpse with precision, his eyes focused and his grip steady. He looked calm, even peaceful. Na-Baron was in good humour today. ''I must say, your arrival has graced us with much more than just the dowery; nothing could've made this union more auspicious—such a rare bird you are, daughter of our generous Emperor. A princess, yet treated no better than a common slave.''

Here it was: the thing she was thinking about all the way to this strange, garbage planet in the dress that pokes bleeding holes in her abdomen with each glass she downs. From his lips, it sounds even more bitter; even savages found the way the Emperor sold one of his daughters so easily strange. "Both of our houses have traditions far beyond our understanding," YN shrugs, scaring her thoughts away like annoying flies. Here, in a room so far from the comfort of her home, they moved too fast, bringing nausea to her throat.

She is here to secure the bloodline of House Harkonnen, to ensure the balance needed in the Imperium. YN does not notice how suddenly her gaze darkens or how tightly the hands that rested on the chair are now holding the pleated velvet of her ruby-red gown. Oh, the baby. The tiny creature inside her womb, the future head for the Baron's crown to be placed upon. The yet unconcieved child she could not feel love for. She was given no other choice but to risk its life before even giving it a chance to obtain its gift.

''Then you will find my present to be quite fitting.''

YN watches in silence as na-Baron reaches inside the rib cage of the corpse. He reaps out an organ with one swift motion, almost like plucking a harmful sprout from the garden. The organ is broun and rosewood, a weird mixture of shades that make it harder for her to focus on anything but the thing in his large hand. The gift he meant to give was a human heart.

She feels his walk long before she sees a figure departing from its place at the table; she guesses the end point of his manoeuvres too easily. It's almost funny—a cruel, senseless joke; how obvious the slight tremor in her hands is; how heavy her eyes become at the sight of Harkonnen black. The body positions itself near; if she squints, she can hear the hot breathing somewhere between her shoulder blades. His hand snakes around her neck quickly, positioning the organ right in front of her mouth. YN can detect the smell hitting her nostrils before she closes the receptors in them. She wants to scream, but the notes die in her throat. Who would she scream for? She hears the creatures hiss and whisper—the heart is a good part, from what she can make out. It did not need to be wasted on people like her.

''Will you not accept it?'' Feyd-Rautha's words are mocking, but his dark blue eyes stay virgin to the laughter. They drill small spots on her neck from behind with such force that YN can almost feel the burnt smell of her sweat-covered skin.

She takes a breath. Her own heart shrinks, its vessels beating with intensity twice as much as needed. Still alive, she notes absently. Still breathing. The feeling is natural and easy; the forced calmness in her body tingles the muscles, braiding her nerves into a pattern similar to the netting. Then, she opens her mouth.

"If I shall lick the blood of your hands, Feyd-Rautha, dare to make it your own."

That's it.

Maybe the Emperor was right to spare her none of the Sardaukars and a quarter of her dresses. She did not need more; she was not expected to survive long enough to use half of her clothes. YN chucked under her breath. Dead over diet preferences—how profound.

After a moment, the pale face behind her also twists, allowing the blackened teeth to escape the grip of thin lips. Like this, na-Baron looks less human and more like the evil he was said to be. He throws the heart to the creatures—they catch it greedily—and places a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the droplets of crimson going unnoticed on the brightly coloured cloth. ''Very well, then. Let us eat.''

YN nods. She looks around almost instinctively; nothing could make her eat a thing after the sight she just witnessed, but she refuses the na-Baron once; she is not about to do it again. The food is a lot, but her plate is almost empty: only a small amount of salad is here, sadly staring into the hunger in her eyes and a now featherless creature in an unnatural pose, suggesting its non-poetical death. The bird is small, almost delicate; its wings are pitifully glued to the body. YN does not want to let her mind draw the comparison, and does not allow her brain to admit a direct analogy; she dissects the bird with a dull knife and puts a piece in her dry mouth. The creature tastes good—almost too good to be expected in this brightly lit hall.

Most often deer is the mountain lion’s staple diet. However, they can survive preying on small animals as well.

The night covers Giedi Prime rather quickly; it never lingers, politely waiting for its masters to finish their daily affairs; it hits like a coward, from behind, trapping those not careful enough to hide before its arrival. The harsh, toxic waves of lazy winds hit the walls of the halls coldly lighted with a few sphears; they look like deep forest clearings, forming a system of endless options, ultimately leading to one, inevitable, end. His work chambers aren't big; he does not visit them often for them to be. The solitary metal desk before him is filled with letters, drafts of laws, and official documents, all waiting for his approval. It exhausts Feyd-Rautha to no end, the sheer stupidity of most of the advisers here; almost half of the documents were riddled with errors and inconsistencies. The forever present in his head dull migraine grows stronger when he opens the shortest letter; he almost busts his skull open when the pain heavies.

He ponders too much—the type of thoughts you can feel running on your tongue but never escaping. He is not used to being in the mist; all of his life is so painfully contrasted that no doubt of its nature can survive the sharp edge of his mind. There are things he can escape—forget, even—but some linger in his ribcage too long for them to vanish. Soon, they grow into his lungs with small, unbreakable threads, becoming him. He used to try to get them away from his heart, as if it held some value. Now, he is smarter, older, and more indifferent, he lets them pierce yet another piece of human flesh with no sorrow.

Of course, he remembered her face. The same face that haunted his sleep ever since she dared to appear before his eyes. Feyd-Rautha, naturally, found her little frolic that day. He spent an entire evening studying her work, analysing every move she could've made with her blade to achieve such outcomes. Sure, some things he would've done differently, but the sheer brutality of an animal he would not have guessed the girl possessed charmed him. Feyd-Rautha was a proud man, but he, too, held a love for beautiful things. For that, he hadn't told the Baron of the sight he discovered in the reading room. For that, he is now willing to pretend to believe her eyes when the fear fleshes in them.

Feyd-Rautha curses; she sickens. Like a bone stuck somewhere down his throat, not letting him live without a pang of mocking. She lurks, and whispers—Feyd-Rautha wants to smash her pretty head against the wall just to reveal the secrets she hides from him so he can finally understand the hold she retains. He is no stranger to the desire to own, or devour, but the fear in the back wall of his stomach is an alien in his body. He tries to hide it—to paint over it with anger or violence—but it remains a constant presence, gnawing at him from within. It's no use; the woman is a shark, designed to sense the fright. Maybe that's what brought him in in the first place—the steel eyes so similar to his own in a narrow hall all those years before. Maybe he was so used to the danger that he craved it subconsciously, looking for it to make him feel like himself again. A reoccurring childhood nightmare he can't escape; he doesn't want to escape.

Feyd-Rautha finds the chair to put his weight on and waits until the tingling, spinning sensation spreads from his temples down his neck, finding its way into his bloodstream and passing his organs one by one, until none are left uncorrupted. Of course, he expects it. The woman slipped into his brain and now chews her way into it like a parasite downs the rotten body. He knows he should be terrified, but instead, he feels a strange sense of relief. Feyd-Rautha can hear the whispers of his own mind fighting to remain the only owners of the secrets and desires buried within. He feels his eyelids heavy; a second later, the whites of his eyes are staring at the ceiling, the blue eye lenses dissolving in light.

Water. The first thing he feels is ice-cold water dripping onto his face, filling his lungs, and sending a shock through his arms. This body does not feel like his; it's too small, too narrow. His eyes are trying to adjust as fast as they can, jumping from one blurred spot to another until finally catching a glimpse of the surroundings. His brain does not have time to process the picture; his nose is filled with fluid again, and his open mouth is gasping for air but only taking in more liquid. He tries waving his hands around, but the stronger grip is firm on his nape, pulling him further down into the depths. The hand yanked him out just as he was about to fall into darkness again, the sound of water changing to loud screeching.

''How dare you hit me, devil child? Let the water wash away your dirt. Repent; beg for forgiveness for all of your rotten nature.''

The voice is unknown to him; it is harsh and filled with fury. The woman's face is twisted in anger; splashes of water on it match his. He can't tell if they are from his antics or tears. The woman's grip tightens, her nails digging into his skin. The black clothes on her figure make her status known - a Bene Gessarit witch. Feyd-Rautha tries to lurch forward and hit her back, but her strength is overwhelming. He feels panic coursing through his veins instead of oxygen—a sensation he did not think he could experience anymore. He wants to bark a response to show her that he is not afraid, but his voice catches in his throat.

Feyd-Rautha has no time to wonder what the woman wants; she brings his face to the bathtub again, and he opens his mouth involuntarily, frantically begging not to do it anymore. He says everything she wants to hear; he cries out and promises to wash his sins away. The voice does not sound like his at all. He is desperate to end this nightmare now, but some force holds him here. The woman is not satisfied; her ears are deaf to his pleas.

His face ends up on the water surface a moment later, his nose hitting the wall of the bathtub as the woman holds him down. He feels his body go limp with utter horror; this time, the shouting woman won't stop. Her voice grows quieter, replaced by the sound of small waves hitting the brim and spilling; from right to left, the water turns red, and his tongue tastes the iron he knows from sliding blades into his mouth.

''Echidna, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go; she is going to choke!''

''Get that spawn to me, for I will not let her ruin my life anymore! I must finish what I have started!''

Feyd-Rautha's head is filled with oxygen once again; his lungs take a desperate breath in, sending too much air to his blood system. He falls on his back, the world spinning. He does not care for the weeping woman in black or the chaos unfolding around him. His only thought is that everything is finally done and that the white floors are a magnificent place for drops of liquid to fall from his normally bald head's waterfall of hair.

He wakes up suddenly, the sensation long gone. His steps are heavy again; the body he inhibits no longer feels like a cage. The voices have left him for now, and the only thing on his forehead left is small drops of sweat and a pathetic, frightened, beating heart. The cold breeze from the darkened sands surrounding the city wishes to prove otherwise—it heavies and plants its spikes into his reddened cheeks. The horizon gleams at him, almost taunting; not a single star is to be seen under the imposing clouds. He will kill her; maybe he will even enjoy it. Feyd-Rautha can handle a lot, but not the shame of being seen. Not the guilt of being caught wanting.

There are only three ways to hunt a mountain lion: tracking, waiting in ambush, and with dogs.

The gliding motions of heavy fabrics across the wooden floors created a strange pattern of a song now centuries old. Here, in a room so long that the wind travelled through the hollows, her careful steps seemed to almost fall silent. Nothing was there for the preying eyes to see. YN closes her eyes; with that, even for a moment, the world stays still. She knows where the hollow staircase will lead her; she feels it in her stomach with every step she takes. YN knows nothing about the future, but the past lives deep in her memories, haunting her every move. She knows she shouldn't have done it. Travelling through one's mind is a sin she can't escape; she will pay the price for it in her blood, but the Bene Gesarit did not send her here to survive, so it's of no use to be afraid now. It makes no difference for the dead if you weep at their grave or not.

The burning sphere of light in the hall stops spinning; the doors open without any noise, although if the pounding eardrums had not stunned her hearing, she could've noticed the faint thuds. YN waits; there are no flashes of her happiest memories or the faces of her loved ones in her drained mind. No, in what seems to be her last moments, she thinks of what she could've been if the world had not given her a sword to turn into.

Feyd-Rautha appears in the hall; his steps aren't rushed, and his expression is stone-cold. She eyes him shamelessly: nothing. She sees nothing; she senses it deep in her crying bones. He drags her by the hair like a mother would with her misbehaving child; roughly, he pulls her towards the exit, his grip tightening with each step until the door behind them closes and her knees meet the cold ground with a nasty thud. The bruises will stain them soon, not that it matters now.

''You should've known better than to cross me,'' he hisses, his voice gruff. It's cold, chilling—the way his lips part to reveal a sinister smile. ''Now, you can think yourself vanished, little witch.''

YN does not answer—what fool would beg the deaf? The blade against her chin is sharp; she knows how attentive he is when it comes to inflicting pain. It pokes right into the Omehyoid muscle, a dull pain shooting through her body. If she has got to die, it may as well be from his skilled arms. How beautiful he is in the twisted pleasure he finds in her suffering. Unearthly, almost too perfect to be made of simple flesh and bone. Something was unnerving, unforgettable in the net of veins under his pearly skin; it was as if he were a work of art, meticulously crafted to bring physical pain and optical pleasure in equal measure. A silver glint under the defined cheekbones, a redness of lips filled with blood vessels. For a second, YN wonders what it would be like to bite into it, like an apple that lay too long under the golden sun; would the blood slip as generously as the sweet nectar? Handsome as poison, as a black sun on his forsaken planet, as death.

''Go on. Kill me, then; let me escape you once and for all.''

Under the deep sea of his eyes, something moved; his eyes dipped into her, part by part. Like the slow, deliberate dance of a predator stalking its prey, his gaze lingered on her, calculating and intense. YN lowered her head to push the knife a little deeper into the flesh. A strange thought lingered in her brain; she found herself on her knees in front of him, almost willingly. She has worshipped God all her life; who, if not her, can recognise his creation? The Devil. Lucifer. Satan. The man with horns so big they once touched the skies; a corrupt angel, fallen from grace so long ago he couldn't remember way back if he tried. They have warned her about him, but is it her fault that God has disowned her earlier than she could? Did it really matter to her, before whom to kneel, as long as she felt a sense of power and control in her submission?

All that mattered now was that he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her.

She sees the recognition flicker on his face. Caught. The blade slides quickly across her exposed neck, the blood sprouting out in a weak, painfully quick stream. Feyd-Rautha kissed her, biting her bottom lip till the stream of boldly coloured blood trickled down his chin. He did so like an animal would, baring his teeth and dragging them across the pulsating vein on her neck. YN's laughing cry echoes in the empty room; she is forced to admit that he felt good.

Never approach a mountain lion; most mountain lions prefer to avoid confrontations, so never approach them and make them feel cornered.

The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. The beautiful substance of her hair caught the light from the sun like a mirage in the desert, reflecting in his eyes with painful hits. The jewels, too, have found their way onto her clothes, but they were hidden beneath the layers of fabric. They shined brightly, impertinently, framing her figure in a glow that seemed to come from within.

To his surprise, the skills woman possessed spread out to politics as well, with her witch training proving useful in court. Feyd-Rautha did not miss how his advisors grew more uneasy when she entered the room, her careful eyes scanning their faces for even a hint of betrayal or deceit. Like a proud discoverer, he ached to share his new-found wonder with the blind audience, but something in him protested in a mare thought of showing the precious jewel of his eye to the cluster of unworthy. So, Feyd-Rautha did the only thing he knew how— all of his secret observations were done from afar, masterfully hidden behind the facade of casual indifference.

As he drags yet another blade across the surface of the whetstone, he thinks about her delicate hands on his neck, her ringed fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. It doesn't matter; YN is nothing of the sort. A concubine, a possession, a tool for pleasure and procreation—the Harkonnen way was simple.

''Are you done eye-fucking me now, or do you need more time with your blade?'' she sneers, her voice mocking. Only she could get away with such bold defiance in his presence, but she does not seem to care for the unusualness of it.

YN motions for him to come closer, her eyes studying the way his legs move. Feyd-Rautha has no control over them; the steps make themselves. She plays the game very well; the chase fuels something primal within him. Thirst. Hunger. It was the Harkonnen training talking to him—the wild, ancient sensation taking over his insides and imprisoning his mind in a cage of helpless desire. It spread its tentacles down to his fingertips, nesting in his abdomen. He positions himself in front of her, his body betraying him as he leans in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Feyd-Rautha's hands repeat the ritual almost instinctively, rolling the hem of her deep purple dress up to her waist.

''Stop for a second,'' she whispers against his ear, her breath warm and inviting. ''Can I give you a piece of advice?''

Feyd-Rautha can feel the anger creeping into his body; he does not like to be refused. ''No,'' he grumbles, turning her around forcefully. "I don't need your advice," he snaps, his grip tightening on her arm.

YN does not seem to care for it. ''Don't do it. It will only lead to trouble.''

''What?'' He stops, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the woman's words. The doubts that had lingered in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder, echoing through his mind. He releases her arm, his expression stoic. ''You are insane, woman. What are you talking about?''

''You know what I mean.''

The unease boils in his stomach. How could she know? He was careful not to slip anything; she wasn't able to cast her spells anymore either. But her knowing gaze tells him otherwise. ''You can not know the future,'' he pronounces.

''I don't need to know the future to see the truth, Feyd-Rautha. Your judgement is clouded by rage, and your mind is not as sharp as it usually is. You are not as invincible as you think you are.''

She is bluffing, he thinks. He hopes she is. Feyd-Rautha almost wished there was no cloth covering her face, nothing to hide her expressions as she lay beneath him. He catches her flamed eyes and the way they circle his face in one swift motion before settling on the ceiling above. It unnerves him, but he refuses to show it. She is no master here; she is simply a servant. That is not what power looks like, if he ever recognised one, and Feyd-Rautha knew power.

''Get out, now.''

Nothing was portrayed on her face as she curtseyed; nothing was there when she turned and walked to her rooms, leaving nothing but the ghost of the human body's warmth.

Mountain lions are more at home in brushy areas than in open prairies.

And then, he disappeared. Like the sound of the morning birds falling silent in the cacophony of voices of the city on her home planet, there was no trace of na-Baron in the entire Harkonnen fortress. YN thought she was slowly but surely going mad; no one but her noticed the usual place by the window empty, and no one but her seemed to care enough to know where he went. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. She looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, her eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Feyd-Rautha's massive figure. Noon was dragged into the evening, and then night, for three, long days until she heard the long-awaited news: na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had tried to usurp his uncle and had failed.

She has told him so. A fucking brainless ram, with stubbornness bigger than his cock—why did he think he could outsmart the Baron? He will pay for his dumbness with his blood, perhaps even his limb—the thought brought nausea to YN's throat. She was lucky the Baron did not consider her important enough to be knowledgeable of such schemes; she lowered her head in the desert, hiding from the sand storms of Harkonnen politics; she waited for two long weeks until the announcement was made; Feyd-Rautha was forgiven. The celebration in honour of this news is to be today; she is to attend it. Not like his concubine, YN supposed, but more like the princess she still was.

Now, she took her time. YN chose a gown she wanted long enough to make even a tireless slave yawn, savouring each moment before their meeting. She was a victor now, in their small game of cat and mouse. He was a cat, but the mouse could still outwit him with grace and style. YN smiled at the wondering attendants; she looked good, and she was going to meet him.

The walk from her chambers to the Grand Hall wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The doors opened without a sound, revealing nothing but a mere celebration of yet another year under the reign of Harkonnens. The lines of slaves changed one another, the uneven circles of people dancing appearing and fleeing to the cheerful tone of strings. She was set somewhere between two Harkonnen lords she had no chance of knowing; she felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine as she tried to maintain a polite smile. Their gazes didn't look right; something sinister lurked inside them—hiding a secret she had no chance of knowing.

One of them turned to her, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "How are you finding the evening, lady YN? Or, what should I call you?,'' he mastered a fake confusion. ''Perhaps, darling? Concubine has a cheap wing to it; quite unworthy of a face so lovely as yours, don't you think?"

Dirt. The thing that crawled under her skin at his words was like dirt, making her feel unclean and exposed. She forced a laugh, trying to brush off his comments, the crown of her hair moving with muscles underneath her skin. "I am a princess, my Lord. Address me as such."

It would be enough every other noon, but today. The man's face twists, as if he just remembered something; he turns, the wine in his goblet splashing on the tablecloth. ''I think na-Baron wouldn't be too angry if I stole a princess for the night," he sneered, his eyes darkening with malice.

''Does it matter to you either way?''

YN watches as the smirk, so similar to Feyd-Rautha's, appears on the men's lips, although it doesn't feel the same. She fights back disgust as the man nods, biting into a hefty chunk of prey. His eyes, once focused on her, drifted away. YN chose to follow them; the string of fat streaming down the man's mouth onto the silver tablecloth made her nauseous. She looked from one unfamiliar face to another, until the cold feeling in her abdomen crept its way onto her chest.

There he was. His figure is unusually crouching as he sits on the podium reserved for members of the dynasty. The dark blue eyes are red now; the thin blood vessels in them are torn and emptied. His body seemed to suck the light out of the hall inside, casting a shadow over the room. There are no scars on his smooth face, but the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of a suffering that went beyond physical wounds. YN almost wished she saw him dead; whatever this was, it was surely much worse. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers; something flickered in them before turning back to their empty state. Feyd-Rautha parts his dry lips to say something to her—she can't understand a word he draws with his breath.

From the place nearby, the Baron's voice booms, his low, almost whisper-like vowels mending into one. His face, covered with layers of skin and dead cells, twists into what was meant to be a welcoming smile—the corners of his paper-thin lips dance, lowering themselves only to jump higher, and his eyes travel from one corner to another, unable to be still even for a moment. He speaks of things YN knows nothing about court intrigue, power struggles, and alliances that shape the fate of their world, heavy with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. She does not listen until he gestures towards her, a scent of spice and decomposing flesh lingering.

''Sergeant Voss has served me well, and his loyalty at the right time is not to be forgotten. Here, I bestow upon him the highest honour of all; what was once mine, is now his. Do not let go of her if she screams, Sergeant; the girl is a fine one.''

No. YN almost does not recognise the hand as her own as the man drags her to the bed that appeared out of nowhere, freezing with horror as the people around her continue to watch in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion or empathy. The tradition, she notes, is the one she learned so much about bedding in front of the entire court as a symbol of unity. She choked on her own tears as the man smiled at her pleas for help; they seemed to make him even more pleased.

YN looks, frantically, to the place she saw Feyd-Rautha sitting just a moment before. He would help; surely, he would not let them do it to her—his servant, his concubine, his. But the seat is empty. The scream echoing through the hall does not register as hers right away; he has sold her. For his own freedom, for a chance to be free from the consequences of his own stupid actions. Surely, the Harkonnens could not get rid of her openly—it would mean war—but she was not immune to the man who now owned her. His hands travelled her body with such audacity that YN wanted to cut them off—to cut her chest just so she could not feel the fingers digging into her skin. A sole reminder she was a woman first and a human second.

Mountain lions are solitary hunters.

The man undressed himself quickly; all of the soldiers were trained to do so. She should run; she should fight back, but the pair of unmoving hands pinning her wrists down was a stark reminder of her helplessness. The man lowers himself closer, his hot breath against her neck making her shudder in fear. She can feel him against her skirts; she can feel the weight of his body pressing down on her. The adrenaline is pumping through her veins; she will survive. Whatever it fucking takes, even if her body is bruised and broken, she will survive.

They prefer to ambush their prey from behind by swiftly and cleanly breaking the neck.

She bites—her teeth launch towards his cheek, feeling the warm flesh give way beneath her. She sinks them deeper, making holes big enough to draw blood. It's hot, and sickening on her tongue, but she does not have time for these thoughts; her next blow is in his stomach, with his knee jammed into his gut. She can feel his body convulse in pain, giving her a chance to throw him on the bed, his broad back facing her.

If they haven’t broken the neck, they will suffocate the animal.

There is nothing around that could serve as a knife; her captors made sure of that, and the sheets are too thin to wrap around his neck. She looks around the room, desperate for something to use, but the space around her is empty. YN curses as the man regains his composure and begins to struggle against her hold. Her elbow meets his nose with a sickening crunch, causing blood to spurt out. She takes a breath in; her hand wraps around his neck, forming a tight hold as she goes into the headlock. She chokes him, so desperately trying to live. And the man trashes against her grip, his white face turning a deep shade of purple before finally going limp in her arms.

Shame.

A thing that followed her after every life she took is now absent. Maybe the Giedi Prime's cruelty did have its effect on her; YN feels nothing but a sense of emptiness as she stands over the lifeless body.

''Do you have any more men to gift me to, Baron Vladimir? The night is still young.''

Her voice has changed. It holds a certain hiss now, a rasp that wasn't present before; it has matured and bloomed into half an octave deeper tone. It bites through the noise easily, cutting sharply.

The Baron laughs. His eyes gleam with amusement as he gestures towards the door. "Plenty more where that came from, my dear, but it's enough for today. Here,'' he throws something in her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. ''You've earned it.''

YN catches it and inspects the object in her hand. A small, golden broche catches the light, glinting in the dimly lit room. A head of the Bighorn ram stares back at her, the symbol of House Harkonnen. The taste of victory mingled with the metallic tang, leaving a bittersweet sensation in her mouth. Joy courses her veins—she isn't afraid. Finally, she is not afraid. Finally, she can look at her blood-stained hands without humiliation. Is it her fault she was born a better knife than a person?

Bighorn sheep are not a primary food source in most areas. However, when a lion does kill a sheep, they typically will continue to do so over and over again, until the herd is depleted.

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anonymousewrites · 6 months

Text

Nature of the Human Soul (Book 1) Chapter Three

Platonic! Hazbin Hotel x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Alastor x Teen! Reader

Chapter Three: Controlling Television

Summary: The Hotel learns about the extermination coming early, and (Y/N) meets someone new.

“Okay, so the extermination is coming in six months instead of a year,” said Charlie, pacing. “No big deal. Just a little setback. Nothing we can’t handle. Just angels cutting our timetable in half. But who needs a whole year to save souls?” She laughed nervously, the breakdown beginning. “Am I right? And next time, when they cut the time in half again and again, we’ll just handle it, right?”

Vaggie caught Charlie by the shoulders. “Yes. We will.” She attempted to steady her girlfriend.

“Oh, please, ya had less of a chance when you started all this salvation bullshit,” said Angel. “And now….Ain’t no silver lining this time toots.”

“Sure there is,” said Charlie. “We just have to look a little harder for it.”

“Seems pretty bleak to me,” said (Y/N). “I don’t know much about it, but it feels like the angels get to do whatever they want and fuck us over.”

Angel nodded, and Charlie deflated. “The rest of Hell agrees with them. They’re going nuts.” Angel grimaced as he read through reactions on his phone. “People are freaking out about the news.” He held up his phone. “Look at what’s happening in the Doomsday District.”

The land was on fire, and Charlie frowned as a notification popped up.

“Er, what is a ‘donkey show?’ ” she asked.

“Ah! Heh, nothing!” said Angel, snatching his phone back. “My boss, Val, is just freaked out about the news, too. Like I said, everyone’s losing their shit.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Sinners are desperate,” said Vaggie. “Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape the next extermination?” She smiled at Charlie.

“This is the perfect time to recruit more sinners for the hotel!” said Charlie excitedly.

“People will do everything except for try to change themselves,” said (Y/N), dubious of that idea. “If exterminations have been going on for…forever, I don’t really know if this will change anything yet. You’d have to be really convincing.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s why I have to go out and gather people myself!” said Charlie. “It’s not people are going to show up on our doorstep.”

Boom!

The wall exploded (again).

“Show yourself, Alastor!” cried a familiarly snakelike and dramatic voice. It was Sir Pentious from the previous incident, back to get his ass beat again (because what else was going to happen to him? Alastor was way more powerful than him). “Come and face—”

“Will you shut up?!” snapped (Y/N), leaning their head out the hole. “We’re trying to handle some problems in here!”

Pentious deflated in disappointment as the teenager glared at him, completed unintimidated. “I’m not here for you! I’m here for Alastor!”

Hearing the commotion and always loving some entertainment, Alastor popped out of the shadows with a mug that said “Hello, Deer.” “Who are you?” he asked.

“Who am I?! Who am I!?” cried Pentious. “I am the great Sir Pentious! Inventor, architect of destruction, villain extraordinaire!”

“Ooh, he’s a bad boy,” said Niffty, grinning.

“Huh, well, if all that’s true, you’d think I’d have heard of you,” said Alastor, grinning.

“I attacked you literally last week,” said Pentious.

Alastor tilted his head, clearly not remembering a thing.

“We’ve done battle like twenty times!” said Pentious.

“Well, you must have been really bad at this,” said Alastor.

“Silence! Now cower!” cried Pentious. “For when I’ve slain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal!”

(Y/N) looked at Vaggie. “Who are the Vees?”

“Velvette, Valentino, and Vox—three of the worst Overlords. Velvette deals in fashion and social media, Valentino runs Hell’s biggest porn studio, and Vox controls almost all technology,” said Vaggie. She crossed her arms. “Don’t get involved with them. They’re manipulative pieces of shit.”

“Definitely am not planning it,” said (Y/N). They didn’t want to get put under anyone’s thumb after their life.

“They’re nobody important,” said Alastor.

“You know, Angel isn’t the only one spending time at that ratty hotel with the devil’s princessa,” said Valentino.

“Oh, who else is there? Someone who owes you money?” asked Vox.

Valentino chuckled. “Someone who owes us much more than money. The Radio Demon is there.”

Vox’s screen sparked, and his nails dug into the desk. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” said Valentino.

“Alastor came back, and he is with Lucifer’s daughter, and that wasn’t the first fucking thing you told me?!” snapped Vox.

“Hey, killing Alastor is your kink,” said Valentino, waving a hand.

Vox glared at the screens in the room, and one switched onto a recording on the hotel so he could glare at the gathering outside. Alastor, who kept glitching in the recording, was grinning and standing beside Lucifer’s daughter, her girlfriend, Angel, and a young demon with a rose motif.

“Oh, please, stop!” cried Pentious as his ship was once again torn apart by shadows while Alastor cackled in amusement.

“Um, Alastor? I think he’s had enough,” said Charlie.

“I don’t know, he came here asking for it,” said (Y/N), smiling brightly.

“Oh, yeah, he’s got a few more hits in ‘im,” snickered Angel.

Pentious fell out of his ship and landed on the ground.

“Thanks for another forgettable experience,” said Alastor with a wide grin.

“Thank…you…” groaned Pentious. “For letting your guard down!” His tail shot out, tore off a piece of Alastor’s coat, and retreated. Pentious laughed.

A large shadow loomed over him.

“Oh, shit.”

Green magic exploded from Alastor, and Pentious was sent flying out of the hotel’s airspace.

“Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor,” said Alastor, turning away from the flying snake without a care. “Best of luck, chums!”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” said Vaggie. “Alastor, we need your help. We need you to do your job.”

“We need a wall,” said Angel.

“Of course! Can’t let my new project fall into disrepair already! What would the papers say?” Alastor snapped his fingers, and shadow workers, like from the advertisement, popped up to help rebuild the wall. Satisfied, Alastor turned and walked away.

Angel grinned and approached the shadows. “Hey, sweet cheeks. What you doin’ later?”

“I’m out,” said (Y/N), turning away before they had to see Angel flirt more.

“Can you at least help us?” asked Vaggie, gesturing to the destroyed wall.

“…Do I look like I have experience building walls?” said (Y/N), frowning.

“You can buy us a new painting. Charlie likes having decorations, and one got destroyed by Sir Pentious,” said Vaggie.

(Y/N) considered. “Are you giving me money?”

“Yes,” said Vaggie.

“Ok, sure,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

“Right,” said Vaggie, pulling out cash. “And here, I’ll show you where to go.”

She pulled out her phone to show a map of the Pride ring. The last thing they needed was (Y/N) getting lost and getting into trouble. Actually, Charlie would probably be against sending (Y/N) out for an errand, but Vaggie had seen they were going a bit stir crazy from being at the hotel all the time, so the least she could do was give (Y/N) a short errand to run to one of the more civilized/reputable areas of Pride. And if there was any trouble, Vaggie would go into town and intercede with her spear.

(Y/N) hadn’t expected running an errand in Hell to go so smoothly. After every other person at the hotel complained or ran into some trouble (Angel: old customers, Vaggie and Charlie: haters of the hotel, Husk: people in general), (Y/N) had expected to have to stay on their toes. Instead, they had gone into the shop Vaggie asked them to, purchased a non-inappropriate painting, and headed out with enough change to buy themself something.

(Y/N) had seen a café on the way into town, and now the sweets were calling their name as they headed back. Seeing as they never got to treat themself in life, why not do so in death?

(Ironically, so far their death had been better and more filled with friendship than their life had been.)

(Y/N) walked through the streets, pausing only to make sure they had the right directions. Sure, they’d been fine so far, but they weren’t going to test their luck by going anywhere they weren’t supposed to.

(Y/N) passed by a group of demons staring at television screens in a store window, entranced. Curious, (Y/N) paused to glance at the screens.

They were displaying an advertisement for merchandise from the very store they were standing in. People were in a trance watching, and they all immediately rushed inside to purchase what they’d seen advertised.

(Y/N) frowned. Looking at the screens gave them a headache, so (Y/N) turned to walk away. They had a bad feeling about the store and technology—so missing from the hotel—and they weren’t going to ignore that feeling.

No sooner had (Y/N) decided to ignore the screens that one buzzed to life, and sparks jumped from the screen. (Y/N) froze as the sparks formed the body of a man with a TV for a head in front of them on the sidewalk, effectively blocking their path.

Well, shit, I don’t think I’ve successfully avoided trouble, thought (Y/N). It didn’t take a genius to realize this was Vox, who Vaggie had warned them about.

“No interest in any technology?” said Vox with a wide, electric grin.

“Nope.” (Y/N) kept their answer short and curt, trying to get out of the conversation.

“You’re one of the sinners staying at the princess’s hotel,” said Vox, eyes narrowing calculatingly. His smile widened. “I don’t believe you have a phone. Are you sure you don’t need one?” He held out his hand, and a phone was held in it. “Think of it as a welcome gift to Hell.”

“I’m not interested,” said (Y/N), stepping around Vox to attempt an escape from the encounter.

Vox turned immediately, still smiling widely. Apparently, it wasn’t going to be that easy to avoid him. “I’m just trying to support the hotel. Like the Radio Demon.” His smile glitched slightly.

Oh. So that’s what this was. Vox was just trying to get in Alastor’s hair and annoy him.

“Yeah, well, we’re okay,” said (Y/N), taking a step away.

“Are you sure?” One of Vox’s eyes pulsed with energy, and (Y/N)’s headache grew stronger.

“Yes,” said (Y/N) firmly.

“I think that you may want to reconsider,” said Vox, eye still swirling.

“I think I’m fine,” said (Y/N). “So just leave me alone.” They narrowed their eyes.

Vox’s screen sparked, and his eyes narrowed.

Danger, danger!

Sparks flew at (Y/N).

Bam!

A bramble of vines and thorns erupted from the ground and blocked the sparks. (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and Vox sparked.

“What the—”

“My, my, are you bothering one of my guests?”

A shadow loomed over Vox and (Y/N). Vox flinched and looked to see Alastor with a wide, threatening smile.

“Really, Vox, what terrible manners,” said Alastor.

“Radio Demon,” snapped Vox.

“Yes, precisely,” said Alastor. “So run along and leave my guests alone. Really, how unbecoming.” His grin sharpened. “Unless, of course, if you’d like to have another little competition.”

Vox glared, and his screen glitched. However, he wasn’t interested in going toe-to-toe with Alastor again after getting his entire network shut down for a few hours, so with a final angry glare, he dissolved into electricity and disappeared into the TVs he came from.

“Well, what a terrible way to end a day out,” tsked Alastor.

“Yeah,” said (Y/N), making a face.

Alastor looked at the briar sticking up from the ground. “And what might this be?”

(Y/N) stared at it. “It just kind of…appeared.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow. “When Vox threatened you?”

“Uh, yeah,” said (Y/N), touching the vine curiously. It flinched and disappeared back into the ground. “Huh.”

Alastor grinned. “How interesting.”

“What do you mean?” said (Y/N), cocking their head.

“That, my dear, is magic,” said Alastor. His grin had widened in amusement. “It seems you’re going to be an entertaining guest.”

“Oh, yay,” said (Y/N) sarcastically. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping to be.”

Alastor laughed and waved a hand. “Have no fear, have no fear. Why, the entertainment I’m looking for is you struggling with that magic.”

“Thanks,” said (Y/N), still deadpan. “I’ll make sure to practice in front of you so you can laugh.

Alastor grinned. “Why, thank you, dear! Perhaps I’ll even give you a few tips!”

(Y/N) looked at him, rolled their eyes, and shrugged. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I always do,” chirped Alastor. “Now, come, let’s return to the hotel. No point getting into more trouble, even if you’ve discovered magic.” He looked at them. “And I do intend to give you a few tips.”

“Wait, really?” said (Y/N), blinking in surprise.

“Of course. I can’t have my guests being helpless,” said Alastor, twirling his staff.

(Y/N) perked up. “Thanks, Alastor!”

He glanced at them, surprised at the boisterous honesty. He decided not to respond, and the pair walked back towards Hazbin Hotel in silence.

That was fine with (Y/N). They were contemplating finally having some power of their own for their own life.

��Oh, good, you made it back alright!” said Charlie. She smiled at (Y/N). “Vaggie told me she sent you out, and I was worried!”

“I didn’t mind going out. I’m going stir crazy here,” said (Y/N).

“And they have proven themself capable of keeping themself safe,” said Alastor with a grin.

Vaggie frowned. “Wait, did something happen?”

(Y/N) coughed. “You know how you told me to avoid the Vees?”

“Yeah?” said Vaggie, narrowing her eyes.

“Vox decided to pop out of a TV in front of me,” said (Y/N).

“What?!” cried Vaggie.

“Relax, they were fine,” said Alastor. He twirled his staff. “I interceded before anything could happen to them, and Vox’s sparks couldn’t even hurt them.” His grin widened. “They summoned magic of their own.”

“You did?” said Charlie excitedly.

(Y/N) nodded. “Apparently, yeah.”

“That’s awesome!” said Charlie encouragingly.

“Yes, it’s quite unusual,” said Alastor. “And I intend to teach them.”

Everyone froze and stared at Alastor.

“You what?” repeated Charlie, an awkward smile on her face.

“I will be teaching (Y/N) to use their magic. We can’t have them being helpless, now, can we?” Alastor still wore his signature grin, as mischievous as ever.

Oh shit, thought everyone. If there was one thing they knew, it was Alastor taking a liking to the teenager couldn’t be a good thing. It could only spell trouble and mischief.

And, unfortunately for them, (Y/N) wore an excited grin that promised all that trouble and more.

Taglist:

@kyalov

@pandaquick

@boredwithlifeatthispoint

@jaytheaceenby

@paastaboi

@bettybabys

@gxdoesstuff

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@just-here-reading

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