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alastorthirsty · 7 days ago

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Hooray For Makeup Sex! - Alastor x f! fallen angel!reader

Request: Hi! I recently read one of your alastor pieces & ohhhh my god! It was amazing. I was wondering if you would do something alastor x f!reader where they have an argument, add some angst, some fluff, some heavy heavy smut? Almost like alastor begging for reader & wanting to do anything for her to forgive him ?? Just a little idea. :) thank you so much for your wonderful work!’

Hey nonnie! I’m absolutely thrilled to fulfill your request. I hope this hits the mark! Let me know if it does! 😘

Word count: 6678

Warnings: established relationship, breakup, angst, fluff, Alastor is a very jealous and possessive but also in love man, thigh riding, (angelic) bloodplay, vaginal intercourse. Listen, we all know Alastor is a Bad Man(tm). In this story and many, many others, Fucked Up Alastor is going to say Fucked Up Things. Alastor is a sentient red flag. I would like to kindly remind you that you need to carefully decide whether or not that's too much for you before you begin to read. I'd hate it if you read and got triggered by some possessive or otherwise red flag dialogue/prose! If it’s not for you, you can simply block me and avoid my other fanfiction. You're responsible for your own reading experience!! 💖💋

Please like, comment, and reblog to sustain me! Let me know if you'd like to be on my tag list and remember that requests are open!

‘Sorry’ is not a word in Alastor’s lexicon. He stares at the heatless green fire in front of him, whiskey in one hand, the other tapping against the arm of his chair.

That was Charlie’s unsolicited advice, a rehash of old material. It starts with sorry, Al.

Well, he stubbornly doesn’t believe he’s in the wrong to begin with, so why should he go and grovel at your fucking feet?

‘Sorry’ is not a word in Alastor’s lexicon, and that’s that.

He throws the whiskey across the room suddenly, with such force that the crystal crashes into the opposite wall, forcing him to look at it.

Oh, it’s luxurious. A four poster bed with a white linen canopy. A mattress that adjusts itself to your whims, night by night. Silken sheets in the exact shade of your favourite colour. All of it for your benefit and yours alone—for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t even sleep! He doesn’t need to sleep, he just needs…

Alastor stares at the bed, imagines how he’d sit next to you as you slumbered, glancing over at you occasionally for the sake of your comfort and security. He remembers how you’d snore lightly and how he would push hair out of your face as you snoozed. He remembers smiling…

He remembers smiling.

He also recalls other little activities the two of you got up to in this bed, satisfying a hunger he’d never known before you, but that isn’t something he craves anymore. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

‘Sorry’ isn’t a word in Alastor’s lexicon, even though… even though…

It needs to be.

He sits there thinking of everything from the beginning. The day you first met, all those mysterious luminous creatures floating along, moving your furniture past the lobby. Your soft and kind smile, the one that sickened him at first. That damnable dress you wore the first time the two of you hit the sheets, and how fun it was to rip it off your body. The way his shadow always tried to steal feathers from the wings of your shadow. The first time you yelled at him for that.

He thinks of where things went wrong, the man that caused that incredible din, but the only thing he can think of, if he is finally honest with himself, is himself. His own jealousy, his controlling nature, thinking he knew what was best for you. That was what sparked the argument, wasn’t it?

It his fault, certainly, but ‘sorry’ is not in Alastor’s lexicon, period.

The lilies are still on the bedside table. They are dried, desiccating, the little leaves and petals falling onto the surface. He had gotten the lilies to say ‘sorry’, in his own way, but you never did come back to his room.

He lays back on the bed and plucks a dying lily from the bouquet, keeping it in his hand. It's not difficult to imagine you there beside him, your arms wrapped around him as he presses his face against your shoulder, and oh, that’s when it really hits him.

Your scent. He remembers it so well that he smells it now, a phantom chased by nothing. His eyes close and he rolls until his head meets your pillow, breathing in your scent deeply.

‘Sorry’ is not in his lexicon, but goddamn it, there are lilies.

What would it take, what flowers would fix things, if lilies were not enough? Pink roses? White orchids? Tulips? A hundred dozen daffodils, flooding the entire hotel?

Alastor notices now how his hands are shaking at his sides. He clenches his claws into fists and closes his eyes, breathing in your scent again. The best thing to do is to incinerate the pillow, the bed, the lilies…

No, no. His jaw tightens. No, that would be the easy thing to do. Not the best, or even the smartest. It was the cowardly thing to do.

‘Sorry’ is not in Alastor’s lexicon, but he’s no fucking coward.

He can almost hear your voice in his ears, whispering his name with such sweet affection. He remembers your laugh, a sound like music to him. A laugh reserved for him and him alone. Something special.

He's never needed anyone else's company before. He never bothered with the emotional needs of other people. You’re the only person he's ever cared for, the only person who has ever truly meant anything to him. He feels weak and vulnerable over your absence. He doesn't like feeling like this, but you’re the one woman that can break down his walls.

Alastor doesn't like needing you, he doesn't like letting you have this power over him. But at this moment, he doesn't care. He'd give anything to just hear your voice again, even if it’s just to yell at him and tell him to fuck off.

Again.

The sound of your voice, the way you looked into his eyes, your little imperfections that only served to make you all the more perfect in his eyes. He remembers how your lips felt against his skin, the soft warmth of your touch.

He doesn’t like to need you, but he does love it.

He opens his eyes, clutching the now withered flower so tightly that all but a few brown petals fall from the stem. He stares at it for a long moment, trying not to let the memories overwhelm him. A green fire erupts from his palm, scorching it first, then turning it to ash. He stares at it, the lightness of it in his palm.

He's always had such strict control over himself, even under stress or grief, but not anymore. Not when it comes to you. You’ve always been able to cause feelings of weakness and helplessness within him. He hates himself for feeling this way, but at the same time, he can't bring himself to hate you. No, never you.

He closes his eyes again, imagining you lying beside him. You would have wrapped your arms around him and pressed your lips to the side of his neck. Sometimes, you’d start leaving the tiniest of kisses down his neck. It would make him shiver, it would make him…

Just like that first night when things turned physical. Your hands would always find a way under his shirt, running your fingers over the muscles of his chest and stomach, your fingers tracing reverently over his scars.

He can almost feel the softness of your skin, the warmth of your body.

Alastor sighs in consideration of his current position. One of, if not the most powerful Overlord of hell, lying in a bed he does not need, pining after a fallen angel who once (admittedly, accidentally) broke a horn off his shadow. He breathes in your scent again. A fallen angel who made his mama’s jambalaya for him. A fallen angel who was never once intimidated by him. A fallen angel who created life, “along a certain slant of light”, as you put it, most of them visible only to you, except for shimmers of light, like oil on water.

A fallen angel who wouldn’t speak to him even if he said sorry.

Alastor sighs, sits up, holding her pillow like a child holding a fucking teddy bear.

“Fuck.”

He smacks himself on the forehead and drags his hand down his face.

“Fuck.”

He says it again, getting a taste of the word, the pride of it in its coarse formation and meaning.

Alastor sighs, holding the pillow, looking at the bouquet of dead lilies. “Fuck.”

He wants to feel the softness of your lips again. To feel the warmth of your skin, the press of your body against his. But more than anything, he wants to hear you laugh again. He wants that beautiful smile back, the smile you give to him and only him.

But he doubts that will happen. You’ve probably already moved on from him, and honestly, he wouldn't blame you for doing so. Well, that’s a lie.

He knows he's difficult, and demanding—sometimes too demanding. You’ve always been far more patient with him than anyone else, but even that has its limits. And he's certainly pushed those limits.

You’re probably in the arms of some other man right now, maybe even him, laughing as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. You probably don’t even think about Alastor anymore.

‘Sorry’ may not be in his fucking lexicon, but like hell he’d ever allow another man into your bed, and certainly not…him.

Alastor makes sure he’s impeccable before riding the dark to your room. He decides it would be a rather stupid idea to appear inside your room without permission, so he settles on the hallway and knocks on your door.

“Come in!”

The sound is muffled, and he feels the sharp need to lecture you on not checking who is at the door before letting them in, but he refrains. He turns the doorknob and walks into your room for the first time in a while and finds you—

Down on the floor, halfway underneath the bed.

“This seems like a cliche pornographic film,” he comments as he shuts the door.

Herbert, the only one of the little light creatures that he can see, floats towards him.

You try to sit up right when you hear Alastor’s voice, banging your head. You get out from under the bed and stand up.

“Herbert, leave him alone,” you say.

“Nonsense! Hello little creature,” Alastor says to the glowing bastard he had tolerated at best before the breakup. He summons up an apple for the mischievous little son of a bitch to snack on and Herbert quickly zips away with it, disappearing under the bed.

“How did you know that being stuck is a porn cliche?” you ask, sitting on the edge of the bed, your arms crossed. “Been watching a lot of it lately?”

“I think you know that I have not,” Alastor says, leaning forward on his staff. “We just so happen to live with an adult film star who tries to pull the ‘help me I’m stuck’ routine on Husker at least twice per week. What were you doing under the bed, darling?”

“Herbert! He’s been stealing from me,” you say. “I knew I didn’t lose those emerald earrings you gave me. I found those and then some in his little nest under the bed.”

He can’t help but swell with pride. One of his favourite things to do was present you with gifts and he loved seeing them on you every time.

“What do you want?” you ask, and that deflates him a bit.

Alastor takes a breath, his chest rising. “I need you to instruct me in something.”

“Go ask literally anyone else.” You open up the door, gesturing for him to leave, but with a bit of boldness Alastor flicks the door closed again.

“I’m afraid there’s no one better to ask than you, my dear.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Alastor, I broke up with you so I wouldn’t have to deal with things like this anymore.”

Alastor pauses for a time. Honesty tumbles its way past his lips. “You are all that I love.”

The room goes silent, save for the sound of Herbert cronching his apple.

You give a sigh, a pained expression on your face, one that he hates to see. All of him wants to go to you, but you wouldn’t want that—not yet.

“Goddamn it,” you whisper. “Is that what you needed instruction for?”

“No,” he says immediately. “No, loving you needs no instruction.”

You let out a breath. That’s all you can do before your head is in your hands.

“My dear, may I sit beside you?” Alastor asks after a moment’s silence.

“Oh, fuck you!” You stand up and circle around him once. “Fuck you, Alastor!”

His eyebrows rise. “That is not the response that I anticipated or desired.”

“Oh it’s not?” you ask mockingly.

He’s never seen you act like this before, and it is surprising him. An unseen variable, one that choked him. His grip on his staff increases.

“My dear, I sense that you still harbour quite a lot of animus—“

“Shut up! Shut up!” You pace back and forth the length of the rug, also a gift from him. “Fuck you! Fuck you for saying the right things the wrong time!”

Alastor takes a chance and sits down on your bed, watching you closely. “Do you want more earrings?”

You immediately go to your armoire and start throwing jewellery at him. He’s quite literally stunned by this behaviour. Herbert comes out from underneath the bed and snipes a few rings.

“Darling.”

You say nothing, you just keep throwing things at him.

“Darling.”

“Just take it. Take it all back. Give it to someone else.”

Now he looks offended and straightens his posture. You run out of jewellery to throw at him.

“You know there can be no other,” he says, somewhat angry. “You know I’m not capable of having any such enjoyment with anyone else. You are all I love and all that I desire to love. All I can love. There’s none but you and nothing will ever compare, never come close. Do you understand?”

“Then keep them for yourself. Or let Herbert have it all, enable his fucking kleptomania.”

“They belong to you and you will have them. Every last jewel.”

“Alastor, you shouldn’t be here,” you say.

“That is a consideration I undertook before coming.” He leaves his staff on the bed and goes to you. “I need your instruction.”

“On what?” you snap.

He lets out a deep breath. “How many lilies will it take to be forgiven?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Forget the lilies then,” he says quickly. “Just disregard the matter of florals altogether. What token is needed?”

“Token?”

“It doesn’t need to be a physical object, not a coin one inserts into a slot in exchange for heroin or soda,” he says quickly. “I am explaining myself poorly. I’ll be truthful and direct, if you will allow me.”

Your arms cross again, a defensive posture. “Okay.”

“I need you. I don’t know how to be without you anymore. It’s maddening. I find myself missing you in all these vacant spaces that were not vacant before you. You created space in me that only you can fill, and now it is…empty. You made me this way, and it is your fault,” he says quickly. “And what am I to do, now? Accept that I am now empty? Accept that I will walk through eternity alone, with all this space within me, space that you and you alone can occupy?”

“And you hate it, don’t you Alastor? And you hate me for it.”

“I considered that,” he admits. “I tried to insist it to myself, that I did not need such adulations and that I didn’t need you, specifically. I tried not to need you, but your absence insisted upon you. I do not hate you. Nothing could force me to feel that way, not myself, not you, not Herbert.”

“Herbert?”

“Correct. Herbert.”

You sit down beside his staff, touch the microphone knowing you were the only person ever allowed to do so. You sigh. “I love you, too. And just like you, I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I know exactly what to do with it,” he responds.

“Yeah?”

Alastor nods. “We just…go back to before. Move forward. But together. I would sooner die than see you with another man.”

You lift a warning finger to him. “You’re not helping yourself.”

Alastor huffs. “It is the truth. You value honesty as well as I do.”

Now you scoff. “You deal in subterfuge, not honesty.”

“Not with you, and you know that,” he says, pointing at you. “I am a flawed man, but I’ve given you my very best. Better than I thought I had capacity for. Can you truly say that it was never enough?”

“Of course it was,” you say softly.

Alastor sighs and sits beside you. He thinks to put an arm around you, but manages not to.

“You are so used to getting everything you want,” you say. “You have the power to get whatever you want except me.”

He winces. “Please do not put it that way, darling. Please don’t say…we’ll never find a way. Please.”

Slowly, you reach over and touch his hand. When it curls together with his fingers, he places his other hand firmly on top, squeezing.

“Four hundred.”

He waits for you to explain, but you don’t.

“Four hundred what, dearest?” he asks.

You look at him and smile. “Four hundred lilies.”

Alastor snaps his fingers and four hundred lilies arrange themselves in vases on top of every surface in the room. Smelling them, Herbert whooshed out from underneath the bed and floated all along the flowers, playing with the tiny white bells in a way that Alastor could admit might be considered ‘cute’ by others. He looks back to you.

“Do you want to count them all, darling?” he asks.

“I don’t need to,” you say softly. “I feel like I should tell you something.”

“I do not like that,” Alastor says immediately. “I do not like the sound of that. Is it him?”

“Don’t bring this full circle to the last argument,” you warn. “There is no other man. I just thought…you really came in here and said things that I didn’t think you could. You really laid it all on the line and I feel like you deserve the same from me.”

Alastor nods along slowly. “No other man?”

You shake your head. “No other men. Will you stop? Will you please stop? Will you let me talk now?”

“I suppose,” he says, pulling you closer. He settles so that his head rests against your chest. “I am listening.”

“It’s not exactly easy for me to open up either,” you say before clearing your throat. “There’s a wealth of differences between us but similarities that are significant. We both struggle with making space for other people in our lives and typically won’t.”

“That is true,” he says, fingers running along your shoulder.

You start to play with his hair, the fuck-ass bob you only came to love because it was his preference. You’re tempted to touch one of his ears, but now’s not the time for that.

“Sometimes it’s simply hard to believe that there’s this perfect person that really…loves me,” you say softly, quietly, almost wishing that you hadn’t.

Alastor tightens his hold on you. Neither of you could handle personal vulnerability quite so easily, but yours makes his heart clench. “Do I make you feel…less loved when we argue over other men?”

You sigh. “Alastor, it’s not just an argument about men, it’s you basically calling me a whore—“

“No, I didn’t,” he interjects quickly. “No. I have never called you that or thought it of you. You are my favourite, my treasure, my prize, and I would never think so lowly of you. Never, not in all of eternity until what you call ‘the inevitable heat-death of the universe’. I would argue that heaven and hell are a different universe but that is yet another argument we should never cross again.”

“Agreed,” you say, nodding your head. “Just like the argument about—“

“Horses running on their fingers, I know.” Alastor can’t help the fondness in his smile. No matter how heated the arguments, the passion between the two of you manifests itself in all ways possible.

You smile back at him and decide to take the chance to kiss him again. Just once. Just to show him he was still loved, cherished, longed for. It was only right.

Alastor cups the back of your head to keep you there. Fuck once, now that he’s gotten to kiss you he chooses to interpret it as carte blanche to take as many as he wants. Damn, how he had missed this…

You gently remove his hand and pull away. “I’m not done speaking.”

“Apologies,” he mutters.

You nod and continue. “I want to be the one you love. I want to be the only one you love, just as much as you want to be the only one that I love. You just can’t treat me like a soul that you own.”

Alastor’s eyes widen at that. Had he really…?

He looks you dead in the eye. “If I ever do that again, correct me with a good slap.”

You shake your head. “No. I won’t lay my hands on you with anything but affection and…shall we say, intimacy.”

“Intimacy,” he repeats, and almost moans then and there. It has been…too long.

“I know,” you say. “I know.”

“Will you ever be…comfortable with the idea of it again?” Alastor asks.

“I’ve practically undressed you with my eyes since you came in here.”

He goes to make a move but you rebuff him once more, sitting up in the bed. “The fact remains that I am hurt by you when you start questioning me about the attentions of other men, attentions that I do not notice more often than not, if they exist at all. Especially not from him. I keep telling you, he does not look at me that way, he doesn’t think of me that way.”

He nods several times in thought before sitting up beside you, turning to face you. “I am afraid.”

Your eyes widen. You’ve seen him express all sorts of emotions in front of you before but never, not once, had even alluded to fear.

“W-why?” you ask with a bare whisper.

“I’m not a good man, and you know that. You know what I do almost better than anyone else. You are too good for me, therefore I fear another man will come along, catch your fancy, and leave me with the choice of either killing him and devastating you or simply languishing in my own self-pity. Why are you so far?”

(Obviously he would kill the other man.)

Alastor drags you into his lap and you give no resistance. He holds you tight, intending to never let go, not now when there was a chance.

You lay your head on his shoulder and breathe him in. You’ve missed his scent, too.

“I’m not too good for you,” you mutter against his neck. “And I won’t hear of it. Understood?”

He smiles begrudgingly. “Fine. You will have it as you wish, my dear.”

“So,” you say. “What now?”

“Move forward,” he says again. “Be with me again. Allow me to present you with jewels. I will…continue to put up with that little abomination eating the lilies.”

You gasp and look towards Herbert. You clap your hands together loudly. “Herbert! No! They might be poisonous to you, and besides, they’re mommy’s!”

Alastor can’t help himself but laugh. “Mommy’s, you say?”

“I made him, I’m mommy!”

Maybe…maybe it was possible. You’re not a sinner, after all, and Charlie does exist…

Maybe he can give you fawns, bond you to him for all eternity, heat-death of the universe be damned.

Alastor chuckles, lets that thought slide by (for now). He whisks the lilies away before the little bastard can make himself sick and throws another apple at him. Herbert gasps softly, takes it, and back under the bed he goes.

“See?” Alastor says. “I am suitable.”

You smile at him softly. “Promise?”

“Yes, dear. I do promise. There are many things I can’t. We will continue to argue over pointless things, that’s already in the cards. We will bump heads and piss each other off. I will be jealous, I will certainly be possessive, but I will never express it to you in a way that makes you feel like a harlot. And I will try not to over-analyse every interaction with him. Perhaps I will never express it at all, that would be best, I know…

“And I will fail. And you will, too. We will have our… fuck-ups, as you often call them. However, for all the fuck-ups we ever had before, not a moment passed when I did not know that I loved you. You created space in me, made my lungs full. I cannot be without you now, and I think you…I think that you are the same. I hope you are the same.” He pauses. “Please, darling.”

You kiss him, and in that he understands your acceptance of this. Of him, his words, the explicit and implicit promises. Words were difficult sometimes.

He grabs you tightly and rides the dark to his bedroom, to the bed he made for you.

You break the kiss with an air of incredulity. “You know I hate when you shadow whoosh me!”

“And you know I have exactly one rule about where we are intimate.”

You sigh. “Not above Herbert’s nest.”

“Indeed. Not above Herbert’s nest.”

“And who said anything about being intimate?” you ask, a hint of mischief in your eyes.

He smirks. “There she is.”

“Tell me what you want to do to me,” you say.

He grins, his eyes burning with a dark, sinful desire as he responds huskily, his lips against your ear. “Ah, my love, I want to do everything to you. I want to touch you, taste you, explore every inch of you until nothing exists to either of us except each other. I want to hear you moan and gasp my name, to make you feel things you've never felt before.”

You give him a wicked smile. “We should do that.”

He grows in agreement, his eyes burning with need and desire as he responds in a low, guttural voice. “We absolutely should. We will. I’m going to explore every inch of you, to make you feel things you've only dreamed of. Are you ready for that, my love?

He pulls you so that your back is snug against his chest, not a bit of space between your bodies. His clawed fingertips run from your knee all the way to your hip. He can hear that little gasp you try to hide, can feel that little shiver. The hem of your dress hiked up, his hand moves to cup your mound. He smirks to himself when he feels you rub against it.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing against the shell of it. He rubs against your underwear for a few moments, allowing you to rock your hips against his hand, and oh, there it was again. Control. Control over you, the greatest prize of all, and you gave it to him so willingly.

His hand slides his hand inside your silken undergarments easily—ones that he bought for you. It’s gratifying as hell, almost as good as feeling your slick folds against his fingers. He blunts his fingertips and rubs against you.

Alastor’s teeth catch on your neck and he’s more than tempted to bite down, but not just yet. You moan and he relishes it.

“You like that?” he murmurs against your ear. “You love it, don’t you? Being a good girl for me.” Alastor uses his free arm to wrap around your hips to stop you from moving. “Now, be very good.”

You give a soft little whimper when he won’t let you move anymore, knowing you’re at his mercy when he’s in a mood like this. Fingers slide inside of you, his thumb rubbing over your clit.

“Be still, and be quiet,” he instructs, smiling against your ear.

He can sense the struggle almost as soon as he says it. That little tremble in your thighs. The hand that shoots up to cover your mouth.

“Oh, no dear,” Alastor says, pushing it away with his free hand. ”Don’t test me again. No cheating, no tricks. No magic, no power. Only me.”

Listening to you trying to contain all your little sounds is priceless. Alastor knows how to play your body like a Stradivarius. His fingers move lower, deeper.

“Who makes you feel like this?” he asks, sucking a dark mark against your neck.

You’re not sure if it’s a trick or not until his little ministrations pause, causing you to whimper again. “You!”

“Atta girl,” he says affectionately. “You’re so wet for me.”

He chuckles, his breath warm against your skin, his chin rubbing against your neck as he kisses and teases you. "My love, I can feel. You like it, don't you? You like how I can make you fall apart in my hands, helpless to my touch."

He bites your neck softly, his teeth scraping against your skin.

You take a few shaky breaths. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

Alastor pauses, as if deliberating, and the lack of movement in his fingers is excruciating. Your pussy throbs at the loss, clenching around them, and you’re near the point of begging.

“No,” he says momentarily. “No, you are not allowed to speak yet. Good of you to ask, darling, but now is the time for you to listen, not to speak. Now, stand up.”

Confused, you manage to get up from his lap and stand one rubbery legs before him. Your eyes give the inquiry your lips cannot.

Alastor parts his knees wide and pulls you to straddle one of his thighs.

Oh!

Your cheeks warm and your jaw opens slightly. You almost shake your head, but Alastor reaches for your chin and holds it between his fingers. With his other hand, he grabs one of your hips and forces you to start moving, the grind against your wet, clothed pussy causing you to gasp.

“I’ve missed you in more ways than one,” he says, slapping you on the ass to encourage to ride his thigh on your own.

“It was my own fault, I know that,” he continues, and places both hands on your hips to support you as you move. “I was insane with jealousy, yes, and that is also my own fault. I cannot tolerate the mere notion that someone else would get to see you…like this. You are so very beautiful, darling. You are so very, very much mine.”

He could never let anyone else have you. He knew that he never would. Surprisingly, his possessive words seem to make you grind harder against him, your hips working more quickly. Alastor welcomes this with a grin.

“Ah, my dear.” His hands move from your waist to your ass, squeezing, making you moan for him again. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you fall. Come for me.”

Still unsure if you’re allowed to make any sound, you bite down on your lip hard, your eyes on his when a little golden rivulet drips from your poor, abused lip.

With a growl, Alastor lunges at you, though you are still in his lap. You fall down to the rug and he’s on top of you, licking up every trace of golden blood. Nothing could ever compare to it, he’d once said, and it turns him feral every single time he sees it or smells it. He kisses you, gently sucking at that tiny wound until it closes way too soon and his fist pounds the floor in anger. He raises his head, looks at you, and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, okay, but in bed,” you say.

Alastor picks you up quickly and tosses you onto it. He takes off his coat and throws it across the room. His bow tie is next, but you hold your hands out.

“Wait!” You say, reaching for him. “The shirt is my job.”

He grunts in his feral state, but he allows it, and soon his shirt is off and on the floor, forgotten.

“Where?” he asks raggedly.

“Where do you want?” you ask with a shrug. “This is your thing, but I’m happy to oblige. A bit. Not enough to make me dizzy.”

Permission granted, Alastor falls on top of you and goes straight for the jugular, literally. Just some sharp teeth and bam. He was drinking golden blood straight out of your neck, and you gave him the extra sensory delight of playing with his ears while he did so. He’s moaning, again and again, and you can feel how hard he is, pressed up against your body.

Eventually you decide he’s had enough and push his head away gently. Alastor kisses you instead, still giving animalistic energy, and rips away every article of clothing that separates you.

You can taste your own blood on his lips.

Somehow in this state Alastor remembers that he told you to come but didn’t let you and he quickly works to remedy that. His fingers enter you again. He knows your body well, he knows how to make you come in moments and you do, your legs shaking uncontrollably. Alastor finally leans back to look at the wreck he’s made of you and he smirks.

He holds one of your thighs against his waist and enters you fast, all at once, and the pace he sets is equally feral. Any time your blood came into the mix he truly could not help himself. His strokes are hard, deep, enough to make your knees wobble.

You hear him take a deep inhale and look up at him.

“My darling, the way you react to me, the way you react…Fit so perfectly, like your cunt was made just for my use.” Alastor bites at your neck again, but he won’t try to draw blood.

You grab one of the pillows and put it underneath your hips. This was an especially careful operation, considering how he was pounding you, but it tilted your hips and allowed for a more delicious angle.

Alastor’s clawed hand grabs your other thigh and squeezes hard. “What do you think, darling? Do you think this pretty little pussy was made for me?”

You nod several times, finding it harder and harder to catch your breath, but he’s without mercy this time. “Jesus…”

“Not an acceptable response, dearest,” he says with a little groan of exertion. He squeezes your thigh again. “Now, I believe I asked you a question. There’s only one correct answer, so give it to me.”

The sheets twist beneath your hands. There’s a decision to be made. Be forthwith and tell him yes or tease him until he’s out of his right mind.

“Damn it, darling,” he says impatiently.

You smirk. Let the teasing begin. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Alastor’s claws on your thigh almost drew more golden blood.

“You asked if my pussy was made just for you,” you say, your words coming out through pants because of his force.

His antlers grew larger, longer. His glare was menacing. His voice was dark.

“Then I suppose I must show you.”

The bed began to shake, and his tone shifted.

“Ah, my sweet darling, what I want to do to you right now is beyond description. I want to feel your softness, your warmth, your very essence against me, writhing under my touch. I want to take you, claim you, make you mine completely, with no doubting.”

“And how will you do that?” you ask playfully.

His hands grip you tighter, pulling you completely against him. He leans in, his lips trailing along your neck, his voice a low, dark growl in your ear.

“How will I do that, my sweet darling? I'm going to make you feel so good, make you scream from the pleasure of it. I'm going to kiss you, and touch you, and taste you, until you're so lost in pleasure you don't remember your own name or where you are.”

Your breath comes more and more harshly. “Did you soundproof the room?”

He gives you a look of pure incredulity. “Of course the room is soundproof! These precious little moans and gasps, they’re all mine, understand? Only I get to hear them, they belong to me!”

“Yes, yes!” You gulp for air.

“You do things to me, darling,” he says, “things that drive me absolutely wild. Your touch, your scent, your responsiveness, it all makes me ache and desperate for you. And you know it, don’t you?”

“I do my best.” You wink up at him. “Out of curiosity…what do I smell like?”

Alastor growls. “Ah, darling, you smell simply divine. I can't get enough of your soft, sweet scent. You smell like honey, like flowers, like the fresh air of a sunny day. It's intoxicating and completely addictive. I can't get enough of it, and I can't get enough of you. There will never be enough.”

“Keep me,” you whisper.

“Oh, darling,” he says. “Let there be no doubt in that. Yes, you're all mine. Mine to touch, mine to kiss, mine to have. I'm going to make sure you never forget that, darling. You're mine. Do you understand that?”

His hand comes up to gently squeeze at your throat, a warning.

You swallow, knowing he could feel every movement, and nod. “Yes, Alastor! Yes!”

His grip on your throat softens somewhat. “You just love to be under my control, don’t you?”

“I love being at your mercy,” you say with a moan.

“Is that so?” There’s a grin on his face that presses against his voice, dark and velvet. “And why is that? Tell me.”

Your eyes flutter closed. “Because I’m the only one safe at your mercy.”

“You’re right about that,” he says, pushing your thigh higher against your chest. “Look at you. Hair all mussed, lip swollen, bruises on your throat. And I did all of it. Tell me, darling. Tell me.”

“You did it. You did all of this to me, you’re the only one I want…”

That was what he truly wanted to hear, you knew. His jealousy is a problem and in all likelihood will continue to manifest itself, but at the root of it he just wanted to be the only one you had an appetite for. He fucks you harder and harder until you start screaming for him.

“Yes, yes,” he says, rubbing at your clit now. “Go on, make all of those beautiful, lascivious noises for me…”

You huff and gasp for breath. “Alastor, please, please let me come!”

He chuckles. “Yes, darling. That is the goal.”

When it hits you, you gasp first. Your hips grind against his, moving through it, along it, until it’s just too much—

But Alastor doesn’t stop. He holds you down, fucks you harder, draws it out for as long as he can. He smirks down at you as you shake for what he is doing to you—for you. His thumb circles your clit one last time before he’s finally merciful.

“So tight for me, darling,” he says, sucking the words between his teeth. It’s almost more than he can take, and he knows that it’s coming fast. He just…he needs something first.

He speaks in a gentler tone now, watching the bulge in your stomach move as he fucks you. “Darling…"

You’re still gasping for breath. “Yeah, honey? What is it?”

“Promise me that I’m…enough.”

“Enough?” You laugh, a raspy sound. “You’re too fucking much.”

Alastor lets out a gravelly moan, its intensity changing the pitch. You could almost swear that you can feel his cum inside you, all white and hot. When he finally stops moving, he leans against your thigh, chasing his breath.

“Bravo,” you say, putting your arms around him when he lays down beside you.

"I thought perhaps I had pleased you," he says, shuddering when you rub the base of his ears.

You laugh softly, breath finally caught. "Reconciled?"

Alastor nods. "Indeed. We are reconciled. If...you'll have me, anyway."

"I think that I will," you say, and from the corner of your eye, you see something on the wall and sit straight up, pointing. "That son of a bitch shadow of yours is stealing my feathers again!"

The smiling spectre flaunts his new feather and cuddles closer to your shadow. Maybe they were reconciled, as well.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel smut #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you #alastor x reader #alastor x you smut #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel Alastor #the radio demon #alastor smut #alastor #hazbin alastor smut #alastor imagines

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sungbeam · 9 months ago

Text

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧

nonidol!choi san x gn!reader (no prns mentioned)

turns out your upstairs neighbor has a cat who adores climbing through your window — oh, and said neighbor is also fine as hell.

3.7k words, neighbors au (2 lovers), fluff, maybe like two swear words, drinking, lots of mentions of food

a/n: low-key just read this like ur watching the highlight reel of a romcom lol but @jaehunnyy for u 💖 i hope u like it :'))

It all started about seven months ago when a gorgeous Thai cat waltzed into your apartment via the open window. It was a late July afternoon, stiflingly hot and sticky, meaning you had your window opened and the mobile fan set up to blow cool air into the apartment.

You were, for once, not at work. Because the art museum you worked at downtown was currently undergoing reconstruction, you were stuck in your apartment trying (failing) to sell prints off your low-traffic Etsy shop while also trying (failing) to make popsicles.

“Why is this so complicated?” You grumbled aloud as you sat on top of your kitchen counter with your knees pulled beneath your chin. You scrolled down the recipe again on your laptop screen, nose wrinkled at the amount of convoluted steps listed. “Too fancy,” you decided, slamming your laptop lid closed.

Immediately, you hissed, lifting the lid to make sure you hadn't cracked the screen from closing it too hard. Thankfully, there were no cracks visible and you breathed out a sigh of relief. You could not afford a broken—

“Holy shit!” You nearly fell off the back of the island counter at the sight of a light gray cat with black tipped ears, paws, and tail seated on the floor before you.

The cat meowed an innocent greeting.

You pressed your hand to your hammering heart and shifted to get a grip on your position atop the counter. “How—? Where…?” Your eyes drifted to the open window.

Oh. Well, that would explain it.

You glanced back at the cat, who peered up at you once more. “Meow.”

Carefully, you climbed down from the counter as to not scare the creature with any sudden movements. “Hey, baby. Where did you come from, hm?” You cooed, extending your hand out as an offer to be sniffed.

The cat unfurled its tail out from around its body and crept toward your hand. With an experimental sniff, you were deemed safe, and the cat rubbed the side of its face affectionately against the back of your knuckles.

Your chest nearly exploded from the cute interaction. You lowered yourself to your knees, gently taking a peek at the silver charm attached around the collar. There you found the engraving of a star in the metal circle.

“I'm guessing this has something to do with your name?” You hummed, reaching up to scratch the feline behind the ears and head. At least you had an inkling that this little one belonged to someone. You just didn't know how to find out who they were.

“I guess you can hang out with me,” you sighed and stood up with your hands on your hips. You didn't mind the company, after all, and maybe this could be a point of inspiration.

About three hours later, the summer sun still hung relatively high in the sky and you were trying to figure out what to feed the cat when there came a sudden knock at your front door. Really, the “sudden knock” was a series of rushed, panicked DUDUDUDU sounds. You nearly jumped out of your skin for the second time in one afternoon, and even the cat seemed to leap.

Well, the cat only looked mildly annoyed that her nap was interrupted, but she seemed content to give a languid stretch and join you in seeing who was so alarmed at your door.

When you peered out the peephole, your eyes shot open.

There was a pretty man at your door.

You glanced down at the cat who looked back up at you. You mouthed to her, pointing at the door, ‘Do you know this guy?’

As expected, she did not answer. Lovely.

You weren't exactly in appropriate garb to see people. You had thrown on something cool enough to not make you melt like one of the popsicles you weren't able to make earlier, and enough to cover any necessary areas. You were sure your hair looked about as luxurious as a barn, and there wasn't a lick of cosmetics on your face.

It was fine, you told yourself. You probably weren't even going to see this guy ever again.

You opened the door. “Hello? Can I help you?” You asked through the chain linking the door shut.

The man flashed you a flustered, dimpled smile at you. His dark hair was damp, like he just came out of a shower, and he had on a muscle tee that was definitely doing its job, and a pair of basketball shorts. “Hi! So sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you've seen a Thai cat wandering around here about yea high—?”

“Meow.” The cat at your feet shoved her way between the gap you made with the door and out into the hallway.

Your eyes widened another smidge, until the man outside released a gasp of relief and bent down to scoop the feline up into his arms. You unlatched your door and opened it fully now, the man holding the cat to his face as if he was communicating with her telepathically.

“That's the cat, I'm guessing?” You mused.

He tucked her back into his arm and his smile became sheepish. “Yes, I am so sorry about her. I came back home from work and she wasn't in the apartment, but thank you for dealing with her for however long she was here.”

You waved off his concern with your hand, sending him a kind smile. “Don’t worry about it, really. She's adorable. What's her name, by the way?”

“Oh, this is Byeol,” he cooed, lifting Byeol's paw up to wave at you.

Swoon. Your smile widened as you waved back at them both. “Well, it was nice to meet you, both Byeol and…?”

“San,” he answered. God, he was gorgeous. That smile… “And you are?”

“Yn.” You shook each other's hands in the dim hallway light.

“Nice to meet you, too, Yn.” He lit up, pointing up to the ceiling. “Hey, I'm pretty sure I'm your upstairs neighbor!”

You opened the door to your apartment wider so you could show him your open window. “Well, that would definitely explain how she got down onto my fire escape,” you chuckled.

He whistled lowly. “Man, cats are scary sometimes. I'll definitely try to keep an eye on whenever she's near my window now.” He ran the back of his knuckles down Byeol's spine. “I don't wanna take up any more of your time, but thanks again.”

“No worries! Have a nice night.”

“You too!”

San began walking back toward the stairs at the end of the hallway, and you were about to close the door when you thought you heard him chastising his cat in hushed tones. You laughed to yourself as you locked up your front door. You wouldn't mind if Byeol came traipsing down your fire escape again.

And she would. About three times a week when San had a later shift at the boxing gym he worked at (yes, a boxing gym… good lord). Byeol oftentimes expected you to have your window open, and if you didn't already have it open, she would sit out on the fire escape until you did.

Two months into the fire escape escapades, you gave up and left the window open just enough for her to squeeze through while you returned to work.

San would always come down to your apartment to retrieve her, and at some point, decided to swing by your apartment on his way up instead just to make sure she wasn't already here.

By month four when the days were shorter and the nights dragged longer and colder, you couldn't exactly keep the window open, lest you wanted to freeze your ass off in the safety of your apartment. Byeol would hop down the fire escape in the evenings when you were back so you could let her in, only for her owner to come barreling down the stairs, dimpled cheeks flushed and exasperated.

“I swear she likes you more than me,” he guffawed from where he stood out in the hallway as he always did. He shook his head as he watched the Thai feline waltz around his legs once, then circle back into your apartment. He arched a brow at her. “Look at her strutting. She knows exactly what she's doing.”

You swore there was a dash of red gracing his cheekbones now.

You bit your lip through a smile. “Well, you're welcome to come in. I was just about to eat dinner and I don't really think I can finish this roast chicken alone.”

“Ah, I don't really wanna impose,” he drawled, scratching the back of his neck and peering at you from beneath those lengthy lashes of his. He knew what he was doing—he had to know what he was doing. If Byeol could strut, then so could Choi San.

He promised to take you up on your offer as long as you let him run upstairs to grab a bottle of wine to contribute.

The last thing you expected to happen was to hear a knock on your window less than ten minutes later. You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound, folding over in laughter when you saw him waving to you on the other side with cold-bitten cheeks and a red-tipped nose. He clutched a bottle of red in one hand and gestured furiously to the window latch. “It's fucking freezing!”

“Okay, okay,” you grinned, walking over to let him inside. “Just so you know,” you said as Byeol welcomed her owner into your apartment, “usually it's just cats who come in this way.”

“Well, you might have to get used to a cat and a human coming in now,” he teased. San presented you the wine bottle with a flourish. “Milady, your beverage.”

“Why, thank you, good sir,” you jested and accepted the offering. “Make yourself at home!”

What you didn't expect was for such a statement to be taken so literally, and yet, you had no complaints.

Three months further along—making it seven in total since that first hot July day Byeol came in through the open window—you and San (and Byeol) were cooped up in your apartment as usual. It was a Friday night with dinner on the table, a TV show playing in the background, and a pair of wine glasses for the pair of you. Over the past few months, sharing a dinner together had become a weekly event wherein San would come in via window, and the two of you would have the evening together.

Sometimes it was just dinner, sometimes it was dinner and a movie, and sometimes it was even dinner, a movie, and drunk Pictionary. But every Friday night was yours and San's night.

Plus, he turned out to be a much better cook, so you definitely couldn't argue when he somehow wrestled his entire Le Creuset pot down the fire escape to feed you the most divine lobster mac 'n’ cheese you had ever tasted. (As if you'd ever had lobster mac 'n’ cheese before…)

“I feel like it would just be more convenient if I came up to your apartment instead,” you said with enthusiasm, your free arm flailing around as you melted dark chocolate on a double boiler upon the stove top. While San had the right side of the stove for his chicken and gnocchi soup, you had the left to prepare tonight's mousse for dessert. If San made dinner, you figured you could at least learn a thing or two about a dessert course.

He chuckled, “I mean, I'm not opposed if you ever get tired of hosting. I'm kind of a creature of habit though, which is why I don't mind coming down every week, but it's up to you, sweets.”

Oh, right. And the nickname. You couldn't even pinpoint when that started, but again, you weren't complaining.

“I don't mind hosting either,” you told him, “it's just that it's either you leave your super expensive cookware here or I go upstairs. I don't think Le Creuset has fire escape insurance.”

“You're not wrong about that.” You felt his hand gently brush against your waist as he slipped past you to get to the spice cabinet on your left. “Behind you,” he murmured by your ear before grabbing the jar of Himalayan salt (also his) and returning to his station behind his pot.

You couldn't deny the pitter-patter of your heart around him either. Things were coming to a point that you didn't know how to label. But perhaps that was the beauty of everything slipping into place. You carried on, “I think I've seen your apartment once, and that was when Byeol wouldn't stop meowing until I followed you guys.” You laughed to yourself at the memory. That had been an interesting night.

“If it's any consolation, your apartment has much more life in it than mine.”

“That's a lie,” you said pointedly. “Yours is just more meticulous.”

He snorted. “Meticulous. Might as well be as barren as a clinic.”

You passed him a glance. “I offered to paint your walls…”

San beamed back at you, dimples creating divots in the apples of his cheeks. “And I never said no! But—I do think that it should be something the both of us do together.”

Your brows creased as you took the chocolate off the stove to fold into the other mixture you'd set aside. “You wanna paint with me?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost bashfully. “I think it'd be a fun bonding and learning experience. And it would be cool to see you in your element, besides when you're drunk.”

The latter comment had you turning away to laugh. “Fair enough.”

When dinner was ready to be dined, and the mousse was freezing in the fridge, you and San sat at the kitchen island with your matching bowls of hot soup and glasses of lemon water for the night. Neither of you had remembered to buy wine for the week (surprisingly), but one week without alcohol wouldn't hurt.

The two of you clinked your glasses together, toasting to another week survived.

You took a sip, then spooned the soup into your mouth, wiggling around on your stool in a little happy dance as the flavors did their own dance on your tongue.

San smiled around his own bite. He swallowed, then said, “You know, I always know I did well when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“That cute little dance,” he chuckled. “I’m glad it tastes good, is what I'm saying, sweets.”

Your skin warmed, and you managed to convince yourself it was the soup or the heater or something and not the beautiful man beside you. “Then get used to the happy jig, because everything you cook tastes divine. You should be a chef, San.”

“I could've,” he shrugged, “but I kind of like this little life.” He gestured to you with his spoon, a twinkle in his eyes. “Don't you?”

For a moment, you let the smile slowly unfurl onto your lips. You lifted your own spoon in agreement. “You're right. It's a lovely, little life.”

Now that you were in agreement, you fell into a comfortable silence as you both enjoyed your dinner in one another's presence. Byeol was hunched over her own bowl of food just by the foot of your stool, against the adjacent side of the island. You'd gone out and bought her a pair of food and water bowls, as well as her preferred food. San had been touched by the gesture, and Byeol most definitely appreciated it.

San wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Oh, by the way, next week.”

You hummed. “What about it?”

“Are you doing anything?”

You perked up, eyebrows lifting to your hairline. “Why do you ask?” It was usually unsaid by now that Friday nights were set aside for the two of you to share an evening, which was why you were confused by his question.

And then he explained, “It's Valentine's Day, so I just wanted to make sure I didn't interrupt or assume anything.” He'd said it so casually and easily that you nearly missed the slight nervousness in his voice, or the minor intonation of hope. “I mean,” he fumbled, “if you do have something planned, then it's no worries, really. There are plenty of other weeks—”

You shook your head, finishing off your water after having scraped your bowl clean. “I'm not doing anything,” you said. “Well, besides what we usually do.” You chuckled to yourself, “To be honest, Valentine's Day completely slipped my mind this year.”

And if you were truly being honest with yourself, every Friday felt like Valent—no. You shouldn't think like that. It would only make things worse about how you felt for him now. Plus, these past few months with San felt far too casual, too domestic, to be like Valentine's Day. Was Valentine's Day not for grand gestures and romance? This wasn't grand… though, you could probably argue about the romantic part…

“No, I feel the same way,” he nodded. “My friend Wooyoung just asked today if I was up to go to a single's party, which was why I suddenly remembered.”

Ah. “Oh, are you planning on going?” Wine sounded pretty good right about now.

He grimaced. “Probably not. I—I was kind of hoping you wanted to still do dinner next week—but, like, it doesn't have to mean anything besides how it usually is. If that's what you're comfortable with.”

It doesn't have to mean anything besides how it usually is. What if you wanted it to mean more than how it usually was? There was nothing inherently wrong with how it usually was, but you couldn't deny that a part of you yearned for more. That part of you imagined what it was like if San didn't have to come see you via fire escape, and he was always in the same space as you.

There was a pause as you wrestled with your own conscience about how or if you were going to admit it to him.

He pressed his lips together. “I've made you uncomfortable.”

“No, you haven't made me uncomfortable,” you assured him swiftly. “I just…” You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead then returning it to your lap. “Of course, I would love to have dinner with you next week, but I’d like it to mean something else—if you are comfortable with that.”

You watched as that beautiful smile you'd come to grow more fond of blossom onto his face. “I'd be more than comfortable with that—I’d be really happy with that, actually.”

“Good,” you said softly, unable to bite your own smile away. “Then dinner next week, it is.”

There was something fundamentally different about this next Friday night compared to the others. Specifically, the context by which you and San went into the Friday evening of Valentine's Day was completely different. The apartment was aglow with the same warmth as it usually boasted, but there was a bouquet of blood red roses in a glass vase on the kitchen counter beside a bottle of red wine.

San was at the stove, finishing off the last bit for dinner before it needed to simmer for a good thirty minutes. You were in the living room portion of your apartment, flipping through the vinyl records to play before you pulled one out and set it up. As you moved the needle onto the record, you placed the empty cover back into its slot and turned toward the kitchen.

You froze in your spot, skin warming at the sight of San leaning over the island counter with an adoring look in his eyes as he watched you. “What?” You laughed, subconsciously adjusting the sleeve of your blouse.

“Nothing,” he smiled. “You're just—you’re gorgeous.”

You were sure if your face didn't give it away, there must have at least been hearts floating around your head. “You cannot just say that,” you chided weakly as you walked over to where he was, your expression growing shy.

His smile widened and he rounded the counter to stand in front of you, your back pressed against the edge of the counter. “I can, too,” he teased. He stepped back once and held his arms out, fingers flicking toward him to beckon you forward. “C'mere. Can you dance?”

“Some.” Your eyebrows arched upward as you stepped forward and took his hands in yours. “Dancing and romancing, Choi San? What magic do you hope to enchant me with tonight?” You joked, moving your left hand to his shoulder.

“Perhaps magic that will leave your window open for me on nights other than Fridays,” he said sheepishly as the two of you began to sway to the music waltzing out from the record player. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your fire escape—”

You let out a laugh, ducking your head toward your chests. He did the same, an embarrassed grin coming onto his face as his nose nudged against yours.

“That was god awful,” he winced in apology.

“It was,” you agreed teasingly, “but I'll let it slide because you're cute.”

He shot you a bright smile. “Oh? So I'm cute? I guess that makes two of us.”

You weren't really sure at what point you realized you had fallen for this man. It was sometime between the Himalayan salt lectures and the dancing like an old married couple in your kitchen, maybe. You thought about the day he showed up at your door panicking about a missing cat, and to a future where you might have found yourself in his living room painting murals on his walls. Or perhaps… not his living room, but both of yours.

As you danced with your chests pressed together, hearts beating rapidly in sync, you gazed into those beautiful, dark brown irises of his and sank further and further into those feelings. They were gradually making themselves a home in your chest.

“What're you thinking about, sweets?” He murmured as you tucked your head against his shoulder and the arm he had around your waist rubbed the small of your back.

The smell of his cologne made you inhale deeply. You could get used to this—his smell, the feel of his body under your fingertips, his presence intertwined with yours taking up space in the best possible way. “I'm thinking that Byeol is a good matchmaker.”

His chuckle rumbled through him and softly into your ear. “You're definitely right about that.”

a/n: pls remember to reblog and comment if u enjoyed!

atz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @tinkerbell460 @meosjinn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @floatingpluto @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @soonyoungblr @justanotherkpopstanlol @kangfication @pxppxrminty @fluorescentloves @haechansbbg @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @mars101 @kflixnet

#kflixnet #ateez x reader #choi san x reader #san x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #choi san fluff #choi san imagines #choi san scenarios #choi san drabble #ateez drabbles #ateez oneshot #choi san oneshot #ateez fanfic

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novaursa · 3 months ago

Note

Love love LOVE reading your most recent requests! Especially the cregan ones

If you’re still taking requests, could I get one from cregan pov where velaryon/targ reader must wed cregan to honor the pact made by Jace. I’d Iove to get cregans first impressions of seeing her, almost in awe because it’s his first time seeing a targ/velaryon with old Valyrian features and how he feels about the betrothal. Bonus points if you add her dragon too 👀💖

Valyrian Bride

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: I hope this is what you had in mind. 🙂

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

Cregan Stark stood tall upon the frost-crusted battlements of Winterfell, his grey eyes fixed on the southern horizon. The wind howled around him, cold and biting, but he barely noticed. The men beside him, his bannermen and closest retainers, stood in hushed anticipation. They were a hardy lot, men of the North, but today there was a tension in the air that not even their steadfast presence could dispel. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Dragon Princess promised to him, was on her way. And she was bringing her dragon.

Cregan was a man of duty, honor-bound by his word. When Jacaerys Velaryon had come to the North, securing his father’s oath to Rhaenyra, Cregan had listened to the young prince’s proposal with a calculating mind. He had known what the South was asking—his allegiance in a civil war that would tear the Seven Kingdoms apart. The North had no taste for southern squabbles, but for an alliance that could secure his people’s future, Cregan had agreed. A marriage bond, a union with the blood of kings and dragons.

But he hadn’t expected this.

The sky darkened. A shadow passed over the pale light of the day, and a roar echoed across the windswept land. His heart quickened. The unmistakable sound of wings filled the air, as if the heavens themselves were being torn apart. Men murmured in awe, some with fear. Cregan’s grip on the pommel of his sword tightened as he peered into the sky. And then, she appeared.

The dragon came first—Vaetrix, her crimson scales gleaming like molten fire against the pale snow. Larger than anything Cregan had seen before, the great beast descended from the clouds with a grace that defied her monstrous size. Her wings flared, casting a shadow over the courtyard, and the air was filled with the smell of sulfur and smoke.

But it wasn’t the dragon that took Cregan’s breath away.

Atop Vaetrix, astride the monstrous creature as if born to it, was the princess. Her silver-gold hair streamed behind her like a banner, long and flowing, catching the sunlight as she descended. Her features were sharp, unmistakably Valyrian—the high cheekbones, the proud set of her jaw, the violet eyes that seemed to pierce through everything they beheld. She was a vision of Old Valyria, like the stories his father had told him as a boy. She bore little resemblance to her half-brothers, with their softer features. No, this was the blood of the dragon in full force.

His bannermen whispered around him.

"She looks like a goddess," one muttered, his voice thick with awe.

"Old Valyria reborn," another added, his voice trembling.

Cregan said nothing. He could only stare, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He had expected a girl, a lady to wed and secure an alliance, but this… this was something else entirely. There was power in her, in the way she moved, in the way she carried herself atop that dragon. She was not just a girl of noble birth—she was a force of nature, a storm in human form.

Vaetrix landed with a deafening thud, snow and dirt kicking up around her as she folded her massive wings. The ground trembled beneath her weight, but Cregan stood firm. He watched as the princess dismounted with a fluid grace, her hand brushing along Vaetrix's scaled neck before she strode forward. Her boots crunched in the snow, the chill of the North seemingly unfelt by her as if the dragon's fire warmed her from within.

When her eyes met his, Cregan felt a jolt run through him. Those violet eyes… they were ancient, wise beyond her years, and yet held a fire that could burn a man alive if he dared to challenge her. His mouth felt dry, his usual steady words faltering in his throat.

She approached, and as she drew nearer, Cregan noticed more—her height, the proud way she held her head, the confidence in her steps. She did not walk like someone being delivered to a husband. No, she walked like a queen in her own right, a woman who expected the world to bend to her will.

When she stopped before him, she inclined her head ever so slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment rather than submission. “Lord Stark,” she said, her voice smooth and strong, carrying the faintest hint of the Valyrian accent that lingered in her family’s tongue. “I have come as promised.”

Cregan blinked, forcing himself to regain his composure. “Princess,” he replied, his voice rougher than usual, betraying the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. “Winterfell welcomes you.”

Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles, though it was hard to tell whether it was one of amusement or mere politeness. “I am honored to be here, to fulfill the promise made between my house and yours.”

He nodded, his gaze locked on hers. “I did not expect—” His words caught in his throat for a moment, and he shook his head, cursing himself for his loss of composure. “I did not expect such… splendor.”

The smile deepened, and there was a flicker of something in her eyes—perhaps amusement, or perhaps something more dangerous. “I am not what you expected then, my lord?”

Cregan met her gaze evenly. “No, princess. You are far more.”

Behind them, Vaetrix rumbled, a deep sound that reverberated through the stone walls of Winterfell. His men shifted nervously, glancing at the beast with wide eyes, but Cregan paid them no mind. His focus was entirely on her.

The princess tilted her head, studying him with those sharp, knowing eyes. “I have heard much of the North, of its strength, its honor,” she said softly, her voice carrying on the wind. “It is a land of fierce men and harsher winters. I hope that I will find my place here, as your wife.”

There was something in the way she said it, a subtle challenge, as if she were testing him, seeing if he was the man she had been promised. And for the first time, Cregan understood that this marriage was not just a bond of convenience. She was not some southern lady to be tamed or coddled. She was a dragon, and if he were to claim her, he would have to prove himself worthy.

“You will,” he said, his voice steady now, conviction settling in his chest. “You will find your place here, with me.”

Her eyes gleamed with something close to approval, and she nodded once, a gesture as regal as any queen’s. Then, without another word, she turned her gaze back to Vaetrix, who stirred at her silent command, lifting her massive head.

Cregan watched her walk away, feeling a mixture of awe and excitement. The North had never seen a woman like this, and he knew, in that moment, that his life—Winterfell itself—was about to change forever.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #hotd cregan

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thegaysnewgroove · 2 years ago

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snuggles n stars

#THEY #adding this next tag because AHHH YES OH MY #holding her girl and the entire universe in her arms :)#So trueee😭😭#i #words cannot describe how much this makes me feel #they truly are the universe for each other #all of the asteroids and galaxies and stars twinkling in the sky #all of the planets and everything on them #every tree and river and stream and the breath in the lungs of every creature #they are everything to each other #seeing them like this just captures them so genuinely and beautifully #this is such an incredible piece #i don’t even know where to begin #there’s so much love and tenderness #my heart 🥺😭💖💖#they’re so sweet and in love #killing eve #villaneve #also this reminds me of those beautiful little star candies #i think they’re called konpeito but i’ll add a gif just to be sure :>#i’m so happy to be back and to see such lovely art after weeks of college auditions stuff😵‍💫😭

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yikes-aemond · 4 months ago

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Hello!!!! How are you? Are you willing to do a Benjicot X Tully!Reader oneshot?

Benji being a little puppy in love with a serious, blunt, very introverted and book-loving Tully, since they were children, and that is the reason why he often bothered her. Tully! Reader has a habit of throwing things at his head when she loses her patience.

Many hugs 💖💖💖🤗🤗🤗

You can hear it in the silence.

pairing: Benjicot Blackwood (fancast!Kieran Burton) x Tully!fem!reader (no physical descriptions of reader)

warnings: none, pure fluff

summary: You and Benjicot Blackwood meet as children and proceed to hate each other for years. Until one day, you didn't.

word count: 3.1k

author note: Thank you so much for the request! I’m sorry it took me a little while to complete it, but I hope I did your story idea justice. I’m hesitant to say this because I should be working on the next part of “I love you. It’s ruining my life.” but I have an idea for a part 2 to this story, so let me know if there is interest! Love you babes. Happy reading!

On your tenth name day, Benjicot Blackwood put a frog in your bed.

First light had not yet broken. You floated in that hazy space, not quite dreaming and not quite awake, content to stay beneath the warmth of your covers.

You had stayed up too late the night before. After stealing a half dozen honey cakes from the kitchens, you had wandered to the library, seeking comfort from the rows upon rows of books until the hour of the wolf ushered in your name day.

You did not recall how you made it from the library to your bed. Your father most likely.

Lord Elmo Tully was prone to sleepless nights, and often took to walking Riverrun at night to ease his troubles. On more than one occasion, he had found you face down on a study table, cheek pressed into the page of a book, after spending too many hours lost in tales of knights and princesses and children of the forest. And each time he found you, he would pick you up gently, careful not to wake you, and carry you back to bed.

Elmo Tully was not always the most present father. But he did not discourage your preferences for reading over needlework. He defended you when the Septa scolded you for ink-stained hands and unkempt dresses. And he did not try to force friendship between you and the other ladies your age.

You would not call yourself a lonely child. Although you often kept your own company, you did not mind the solitude, did not mind the quiet and peace compared to the noise and chatter that often accompanied children your own age. Sure, there were those in Riverrun who called you strange when they thought you and the rest of the Tullys were out of earshot, never daring to speak too loudly when your grandfather was the Lord Paramount.

Not that the whispers bothered you. As long as you had books and honey cakes, you were happy to be alone.

A fact that you were rudely reminded of when you rolled over in bed on the morning of your tenth name day, seeking out the touch of your favorite doll. But instead of feeling the soft, plush doll, you felt something slimy and cold and wet. And then you heard a distinct croak.

Screaming, you leapt out of bed, sheets twisting around your body. Frantic to get away from whatever creature had scurried into your bed. You landed on the floor with a harsh thud. From your vantage on the floor, you saw a frog leap from your bed toward the window on the far side of the room.

Frogs were not an uncommon sight at Riverrun. After all, your home was surrounded on all sides by rivers and moats and marshland. But never in your life had you heard of a frog sneaking into someone’s bed.

Only when you heard laughter on the other side of your chambers’ door did you realize what had happened.

You cheeks flashed hot as you picked yourself up off the floor. Seeing red, you threw the door open, a glare so disapproving on your face that it would have turned a lesser man to stone.

But not the idiots who stood before you.

Your brothers, Oscar and Kermit, were clutching onto each other, eyes nearly in tears from the force of their laughter. You would have words with them later. You knew the real culprit behind the prank.

Leaning against the wall with an insufferable smirk on his face was Benjicot Blackwood. Heir to Raventree Hall, your brothers’ best friend, and the bane of your existence.

“Something amiss, my lady?” He had the audacity to ask.

At the age of two and ten, Benjicot was tall for his age. He had not quite grown into himself, all long limbs and sharp angles. Despite his prowess with a dagger and sword, he had not yet matured out of his love for boyish pranks.

And he especially loved tormenting you.

Benjicot had no younger siblings. His aunt Alysanne was the closest relative to his age, but she had little patience for Benjicot, preferring her bow to most people. A sentiment you shared.

You first met Benjicot when you were seven, and he was nine. For the last three years, Benjicot had spent a few weeks in the high summer months as a ward at Riverrun, training and sparring and hunting with your brothers. The three were thick as thieves—Oscar and Kermit had loved Benjicot instantly. All close in age, all young and eager to prove themselves.

You had never been close with your brothers. You had little in common with them. But when Benjicot came to stay, and when you watched them laugh and joke and share secrets, you felt that sharp pang of otherness. Felt the sting of always being on the outside, both from your own family and the rest of those who resided at Riverrun.

And now he had dared to pull a prank on you on your name day.

“The only thing amiss is your presence here, Blackwood. Were you not supposed to return to Raventree Hall yesterday?”

Benjicot shrugged. “I wouldn't dream of missing your name day.”

You wanted to launch yourself at him, tackle him to the ground and remove that insufferable smirk from his face. You resisted the urge, but just barely.

“The best name day present you could have given me would have been your absence.” You sneered.

Huffing a laugh, Benjicot straightened and grabbed your brothers by the shoulder, nudging them away from your chambers. “Sorry to disappoint. I had rather hoped you would have liked the frog.”

Turning away from you and following your brothers, Benjicot called out over his shoulder, "Perhaps you should have kissed the frog, my lady. Could have turned it into a prince like in all those fairytales you love so much.”

You clenched your fists and tried to think of clever response. But nothing came to mind, so you settled for slamming your door closed. You could still hear the echo of their laughter in the hallway.

Back against the door, cheeks hot and flushed, you slid to the floor and wrapped your arms around your legs, bringing your knees to your chest.

It was not the first time Benjicot Blackwood made you cry.

No matter how hard you tried to ignore Benjicot during his yearly visits, you were never successful in escaping him. Every year he managed to find you, tease you, get under your skin and stay there.

There was the year he hid rotting fish in the floor boards of your chambers. The smell was so unbearable that you had to move rooms.

Or the time he startled you when you were helping a kitchen maid carry a sack of flour, sending the sack flying and leaving you looking like a ghost.

Passing you the salt instead of sugar for your tea, causing you to spew tea all over the dining table at breakfast.

Hiding your favorite books in the armory. (When you finally discovered the books, you chased Benjicot around the training yard, hurling the books at his head, much the amusement of your father and brothers.)

Sending you on false errands on supposed orders from your father, resulting in you interrupting a meeting of the River lords that left you so embarrassed and humiliated that you refused to come out of your chambers for three days.

Benjicot never went too far, never did anything so terrible as to warrant true ire from your father and grandfather. Each time you voiced your hatred for Benjicot and his pranks to them, begging them to send him back to Raventree Hall, they patted your head, said boys would be boys, and moved on.

With each passing year, your tolerance for the pranks grew less and less. Even if you had come to expect them.

So, on your fifteenth name day, you were not surprised when Benjicot sought you out in the library.

You knew he had arrived for his stay earlier in the day. He was delayed in returning to Riverrun this year—a skirmish with the Brackens had resulted in weeks of tension and negotiations amongst the River lords.

At seven and ten, Benjicot was nearly a man. He had grown into his height and filled out in his shoulders, lean and strong and, if rumors were to be believed, now lethal with a sword and dagger.

Never backed down from a challenge. Fearless in a fight. Ruthless to those who crossed him.

Your brothers, with all the cleverness in their heads, had nicknamed him Bloody Ben.

You could not quite merge the two Benjicots in your mind—the boy from your childhood who teased and taunted but was quick to laugh and joke, with the man who had taken his first kill with a smile on his face.

When Benjicot appeared before you, leaning over the table where you sat with your book, you were not sure what to make of him.

Snatching the book from your hands, you watched as his eyes skimmed the first few lines on the page, before he smirked down at you. “A romance? I did not take you for a simpering romantic.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the book back. “And I never took you for a deaf half-wit, Blackwood. I distinctly remember telling you at the last assize that I never wanted to see your face again.”

Last year’s assize had been rather uneventful. That is, until the closing feast when Benjicot had teased you relentlessly for reading a book at dinner that you felt compelled to throw the book at his head. Of course, you missed his head, instead hitting a poor servant who was tasked with carrying the roast pig, sending both the servant and pig to the floor.

Your father and grandfather had been less than pleased.

Benjicot looked at the ceiling to hide his amusement before glancing back at you. With a smile on his face, he said, “You wound me, my lady.”

You narrowed your eyes, shooting him a look of disbelief. “And you annoy me, my lord.”

Rather than be put out by that insult, Benjicot looked delighted. He leaned a little closer into your space, so much so that you felt the hair on your arms stand to attention, your skin turning to gooseflesh at his proximity.

For as much as you hated Benjicot, hated the way he teased you, hated the way he sometimes made you feel like an outsider in your own family, he was one of the most handsome boys you had ever met.

Dark, wavy hair that never seemed controlled. Eyes that turned green in the sunlight. A small scar on his upper lip that somehow made him look distinguished.

You hugged the book to your chest and tried not to fidget under his gaze. You exhaled slowly before asking, “Why are you here?”

Benjicot held your eyes for another beat before breaking the contact and straightening to his full height. Reaching into the pouch fastened at his hip, he said, “I have a present for you.”

You leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms. “I have never much cared for your presents. They tend to crawl or smell.”

Laughing, Benjicot pulled a necklace out of the pouch. “You will be pleased to know this gift neither crawls nor smells.”

You were stunned to say the least, eyes wide and mouth parted in surprise. You probably looked like a fish, but you could not help it.

The necklace was beautiful. A delicate, silver chain with two gemstones at the end. A mud-red ruby and a blue sapphire—the perfect representation of House Tully’s colors. Simple and elegant. You were at a loss for words, and you felt your cheeks flush at the gift.

Your heart skipped a beat as Benjicot approached you. The smile he was giving you was one you had never seen before—warm and soft. All traces of teasing gone from his demeanor.

He stopped just before you. Holding out the necklace for you to take, he asked, “Do you like it?”

You stood, heart hammering as you took the necklace from him. You turned the necklace over in your hands, admiring the detail in the braided chain and the quality of the stones. Your throat felt parched, but you managed to say, “It’s lovely.”

You glanced back up at Benjicot to find his eyes already on you, face closer to yours than you remembered. “I’m glad you like it, my lady.”

You had never seen Benjicot like this. Had never seen him be this sweet or shy before. You were not even sure he was capable of being sweet.

Of course, there were moments over the years when he had shown you kindness. He was not always playing the jester.

When you had twisted your ankle while walking in the godswood, Benjicot had insisted on carrying you to the maester, even when you protested that you were fine and perfectly capable of walking on your own.

When you had gotten sick with a fever two years ago, leaving you bedridden and delirious for weeks, Benjicot had brought you dozens of books from the library, anything to keep your mind sharp and spirit strong.

And when you had mentioned that your favorite sweet was honey cakes, Benjicot brought you a batch from the cooks at Raventree Hall, claiming that Raventree’s cakes were superior to all others. (They were.)

You had never felt more aware of yourself than you did at this moment, standing before Benjicot. You were in uncharted territory. Heart thumping in your chest. Palms beginning to sweat. Cheeks warm and flushed. You were nervous. And you had never been nervous in front of Benjicot before.

You smiled, small and shy and a little embarrassed. You did not know where you found the courage, and you could not hold his gaze, but you found yourself asking, “Will you put it on me?”

Benjicot’s smile widened, nodding eagerly as he took the necklace back, your hands brushing in the exchange. Only for a moment, but enough to send a small jolt through your arm.

You turned, giving him your back so that he could not see how deeply you were affected by the brief touch.

But with your back to him, you did not see how Benjicot looked at you. Did not see the way his eyes softened and traced your form. Did not see how his own cheeks flushed. Did not see how he had to swallow his nerves as he gently moved your hair off the nape of your neck.

You felt the cold press of the chain against your neck and chest, felt the warmth of Benjicot’s fingers as he fastened the clasp. His touch lingering perhaps a second or two longer than necessary.

You turned before Benjicot had a chance to step back. Your chests nearly touching with how close the two of you stood.

You had never been this close to a boy before. Had never felt your breath mix with another. Eyes locked on each other, gazes searching.

Benjicot slowly raised his hand, fingers leaving a feather-light touch against your cheek as he moved a lock of hair behind your ear.

You watched as his eyes shifted down to your lips before returning to your eyes. There was a question in his gaze, one you were not sure you knew how to answer.

You had read about kisses in books. Kisses shared between a knight and a fair maiden after a daring escape. Secret, daring kisses between two lovers caught on opposite sides of a war. Passionate kisses. Sweet kisses. Slow and deep, or fast and hot.

You had never been kissed before. Had never given much thought to who would claim your first kiss. You had assumed the kiss belonged to your future lord husband, as propriety demanded.

But in that moment, in the quiet of the library on your name day, you wanted to give that kiss to Benjicot.

Maybe somewhere in your heart, hidden and buried deep, you had pictured the kiss being with Benjicot all along. He could have easily been another brother to you, with his obnoxious pranks and teasing smiles.

Except that you never thought of him as a brother.

He was Benjicot Blackwood. Someone who was always there, even when you did not wish for him to be. Strong and dependable. A force to be reckoned with, one who demanded your attention and settled for nothing less. You could not imagine a world in which he did not exist in your life.

You licked your lips and slowly closed your eyes.

Benjicot took your cheek into his hand, tilting your head slightly to the right. You felt his other hand pull at your waist, bringing the two of you even closer together.

You knew what was about to happen. Knew that despite all the teasing and hostility and pranks, you were about to have your first kiss. You had never dreamed of this, never thought you would ever be in this position. But the moment felt right—

“Benjicot!”

You had never moved so quickly. The two of you leapt apart, both breathing heavily as you turned to see Oscar and Kermit stick their heads into the doorway of the library.

When they spotted the two of you, they smiled, completely oblivious to what they had interrupted.

You had never hated your brothers more.

“Come on, Benji!” Kermit shouted, gesturing for Benjicot to come join them. “Father wants to see you.”

Benjicot nodded, and you watched as he transformed into his usual easygoing demeanor and started toward the door. But at the last moment, he seemed to change his mind.

Turning to you, his back to your brothers, Benjicot reached for your hand and brought it to his lips. A quick press of his lips to the back of your hand had you flushing red all over again.

“Happy name day, my lady,” he whispered.

And then he left.

You did not know how long you stood there, unmoving and still as a statue. At some point, you returned to the table, leafing through your book without comprehending a single word. More than once, you caught yourself reaching for the necklace, seeking confirmation that the gift was real, that the moment with Benjicot was real.

You finally gave up on reading your book, moving to lean against the windowsill and watch the sun set over the training yard.

You replayed the afternoon over and over in your mind. And the longer you sat with the knowledge that Benjicot wanted to kiss you, and perhaps more surprising, that you wanted to kiss him, the more you wished that your brothers had waited a few moments longer.

Just before the last light faded and gave way to night, you spotted Benjicot walking across the training yard with your brothers trailing behind. You watched as Oscar gestured wildly, apparently recounting some unbelievable tale to Kermit and Benjicot. Even from a distance, you could see Kermit roll his eyes, exasperation clear on his features. You watched Kermit shove Oscar playfully, causing him to lose his balance and fall into the dirt.

And while Kermit and Oscar continued to pick at each other and squabble, Benjicot’s gaze shifted to where you sat at the window. Any surprise he felt at finding you watching them quickly dissolved into a wide grin. Ignoring your brothers, Benjicot lifted his hand and waved.

You answered his wave with one of your own. A soft, secret smile on your lips as you held his gaze. A thousand unspoken words between the two of you.

A happy name day, indeed.

final author note: I hope you enjoyed! Any feedback is greatly appreciated. (I think everyone in the taglist below asked to be tagged in all my Benjicot/Davos Blackwood fics, but if I'm wrong, please let me know!)

taglist:

@alifeinspiredd @crownofdecitreadingrespectfully @altaircc

@someblessedgal @devildelilah

#benjicot blackwood #davos blackwood #hotd #hotd x you #hotd imagines #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagines #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon #benjicot blackwood x reader #bloody ben x reader #benjicot Blackwood imagine #benjicot Blackwood imagines #benjicot Blackwood x you #my fics #bloody ben x you

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coralinnii · 1 month ago

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Hello Coral~~💖💖✨✨ Congrats on your 2.7k Milestone 💐🎂✨ Like many others, I love your villainess au and happy that many people is supporting it ✨✨ For the event request, I have some brain rots about Sebek Silver Malleus being in a friendly culture (maybe theyre visiting Yuu's hometown and its really welcoming like the people from Kalim's Hometown)!! they refer to them as like their family, gifts them foods the very moment they visited, and not bothered that theyre faes since they know theyre just creatures who protects nature~ i think its a nice culture shock for them considering how secluded and proper briar valley is ✨

‧₊˚✧ It Takes a Village‧₊˚✧

↳ Getting Culture Shock from Your Hometown

feat: Sebek ❋ Silver ❋ Malleus genre: fluff, note: no pronouns were used for reader, established relationships, set before Book 7 (mostly because I haven’t finished it yet),

A lot of the scenarios are inspired and modeled after my experiences growing up, which is very Southeast Asia-coded. So, I apologise if this is not actually how you envision. Hope you still enjoy, though.

similar post: Getting Culture Shock from your Friendly Family (Sebek, Silver, Malleus)

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

You’d be absolutely evil if you didn’t even try to warn your uptight boyfriend. I’d love you for that

Sebek has finally found his match as his own voice gets drowned out by the boisterous market vendors and customers, but he’s more surprised by the forward way everyone seems to address each other.

“Sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m-”

“Sebek, he’s not really my uncle. We call everyone that.”

You would have to keep Sebek on tight hold because he’s a gullible green bean. The freshman burns in embarrassment at every “handsome boy” or “strong guy” comment calling out for his attention. He won’t lie, his ego is inflated quite a bit but it’s still strange to hear someone other than you call him that.

On the other hand, he’s not too sure how to feel when vendors of all ages were calling out to you the same way. You may be used to it but Sebek isn’t, especially if he’s not used to calling you beautiful or cute himself yet.

But, he could take this as a challenge to improve himself. For every compliment they give, he’ll give you tenfold. This he swears!

To your luck, it seems that the market the two of you were visiting was hosting a mini concert as music and lights filled a well-known open space near the market.

Visitors and locals young and old surrounded the space, either resting while eating their confections or grooving to the catchy tune of the music blasting through the speakers.

Then, a particularly famous song began to play, and Sebek flinched as the crowd suddenly burst in excited cheers and laughter, you included. Many women and men jumped to their feet, with some confidently running to the center of the space. You jumped to your feet as they did, but you chose to stand close to your confused boyfriend.

Sebek’s expression was a comedic masterpiece as he watched you and many others start this synchronized sequence of silly movement, identical to the minor beat. Those who didn’t join were still clapping in unison while joyously laughing.

What sort of local ritual was this?

The synchronous dance was short lived, and soon people were divided into those who resumed their previous activity or continued swaying to the melody.

You fell into the latter category, even reaching to Sebek hoping to persuade him to join you.

Sebek was shocked and a little offended. He was a man of great honor and pride. He’d rather be caught dead than to devolve himself to this undignified manner of dance, if you could even call it so. No, he would never stoop so low, even if the string lights gave off this tempting glow around you, your soft hand still reaching out to him while you looked at him so lovingly…

Well, the knight-in-training thought he could allow such exceptions once in a while, especially when you smiled so beautifully when he joined you on the dance floor.

Don’t let Sebek know, but he became sort of a local online sensation as someone slyly took a video of him smiling so softly at you after putting on such a grumpy persona.

Every reshare of this video was always paired with the caption, “Scary man turns into puppy for his lover”

See, you can’t tell if your community is being especially friendly, or maybe it’s just that the beautiful young man next to you is just too irresistible to ignore.

All the chatty aunties were cooing over Silver and even the laid-back uncles sitting around were praising the cut of Silver’s muscular figure.

But, you won’t say anything because you just wanted Silver to smile and bask in the well-deserved praises.

“The locals here are quite friendly to strangers like me, even offering small treats.”

“Mhm, they sure are.”

Silver is amazed by the seamless blend of close bonds and community from what he sees. Customers casually chatting with workers as children run around without worries in this homely environment.

In comparison to them, Silver felt a little inadequate as he couldn’t express himself as openly as the locals do so easily.

But maybe because they’re so open with everyone, he feels this sense of safety to try.

“So you’re not from around here, are you?” The kind woman asked the silver-haired man as her fingers deftly package and wrap some snacks you two picked out to share with others back in NRC.

“No, I’m actually from Briar Valley.”

“Hmm, that’s the fae kingdom, right?” The woman’s curiosity peaked. “Are you fae, then? I couldn’t tell.”

“Well no, I’m human. I was adopted by my father who’s from Briar Valley.”

“Just him? No one else?” The store owner asked without looking at Silver once, instead moving back and forth to get things done behind the counter, but her attention was still locked on him.

“There were a few others I grew up with, but my father was the one who raised me”

It was only then when the busy woman slowed down a smidge, pausing for a moment before untying the bag that held your snacks. You watched her tossed a few more small packets of snacks near her counter.

“These are very popular, share them with your father.” She looked sternly into your boyfriend’s iridescent eyes, the first time in a while since you’ve been in the store. “Make sure to visit him, okay?”

Silver wanted to protest, to correct the misunderstanding. The snacks the two of you picked out already included some for Lilia and he couldn’t possibly ask for more without paying.

It was up to you to intervene. “Just give up, Silver. You can’t change a woman’s mind.”

The store owner nodded. “Listen to the smart one. Just take it, I insist.”

With a sliver of guilt but a lot of warmth, Silver eventually accepted the kind woman’s offering before leaving the establishment.

What Silver didn’t see however, was you sneaking a few snacks and a drink onto the counter with adequate fare tucked underneath. You shared a look with the store owner before leaving, playfully staring her down to not to refuse your offering.

The store owner let out a laugh, thinking what a cute couple you were.

Regardless of wherever he goes, Malleus sticks out like a sore thumb, a very intimidating sore thumb.

Eyes naturally glance at him with curiosity throughout the market, amazed by the regal figure walking around, like a celebrity strolling around the local areas.

If your hometown speaks another language, some of the market vendors would tell you not-so sneakily how attractive your lover was while Malleus was none the wiser.

But, as curious as the humans were, they were quick to accept him as is, which shocked the fair-skinned fae. It wasn’t as though he was being avoided or judged, but rather the community took him and his inhuman appearance as typical. Undaunted by anything, the nosy sellers would joke and compliment him like any other walking around here.

“What a handsome fae you are, you can be a model!” “And tall! He can reach the top of our tent, haha!”

Malleus can tell his horns and ears are eye-catching to say the least, but everyone was quick to grow accustomed to his features, even warning him to watch his head should he bump into anything in this crowded alley.

“Are those with my features a common prevalence in your homeland?”

“No, you’re a rarity around here. But that doesn't mean you don’t belong here any less.”

“Ah, so this is how a beautiful soul is cultivated,” Malleus thought, gazing softly as you and a kind merchant searched around the store for a shirt that could fit the future king.

The day was setting, and you and Malleus decided to rest at a popular park that was famous for its view of the town. You weren’t alone as both locals and visitors filled the space, either resting or making memories with their friends and families.

Then, you heard a whisper from a timid voice behind the two of you.

“Um, mister.” You turned around to see some local children looking curiously at Malleus.

“Are you fae?” The eldest boy spoke first, nervously clutching his jacket.

When Malleus calmly responded in affirmation, the other children lit up with excited smiles.

“You’re super tall, taller than my dad!” Another child exclaimed, “Are all fae tall like you?”

Malleus smirked rather haughtily. “Very few others, fae or otherwise, stand on par to myself.”

”I’m the tallest in my class!” The eldest boy blurted out, even puffing his chest and slightly leaning on his toes. “It’s because I drink my milk everyday. Do you drink milk?”

You abruptly nudged your lover before intervening. “Yes he does, which is why you need to drink milk and other healthy food to keep growing.”

A little girl, hidden behind the first two children, spoke out. “How long is your hair? My hair is really long too!”

She pushed her long braided hair to the front, comparing her neatly combed hair to Malleus’s direction.

“Your hair is quite long indeed, perhaps matching mine in length at first glance.” Malleus commented back, amused by the children’s competitive nature.

After sharing all of their thoughts, the curious children finally left when their guardians called them back, waving at the two of you before running out of sight. Now free, Malleus looked to you with curiosity of his own gleaming in his striking green eyes.

“The offspring of this land are inquisitive as they are fearless,” Malleus smiled in your direction. “I wonder if all children hailed from here shared these traits.”

Were you like them as a child?

You picked up on his unspoken question and replied with a cheeky expression. “Wouldn’t you like to know~”

Would he? Would he like to know if you were the type to run around so carefree and see the world with such interest and curiosity. If your future children would be like those endearing little ones just now…

Yes, he would.

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