#when Inky got poked

[inkywellington]

( n3n) <3 <3 <3

🫂

You do not know this little purple creature, but they've decided that, for whatever reason, you need a hug. Or maybe *they* do? (Whichever muse will be the nicest to inkywellington.tumblr.com, [sideblog])

Send 🫂 to just hug my muse. No reason. Hug them.

@inkywellington

Confusion struck the Love Hashira as she tries to recognize what this creature is. It kinda looks like an octopus as a first glance but it didn't seem to have a consistent form to even consider as that aquatic creauture.

This... thing ain't a demon, right? Dumbfounded, she even gave it a poke on what she believed could be its head.

[batboysanonymous]

Soft Like Shadows

Azriel x Reader

Summary: In the quiet hours of the night, when the world is still and his shadows retreat, he finds comfort in the warmth of your touch, the one place where even the most feared spymaster can be soft.

The stars were sharp tonight, cutting through the inky night sky like diamonds scattered across velvet. The wind, crisp and biting, swept through Velaris, rustling the sheer curtains of the open balcony doors. But inside, wrapped in the thick warmth of blankets and Azriel’s embrace, you couldn’t feel a thing except the steady heat of his body pressed to yours.

The bedroom was cast in soft light from the fireplace, its golden flicker dancing along the dark walls, illuminating the faint glimmer of his blue siphons. They pulsed faintly in the dimness, their glow mirroring the steady beat of his heart—calm, steady, unhurried.

Azriel lay beside you, his broad frame relaxed in a way it rarely was, one wing draped partially over you, as if to shield you even in sleep. You weren’t sure when this had started, this quiet need he had to keep you tucked under his wings, but you never complained. How could you, when it made you feel so undeniably his?

You shifted slightly, reaching up to run your fingers along his forearm, tracing the fine scars that marked his skin. Your touch was featherlight, reverent. Azriel hummed low in his throat, the sound more vibration than voice, as he nuzzled closer.

And then—he bumped his forehead against yours.

It was so soft, so gentle, that for a moment, you thought you imagined it. But then he did it again, a light press, as if requesting something without words.

A smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, baby?” you murmured, tilting your head just enough to meet his hazel eyes.

Azriel muttered something under his breath, the words too soft to catch.

You huffed a quiet laugh, trailing your fingers up his arm and into the thick waves of his hair. “Use your words, big guy.”

A slow roll of his eyes—dramatic, almost teasing. “Don’t make me say it,” he muttered against your cheek, voice laced with that familiar rasp.

Your grin widened. “C’mon, Shadowsinger. Say it.”

Azriel exhaled through his nose, as if put upon by your antics, but the ghost of a smile still tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your nose before whispering, “Can you play with my hair, please?”

The softness in his voice, the way he said it like a secret meant only for you, had warmth blooming in your chest.

You tapped your chin in exaggerated thought. “Hmm…”

A shadow slithered up your arm, a teasing nudge. Then, before you could react, Azriel poked your side, a slow, knowing smirk pulling at his lips.

“Y/N.”

“Alright, alright,” you relented, laughing as you shifted slightly so he could fully settle against you.

The moment your fingers found his hair, Azriel sighed—a deep, bone-melting sound, like he had been waiting for this all day. His body relaxed instantly, his weight pressing more firmly against you as his head rested against your chest.

Your nails scraped lightly against his scalp, the touch lazy and soothing. His breath hitched for a moment before he melted, a low hum slipping from his lips.

“This is your weakness, isn’t it?” you teased, dragging your fingers through the silky strands, watching the way his lashes fluttered against his sharp cheekbones.

Azriel mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like you’re my weakness, but when you tried to lift his head to look at him properly, he just buried his face further into your neck.

Your heart clenched.

No one ever saw him like this. No one ever got to see the way he melted under gentle hands, the way his entire being sighed in relief when he was held like this, cherished like this. The feared spymaster, the shadowsinger, reduced to a content, sleepy puddle in your arms.

“Can you just read my mind next time?” he murmured against your collarbone.

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “I could. But then I’d miss out on watching you beg for it.”

Azriel huffed, but the arms wrapped around your waist tightened, his grip firm and secure, like he never wanted to let go.

You traced slow patterns across his bare back, following the contours of his muscles, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. He was solid beneath your touch, strong and unyielding, but here, in your arms, he was soft.

“I don’t think I ever let myself imagine this,” Azriel said after a long moment, voice quiet, almost unsure.

You frowned, pausing your ministrations. “Imagine what?”

His breath fanned against your throat. “This. You. Us.” His fingers traced lazy circles against your hip. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to have something like this.”

Your heart cracked. “Az…”

His arms tightened around you, as if he could physically stop the sadness from seeping between you. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, curling your fingers into his hair again, tugging just enough to make him lift his head. When his hazel eyes met yours, you cupped his face between your palms, your thumbs brushing lightly over the sharp planes of his cheekbones.

“You deserve this,” you told him, firm and unwavering. “You deserve love, and softness, and a place to rest.” You ran a hand down his cheek, watching the way his expression softened, the way he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. “And you’ll always have that with me.”

Something flickered in his gaze—something raw, something so deep it nearly stole your breath.

Azriel didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he kissed you.

His lips moved against yours in a way that made the world blur around you, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your head, holding you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever known.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“I love you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart swelled, full and aching. You brushed your thumb over his bottom lip, smiling softly. “I love you more.”

Azriel made a soft sound, something close to a scoff, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he shifted, pulling you even closer until you were practically tangled together, his head tucked beneath your chin, his wings curling around you protectively.

His shadows, usually restless and ever-present, were still.

And in that quiet, in the warm cocoon of blankets and whispered affections, you let yourself drift, your fingers still tangled in his hair, his breath steady against your skin.

Because here, in the safety of your arms, Azriel could finally rest.

Taglist: @kathren1sky_blog, @willowpains, masbt1218, antonia002, bookishcait, fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch

Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

[lavenderprose]

Emmrich is confident in himself and knows what he brings to a relationship. Doesn't seem himself as someone who experiences a great amount of angst when it comes to his appearance; he knows he takes care of himself, looks good, dresses well. The way he carries himself alone is, he's been told, a turn-on. Back straight, regal. Always seems to know what to do with his hands. He's got it locked down.

That said, he's a man in his fifties. Time marches ever on. He's been graying since he was a young man--time was kind enough to let him keep the thickness of his hair, if not the color. He remembers being young, ladies and gentlemen alike telling him that they considered his coif, inky black at the time and so stark again his pink-alabaster skin, to be one of his finer features. The color was all but gone by the time he was thirty. Time marches.

There are multiple things like this that he's aware of, as a man who monitors his own appearance to the extent that he does. Once one reaches a certain age, there is a certain softness of the belly that won't vanish for even the most active of individuals. He's watched his hands grow aged. His knees aren't what they used to be, though he takes potions for this and it doesn't affect his abilities. In the end, he knows he's aged gracefully, and continues to do so--but 'gracefully' and 'imperceptively' certainly have different definitions.

Enter Rook, who is not the youngest of their companions. Old enough to have confronted her own fears and come out on the other side knowing her desires--at least in some way. He knows he's desired by her. He's known since a particular look in her eye on their first excursion to the Memorial Gardens; an unmistakable, though brief, spark of want.

In that moment, he could have had her. If he'd known her then as he did now, and understood that she wasn't the sort of woman to be above a giggling fuck in a bush with an attractive acquaintance, he might have let himself have her. As it was, it had taken time. Their first night spent together had been sweeter for it. Not that the bush wouldn't have been sweet.

Admittedly, there had been one other item holding him back, other than that of her virtue. There are decades of time between them. She came screaming into the world around the time the first gray hairs poked themselves out of his skull, premature though it was. It's something to consider. He assumed at the time--and now knows--that she'd never had a lover much older than herself. Though Emmrich knows himself to be a perfectly capable lover, a quite attractive specimen of a fifty-hmm-shh year old man, he knows (and does all the time) that he can no longer reasonably be compared to the same standards as a person twenty years his junior.

It stayed his hand.

A hand which Rook, when given the slightest opening to do so, grabs and yanks and places exactly where she wants it.

"I love your hands," she says, tracing tendons and veins, places where time had taken some of the elasticity from his skin. "They're beautiful. Touch me. Maker, touch me."

It's praise that goes straight to his core. The hands aren't one of his greatest insecurities, but he feels at times like a warrior fighting a ceaseless battle against time when it comes to his skin. Creams for softness, oils for moisture, tonics to block sunlight on the occassion he did leave the shaded Necropolis halls. He marvels, still does, at the fact that she doesn't even seem to notice the imperfections that had seemed utterly unignorable to him.

Far more of an insecurity is, of course, the belly--which he knows to be healthy, normal and fine, but which he purposefully hides nonetheless. Davrin is young, an objectively attractive man, and can quite commonly be seen shirtless around the Lighthouse. Some comparisons can't help but be drawn.

Rook, of this evening, unwraps the sash from around his waist with the glee of a child on her nameday and slides her hands down the buttons of his shirt. She frees his body, soft stomach and all, and presses her nose directly to his navel.

"Your body," Rook sighs, ecstatic. "I think about it all the time. I swear, Emmrich, I'm losing my mind. Do you know how sexy you are?"

"A question I could pose in return," he chuckles, and they both know he's deflecting--at least a little.

She's not having it on this night. She crawls back up, rests the perfect softness of her ass directly on top of his straining erection. Pushes her hands into the steely hair sprinkled about his chest.

"You're so--" she sighs, then seems to get distracted, and spends a moment tracing her thumbs circuitously around his nipples. He hisses, twitching against her. "I've never been with someone I was so attracted to. That sounds bad. I was attracted to them. But you, I mean..." She descends on him, mouth open, and he cries out to feel her teeth sink into his chest.

"You're going to give me quite the ego, dearest," he tells her, once he's gotten a hold of himself--figuratively and literally. He's palming himself, fingers gripped around the fabric of his pants and his own straining flesh, and the back of his hand basks in the humidity between her thighs.

"Good," she coos, and then traces her thumb over his mustache, follows it with her lips. "You're so beautiful. I think about you all the time. Your hands and your nose and your fucking--chest hair--"

"It used to be black, you know," he whispers, and she draws back. They share his vulnerability for a moment. He can see her realize and catalogue something, in the back of her intelligent eyes.

"It looks better gray," she whispers back. "And when it turns white, I'll throw a fucking party."

He cries a little--something that surprises even him, because he hadn't realized how close to his chest he'd been holding some of this...dread--and even that doesn't seem to bother her. She coos and kisses him and, when he slides inside her, yowls and clings and calls him perfection.

He believes it.

[sobbingscripter]

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋💙་༘Neighbours˚˖𓍢ִ💙.ִ࿐

Tags: [frank castle][mdni][mlw][just porn, no plot][literally a tester][something I'm typing while waiting for my food][lil drabble][analingus][squirting][doggy style][mating press][side fuck][there's a few other things he does that I don't know how to word]

A test drabble requested by @lucky-beheaded and @v1tale

Something, something about being Frank Castle's little personal nurse.

You're his neighbour, sharing the shitty little apartment building with the broken windows and the rusted burglar bars, peeling paint and rattling doorframes.

Obviously he's got a better furnished, and nicer warehouse but he's got quite a bit of business in this area, and Frank's not a man, if he doesn't care for his convenience and his time.

And it's not uncommon that when he's out punishing, he gets a little bruise or two, and comes to you to treat even the smallest little cuts.

Frank refuses to admit that it's because of your company and lies, saying he's trying to avoid the infections.

Frank's only willing to admit he likes your company when you're fucked out on your sofa, legs dangling aimlessly from broad, muscled shoulders, and your fingers limply interlaced behind his neck, manicured fingers snaking into the cropped hair and dragging along his scalp.

Frank's hips snap meanly, his face buried in your neck and hot pants of breath fan across the curve of your shoulder, his chest presses against yours and you can feel that delicious tuft of inky hair brush against your clit so teasingly when his hips grind into yours. You feel that flushed, rotund tip bruise that sweet gummy spot that has your toes curling beside either ear, your eyes rolling back and Frank's teeth scrape against your skin, leaving the faintest of marks because as much as he wants to, he can't fuck you into being his.

You're a classy girl. Good dates, good conversation is necessary instead of the usual grunts and murmured 'fuck you's that leave his lips.

But that doesn't mean he's above trying. In fact, he's so far below trying, that he has his cock bumping against your insides in a way that's as unkind as things can get.

A burly, tornado of a man, deep steely eyes staring into your pretty, half-lidded gaze, watching the way tears brim on your lower lashline, your nails scraping against his back, crossing out the scars left behind from the life he lives.

"Eyes on me, gorgeous."

Frank breathes out, hands shifting and hips slowing to a grinding halt, carved pelvis poking into the slightest chub of his belly, muscular thighs on either side of you and he groans.

The scent of liquor and minty toothpaste lingers on his tongue, but you're more preoccupied with the way the wet muscle licks up the perspiration that dots your skin.

Staring from the valley between your breasts and all the way up to the hollow beneath your ear.

And Frank whispers, like a fucking dream incarnate.

"Let me fuck a baby into you, dollface."

One slow pull back of his hips has you feeling each fucking inch, veins dragging against gummy walls and his hands move to your thigh, moving it to rest alongside it's partner on his other shoulder, before Frank comes closer, pressing the sloppiest and messiest kiss against your lips. Swallowing the gasp you let out when he stretches you out once again, and the thrusts are slow, painfully tantalizing as he grabs a handful of your ass, pulling you closer to meet each of his movements.

But Frank's not a gentle man.

He hasn't been in a long time and you're barely coherent when he begins to fuck into you like a man in heat, blunt nails digging into the cellulite of your thighs, dragging over stretch marks as he tries to palm as much as he can. He's desperate.

An orgasm far too close but it's not enough. It's just not enough.

Hips snap, your asscheeks feel like they're on fire and you nearly gasp when you're tossed onto your stomach, powerful hands hooked at your hips and pulling you back to meet his brutal movements. Frank watches, marvelling at the ripple of plush cheeks bouncing off the carved flesh of his hips, one hand pressing down at the dip in your spine, forcing your arch to deepen and the other moving to rest on one fleshy mound.

Spreading you open, only to spit down at where your furled entrance sits so pretty and undisturbed and Frank groans.

"Put your pretty fingers where the sun don't shine, gorgeous. Wanna see—... You fuck yourself..."

You nod weakly, drool slipping down your kiss swollen lips as one of your hands snake between your thighs and Frank's hips snap particularly harshly, the painful nudge of his thick, mushroom-y tip makes you gasp sharply.

"Not there, dollface." He hums, the hand on your cheek shifting ever so slightly, his calloused thumb brushing over your hole so teasingly. "Here."

You feel the wind leave your lungs, cheeks flushing even deeper and you nod your head so weakly, so shyly.

As you pop off the press-on on your middle finger, wetting your finger before reaching behind you.

Your digit pushes past the resistance, muscle tensed and tight around your finger but you persevere until your second knuckle from the base of your finger. And you're full.

You've never fucked yourself like this.

You've never been fucked like this.

Guess it really takes a man who has jack shit to live for, to make you squirt, soaking the cushions of your couch from the intensity. It's so depraved.

Sensations so fucking vivid that not even your sleep deprived mind could come up with fantasies that are half as amazing as the way Frank fucks you into oblivion.

You don't know how many orgasms you've had, you don't know when you started crying or even drooling but God, you don't wanna stop.

You feel a cool emptiness fill your core when Frank pulls out so abruptly, and you peek at him lazily, bleary eyes watching as he positions himself behind you. And you whine, shoving your face in the armrest as you feel his squirmy, salivating tongue dragging through your folds, all the way up to where your fingers thrust lazily into your ass.

And Frank pushes your hand away, muscular fingers digging into the fleshy mounds and he spreads you open in the most whorish way you could imagine.

And his tongue fucking pushes into you, and your brows furrow, nails clawing at the cushions and you nearly scream when he hikes your knee to rest on the backrest of the sofa.

And you feel like you're some kind of fucking dog, pissing on a hydrant when he fucks three, thick fingers into your weepy and overstimulated cunt.

Frank pants, dark eyes hazy and bleary. And all he's focused on, is making you a puddle of what you once were.

"I'm not fucking stopping." Frank breathes out, his voice a low, husky groan that has your insides twisting and turning.

"Not stopping until you're squirting yourself to dehydration."

[my-castles-crumbling]

Braids

"Moons," Sirius moaned, crawling onto Remus's lap and placing his head on his chest. "Head hurts."

Remus stared down at his boyfriend, concern in his heart. "Did you take a potion, baby?" he murmured, eyebrows knit.

"Hmm," the other boy murmured, but he refused to move.

"What if I play with your hair, love?" Remus offered, already carding his fingers through the inky locks. "You usually like that."

And Sirius nodded again, already moaning softly as Remus moved his hands, acting more like a kitten than the dog they both knew he could turn into.

It only took minutes. As Remus combed through Sirius's locks, he noticed his boyfriend nod off, his head becoming heavier on Remus's chest. He knew that Sirius often got headaches from lack of sleep- a result of nightmares and anxiety. Physical affect was a comfort he often sought out in these moments.

And even though he knew Sirius was asleep, Remus decided to keep playing with the other boys hair. He thought, perhaps, he could try to braid it. It didn't seem hard, and Sirius looked lovely with his hair pulled back after Lily plaited it. Little pieces always feel out and framed his face perfectly, making Remus want to reach out and kiss him with all the love and tenderness he deserved.

So he set to his task, quickly realizing that it wasn't nearly as easy as he thought. Tongue pocking through his lips in concentration, he focused, poking errant hairs into his masterpiece as he went, trying his best to smooth down bumps and make a pattern. Even though he succeeded in confusing himself more often than not, by the end of a half-hour, he found that he'd created a decent braid, if he did say so himself.

Then James and Peter walked in, rousing Sirius from his slumber, making him sit up and look around blearily.

"Oi, Pads! What the hell died on your head, mate?" James asked, stifling a laugh as he took in the sight, making Sirius look to Remus before hopping off him and heading to the bathroom.

A bark of laughter was heard even from Remus's bed. "Moony!" Sirius called, walking back to him and folding into his arms. "Did you try to braid my hair?"

"Yes," Remus grumbled, a bit abashed. "It always looks so beautiful when Lily does it, and-"

"It looks perfect, Moons," Sirius grinned, patting the back of his head. "Erm...maybe we can just ask Lily to give you some...pointers, yeah?"

And when Remus gave him another once-over, taking in the multiple knots he'd accidentally tied, he nodded in defeat.

[cattlemons]

hey!! it’s 💿 anon :)) i feel bad that i’ve only sent you angst requests so here’s a happy one! (because i adore everything about fall!!! cozy sweaters, warm tea, the pretty colors :)) it’s so great) maybe something about fall picnic dates/hangouts? with whatever characters you feel like writing for :D <333

Seasons of Change: Autumn Activities

Multi character! Diluc, Wanderer x Reader (separate)

TW: Nothing!

Diluc “You know, you could’ve told me you wanted to go out on a stroll,” Diluc huffed before continuing, “I would’ve brought you your coat, sweetheart.”

Trust in your husband to be a worrywart.

“It’s not even that cold out here, Diluc. It’s brisk at best,” you poked his side as you teased him on, “plus I’ve got my own walking fireplace right here. What would I need a coat for?”

Accepting his defeat, Diluc grumbled silently about how much of a tease his wife was. Though he wouldn’t want you any other way, not with how tightly his grip on your hands was. 

You continued your walk in balmy silence as the moon hung brightly in the inky expanse of the autumnal sky, wordlessly spectating the moment you two were currently sharing.

“Hey, husband,” you called, “what’s your favorite season?”

The husband in question rolled his eyes at your unusual nickname but thought of it as endearing regardless. He mulled your question over, knowing that you weren’t going to accept just any ordinary answer. 

It was silent for a few seconds before he answered, “Any season is nice when I get to spend it with you.”

He waited for your reaction expectantly though he wished he hadn’t because he saw your face scrunch in faux disgust before letting out a loud snort that stumbled and rolled into plentiful guffaws. Despite the source of your mirth stemming from his embarrassment, he couldn’t help but think he’d embarrass himself ten times over just to hear your tinkling chimes of happiness. 

You wiped your fake tears as you leaned into him and mused, “I never realized I married myself to a cheesy man. If you trained hard enough, I’m sure in a few month's time you’ll be giving Kaeya a run for his money.”

“You tease me relentlessly for my, ahem, creativity yet I’m sure if I answered you with a measly ‘autumn’ you’d tease me just the same for being boring,” he commented with a raised eyebrow. 

You nodded, “fair enough, your assumptions are correct. I do tease you quite a bit, don’t I?”

“I’d say much more than just ‘quite a bit’,” Your husband huffed out though a smile crept slowly onto his lips. Even as he defended himself before you, he can’t help but subconsciously adore you, smiling at just how comfortable you and your sly tongue are with him. He’s glad he makes you feel safe enough to goof off.

As you both continue throwing loving jabs at one another, he pulls you closer to him. You snuggle into him as you inhale the warm woody scent of your husband. All the familiarity that exudes from your favorite person in the entire world softens your heart like no other; the realization that he knows you much more than anyone does brings a pleasant sense of comfort that gathers and pools in the pits of your stomach. 

Out of the billions of souls wandering the planes of Teyvat, you’re glad that yours have found kinship with his blazing soul. You wonder how low you’d have to bow your thanks to Lady Luck for arranging such a beautiful fate. Thinking of him and how well your body fits into his pulls you to stand on the tips of your toes to give him the faintest of kisses.

You’ve kissed him with passion under the security of silk blankets, yes. You’ve kissed him with giggles in between both your lips, yes. But this feels entirely new but somehow familiar at the same time.

As your lips find purchase in his, his scarred fingers tangle themselves within your locks, intertwining himself as much as he can with you. 

The night breeze continues to whistle around you and the woodland critters of the night chitter away at the starry world but neither of you seem to notice. Much like you said earlier, he really does bring warmth along with him. A warmth that encapsulates your heart even on the coldest nights. Your very own walking fireplace. 

Your very own home.

The Wanderer

“Wow, I can’t believe you get this view for free all the time. This is incredible! I’d bet you can sell tickets and get a whole lot of Mora by taking people on joyrides. I mean flying is a luxury, you know... for most people, anyway.”

 The Wanderer huffed in annoyance as he threw you a not-so-icy glare while readjusting your position in his arms. 

“It’s not a smart idea to test my patience while your life is in my hands, idiot. I take my hands off of you and you’re plummeting to your death,” the man said a bit too matter-of-factly. 

You groaned dramatically about how he ruined the mood and poked some more fun at him knowing he wouldn’t dare drop you, you’d bet good Mora he knew that too.

As you fly over the canopy of Apam Woods, you both find yourself slowly forgetting your main objective of tracking down a gang of treasure hoarders that ransacked your campsite a couple of hours ago. It’s not like they stole anything of value, just a bunch of knick-knacks you picked up from a traveling merchant. 

“I know you once told me that autumn is the poor man’s winter but I'd bet half my fortune that this view has changed your mind,” you smile as you lean your head to rest on his shoulder before continuing, “Fall is probably the most boring season anywhere else in Teyvat but in a continent wholly filled with trees, you can’t help but appreciate the change in color palette.”

Despite his silence, The Wanderer understood what you meant. He wasn’t one to be awed by a pretty view but he admits that perhaps, just this once, it is worth the admiration. His eyes were so used to shades of teal and green that the moment they finally melted into the warmth of amber hues, he couldn't help but be struck by the beauty of change. Much like who he was made to mimic, he has a certain affinity towards the serenity of stagnancy but, he supposes, much like your presence in his life, you’ve shown him that there is a damning allure about transience. In all honesty, it’s quite a nice change of pace, certainly in his eyes. 

You can’t help but fill the silence as the breeze caresses both of you gently. 

“I know this is a one-time occasion but I wonder if one day I’d get to see this view again. The trees are like little puddles reflecting the setting sun like a camera capturing little snippets of a pretty, orange image,” you sighed into his shoulders, “maybe one day, I’ll learn to fly too.”

The Wanderer kept to himself as you muttered your sleepy wishes. 

As the sun continues its journey into the underworld, the sky begins to shift into a gradient of purple and blue; the colors of midnight sky dissolving into the glowing hues of past hours. The Wanderer found his own midnight eyes drifting towards your sleeping form in his arms. You looked so beautiful, your transient, ever-changing self. He wonders if your wish to see this view once more will come true next year or perhaps the year after that. 

Though he knows now that there is no permanence and assurance in the future, he hopes against hope that what you are to him will stand the test of time. Inside the hollow chambers of his chest, he feels the telltale warmth he only feels in the quiet moments you share with him. In that warmth lies his wish to fly with you in his arms, through every autumn he has left to share in this lifetime with you. 

a.n. Thanks for visiting, 💿anon. I hope you like this one even though it's rushed and barely checked for grammar mistakes. Sorry it's literally December when I post this :") we can just pretend it's still fall !

[solarisfortuneia]

alhaitham x reader. wc: 540. fluff. pt 3. of '—the scribe, in love.' pt. 2.

alhaitham always, always knows when something decides to worm its way into your mind. he can practically see it wiggle around, the gears in your skull turning and the cogs moving as you chew on your fingernail. the air around you almost buzzes with the energy of the idea bouncing in your head.

he watches you carefully throughout the day, one eye on his work and another on you. you keep stealing what he's sure you think are covert glances, and he bites back the urge to make a remark. instead, he decides to wait. 

when you approach him in the evening, two books tucked to your chest, he knows he'll find out soon enough. 

the countdown begins when you bring his head to your lap while he reads. with every page you flip above his head, he mentally marks another number.

three. two. one. 

“alhaitham?” 

there it is. he hums in response, eyes never parting from the words in his page.

“how do you feel about nicknames?”

now that, he did not expect. as he chooses his next words carefully, he carefully studies the glint in your eyes. idly, he wonders why you asked.

"i have no opinions about them," he says, after a few moments of silence. 

"so," you stretch out the 'o' sound, "can i call you my darling?"

"unexpected." he blinks. "but i don't see why not," odd, but a harmless request.

"can i call you sweetheart too, then?" 

"call me whatever you like," he sits up, deciding to get a drink of water. he only just takes a sip when you pipe up next.

"what about calling you my snookums?"

he chokes.  you and your timing. "does that word even exist in the dictionary?" he asks, attempting to nonchalantly distract you. 

goodness knows that if he let even a single moment of weakness show, you'd pick up on it and use the nickname on him for eternity. and if kaveh got wind of it?

the architect would haunt him with it for months.

you sigh, and that's when he knows you're nowhere near done. but you say nothing, so he assumes you're satisfied for the time being.

hours later, night blankets sumeru city, inky sky enveloping all. you've been suspiciously silent about your earlier topic of conversation. 

it is not until the two of you are comfortably settled in bed, your head resting on his outstretched arm as you face his chest, that he sees the gears turn once again. your eyes are soft, and your hand gently strokes his cheek. 

"can i call you hai-hai?" you ask, voice not louder than a breath next to his ear. 

color starts to dance on his cheeks, and he averts his eyes. he opens his mouth in protest, but words die in his throat.

who would've thought the acting grand sage, one who knows so, so many words, in so many languages, would be rendered speechless by a nickname, and such a silly one at that?

you do not wait for a response. a smile slowly spreads across your face and the hand on your face squishes, then pokes his cheek.

"hai-hai it is, then." you press a kiss to his nose. "goodnight, hai-hai."

you'd be the death of him.

[studiogrimm810]

Native Tongue

pairings/characters: (established) dean x bilingual!you

summary: when rescuing a family from a wendigo, dean learns that you are fluent in spanish and the way you swoop in and save the day really does something to him...

warnings: fire, lost in underground caves/mines, pretty tame

word count: 2,215

A/N: this was a request!! hihi!! so, unfortunately i never heard back about my questions regarding this fic so i went with spanish! i've been learning spanish for a few months and thought i would give it a try (pls don't bully me, i'm not fluent and duolingo has too much confidence in me).. if i made any mistakes pls lmk!!

———————

The trek through the dense woods lead you and the Winchesters to a deep mine. From the entrance, you could barely see past the inky black space it consumed. This had to be where the Wendigo kept its victims. Dean, reluctantly, went into the shadows followed by you and Sam.

A family went camping a few nights ago and only the oldest daughter made it back. You hoped with everything you could that the family was here and alive. The cave was winding and expansive but you trusted Dean to lead you through the tunnels.

There was a distant screech and the three of you froze. That was it. It had to be. Dean signaled back to you two and continued to slither through the cave.

However, before you could get much further, the creature lurked up behind the group and zipped past, taking down Sam in the process.

“Sammy!” Dean shouts, bolting to his fallen brother but in the process, it snaps past Dean and takes him away. Now is your time to helplessly call after him.

Sam sits up, shaking off the daze that was knocked into him and you help him back to his feet.

“It got Dean,” you say desperately, worry already gnawing at your gut. Sam looks around, trying to figure out which way it would have gone, his own features dipping in concern.

“It’s okay, we’ll find him,” Sam assures with a simple nod, taking a chance and heading down one of the tunnels. You follow close by, staying on high alert for any signal of Dean or the missing family.

———

Dean’s head is pounding as he comes to, rolling onto his back and feeling pellets of splintered wood poke under his back. Once he’s able to, he pushes himself up with a strained groan and looks around.

It’s some offshoot of the cave, a simple pocket of space lined with bones and old crates from when this was a mine. In the far corner though, there is a woman sat up, looking right at Dean with wide eyes and a bloody face. Beside her is a young man and a man about her age, both unconscious. It was the missing family.

“Hey there,” Dean braces, not making a move to his feet yet in worry he’ll startle her more. “My name's Dean, I’ve got people looking for us, we’re gonna be okay,” he explains, glancing around the room for any hint of the Wendigo. A crack high above funnels in some daylight so Dean was able to make out just enough to get his bearings.

“¿Que pasa?” The woman’s voice wavers like she’s about to cry. Dean's heart sinks. “No entiendo. Por favor- no nos hagas daño,” she sniffles, her arms draped over her boys, pulling them closer.

“Shit,” Dean mumbles, trying to think of any word he might know in Spanish to settle her nerves. “It’s okay,” he can’t help himself saying even if she won’t understand. He hopes the calmness of his voice will be enough.

She closes her eyes and continues to speak quietly, Dean assumes in prayer. He pushes himself to his feet and looks around the room, trying to find anything to help them. He no longer has his gun or flashlight so he has to be careful and not get lost. He ducks his head out into the main cave to see more tunnels and less direction.

Maybe if he could convince the woman to follow him he could lead them out of here, but there was no way they could carry both unconscious men through the winding caves with no weapons or light.

His best bet would be to just wait.

He turns back to see the woman watching him again. Dean holds up his hands and takes a cautious step forward.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he tries to reflect his expression of his words, “can I check on them?” He asks, pointing to the two men. The woman doesn’t respond and Dean didn’t really expect her to. Dean fishes in his coat pocket, pulling out his fake badge and holding it to the woman. “I’m FBI,” he waits at a decent distance. He would bet the woman was about to agree to let him approach but a deafening screech echoes through the tunnels and Dean drops his badge, covering his ears desperately. So does the woman. Then a distant gunshot rings followed by a shout that he knows is yours.

He stumbles back out to the opening and risks it, you sound close enough for him to shout for your attention. It’s not like the Wendigo doesn’t know him and the family are here anyways. He shouts your name. You call back and so does Sam- a promise that you two are on your way.

Dean turns back to the bundle of family in the corner and smiles softly with a nod. “It’ll be okay,” he can’t stop himself from speaking with her even if she doesn’t understand. He just wants to comfort her and give her a sliver of hope even if it’s in the form of confusing dialogue.

Soon enough, quick footsteps approach his location and he ducks back out into the tunnel, catching a glimpse of you.

“Over here!” He says just loud enough to get your attention. He can see the relief in your face, a gentle smile as you run to him and hug him tightly.

“God, you scared the crap outta me!” You scold, shoving him lightly when you let go of the hug.

“Still gotta get outta here, sweetheart,” Dean reminds but feels a little better knowing you and Sam are right here with him again. “And small problem, she doesn’t speak English so it might take some convincing to get her to come with us. Don’t wanna scare her more than she already is,” Dean explains, looking back at the woman who seems a little more threatened at the new people in the room.

“Are they alive?” You ask in a hushed tone, looking down at the men by her sides. You see in one hand she has a rosary clutched tightly in her palm. Between that and the family’s name of ‘Sosa’- you take a guess.

“Couldn’t get close enough to check,” Dean responds and you just nod. You take a gentle few steps forward and Dean starts to stop you but then you speak.

“Hola, ¿Hablas Español?” You ask and Dean’s brows raise. The woman nods and proceeds to spit out sentences in a panicked rush. Dean can’t keep up with the syllables but when you nod he assumes that you can. “Okay, okay, estoy aquí para ayudar,” you nod and so does the woman. “Te sacaremos de aquí. ¿Confías en mí?”

Dean can’t help but watch in awe. He never knew you could speak Spanish but the way it rolls off of your tongue he has to admit- it’s hot. The way you swooped in, taking control of the situation and immediately desculating the woman’s fear was impressive and he found himself wondering what else he didn’t know about you.

You earned the woman’s trust and now crouched right beside her. She continued to talk your ear off in a panicked rush but your patience was unwavering as you gently checked on her husband and son.

“Su nombre es Sam y Dean. ¿Ellos pueden venir aquí? Ellos pueden ayudar.” The woman nods at your question, glancing back at the two men behind you.

“Come here, guys,” you call back. Sam and Dean are a little stunned at your show of a hidden talent but they shake it off, following your command. “¿Puedes caminar?” You ask the woman again and she nods. “You two carry them out, keep an eye on her and I’ll keep an eye out for the Wendigo, got it?”

Dean’s unsure of why he finds himself blindly following your orders. It’s not usually in him to shut up and listen to someone else for once. But something about your confidence and skill makes him not second guess the switch. He makes the subconscious conclusion that he’d submit to you any time you instructed such.

The brothers follow your orders and as Dean lifts her son, he starts to stir.

“Me amor!” The woman gasps, reaching over to cup his face.

“Mama?” He croaks weakly.

You understand the fear she must be experiencing and how relieving it is to see her son awake. Hell, you just lived that upon seeing Dean’s face again a few moments ago, but there’s no time to waste.

You gently beckon the woman to her feet, assuring her that Sam and Dean have her boys protected. You give her a flashlight and instruct her to keep it forward so Sam and Dean can focus on carrying the men.

The tunnels are still as winding and disorienting as you remember but now your internal compass is doing a better job at directing you out to safety.

With a suspiciously unbothered escape, you approach the light at the end of the tunnel. But of course a distant screech halts the group in their tracks.

“Go, get out of here, now!” You demand. Sam hesitates but knows the life in his hands is your priority. Dean requires a repeated command from you but curses before leading the son and mother out of the cave, leaving just you against the creature.

Dean knows he has to help the victims. The mother refused to leave without her son and if he insisted on staying to help then that would be two innocent lives risked.

Once he gets a safe distance away however, he sets the now conscious son at the base of a tree. The mother runs to comfort him and the husband is now starting to stir.

“Stay here,” Dean instructs Sam who wants to argue but knows it’ll just be wasted breath.

Dean bolts back to the entrance, following the flicker of a flare gun shot. He calls out your name and follows the sounds of struggle. He turns just in time to find the Wendigo about to pounce on you but you successfully aim the flare in the center of its chest, causing it to stumble back. He watches as you take the opportunity to douse the creature in liquor from your flask, causing the flame to spread quickly.

He reaches for your arm, dragging you out of the vicinity of the flames and leading you out of the tunnel. The smoke quickly rolls after you two, causing a coughing fit amongst you, but you both successfully make it back to Sam and the family in one piece.

———

Red and blue lights illuminate dusty dusty gravel beneath the reflective flash against the silky coat of the Impala. Dean leaned against the hood, keeping a gentle and observant eye on you as you checked on the surviving daughter who is now reunited with her family. Dean finds it endearing how you still use the daughter's native language even though she knows English. He admires your thoughtfulness like that.

As you walk back over to him with your hands stuffed in your pockets he puffs up just a bit, throwing on a sheet of simple indifference decorated with sparkling eyes that you can confidently say outshines the first responders lights.

“Thank god you showed up when you did, I was worried she wouldn’t trust me,” Dean lied, looking over at the mother who hugged her daughter tight. He was sure that he was close to earning the mothers trust but he wanted to backtrack to you knowing another language.

“Guess you gotta get used to me saving your ass,” you joke with a few stray coughs littered in your exhale.

“You sure you’re feelin’ okay?” Dean presses one last time. He had been on you to take a ride to the hospital to get checked up but you insisted you were okay.

“Yeah, just some smoke inhalation. EMT said I’ll be fine,” you nod simply with the slightest eye roll. Dean was damn well insistent. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you spoke Spanish?” Dean asked, brushing off some soot he’s noticed in his sleeve.

“Wasn’t aware I had to run it by you,” you retorted.

“You don’t,” Dean scoffs, “just think it’s hot. Could’ve been having some fun with that one,” he winks with a devilish smirk. Your eyes widen slightly at his comment- you’ve yet to get used to his confidence in your few weeks of dating- and you slap his arm gently as you turn to lean against the hood with him.

“Maybe just for that comment I’ll withhold speaking further in my native tongue,” you try to tease back with the same suggestive confidence but on your ears, it falls flat. On Dean’s it settles over him like an electric wave at the way you exaggerated your sarcasm with your mouth, only proving his point.

“God, you’re testing me,” he mumbles to himself as he darts a quick glance to your lips.

“Keep your pants on, pretty boy,” you hiss quietly as Sam starts to make his way over to you two.

You swear that his face melts into something new and vulnerable at the pet name. Maybe that’s something you’ll get to toy with later too.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere @bejeweledinterludes @funkenniffler

[abductedhiko]

Little Brother

Hello trans regulus!!!

Um could any transfolk tell me if I’m doing this right? I’m not trans and idk if this is fully accurate but this is my interpretation of a character going through these kind of struggles :P

Tags: @oh-phoenixx @invasiveroadkill @im-a-mess-of-a-person @butyoureastarr @printershorts @sunshinewhosketches

Enjoy!

Regulus wasn’t always a boy.

Growing up, he was Cassiopeia, Cass or Cassy for short. A girl. The youngest daughter of The Most Ancient And Noble House of Black, raised and pampered with a silver spoon in her mouth to become a fine lady. She was to get married one day to a nice man—a pure blood, no doubt— and fulfill her role as a wife and mother. Her parents had made sure to drill that into her head any second they could get, and Cass lapped it up eagerly to earn their affection.

So…to think she could be anything else was very hard.

See, Cassiopeia was an excellent actress. She had known that something was different about her from a young age, her gaze lingered at the men’s clothings, and she often found herself staring at her brother’s chest. Praying, wishing, she could wake up just like him one morning.

She had to learn to cope with it sooner or later, so she just pushed it down. She acted like everything was fine until she convinced everyone everything was fine. Until she convinced herself everything was fine.

Any pang of dissatisfaction or uncomfortableness was buried under lace and dresses and makeup, until she couldn’t recognize her true self for years to come.

#

Cassiopeia stared daggers into her reflection, picking apart her features. She dissected the flaws, taking notes of what to improve on in the future. She hated how long her hair was, it got in her way and made her feel like she was suffocating.

And that’s when she saw them.

Scissors, sharp and long, on the counter.

She glanced black and forth between herself and the scissors. Her fingers twitched.

Suddenly she grabbed them, opening them and holding them up to a curl of her hair. Her hands shook nervously. She swallowed.

And she cut.

Once she started, she couldn’t stop. She cut and cut and cut until she wasn’t suffocated anymore and inky black locks covered the surface of the sink. Cassiopeia felt stray hairs tickle and make her skin itch uncomfortably. But she didn’t care, What she saw when she faced the mirror had made her freeze.

There he was. Like the sun peeking through the clouds after a storm. It was him.

Of course, he had always been there. Sitting, waiting. Waiting for a chance to be known.

And finally, here it was.

The haircut wasn’t the best, with jagged and crooked pieces poking out, but he was amazing and radiant nonetheless. And his name was Regulus, it had been for a long time, ever since his parents told him about the stars in the sky. He just knew, Regulus was his name.

“Regulus…” He breathed, bringing his fingers up to trace his reflection. The name felt like a comfort in his lips, he knew it much like a childhood friend.

He began to smiled regardless, euphoric joy overtaking him. Pure happiness.

He could breathe again.

Until there was a creak at the door. Regulus froze, his heart falling to his feet.

“…what the hell have you done, Cass?”

Regulus flipped around to look at who was there.

“Sirius.” He whispered, mortified.

“Your hair…” He said as gently approached him, confused and shocked. “Why?”

“I’m…not. A girl.”

“What?! That’s impossible.”

“No..” Regulus swallowed nervously, panic gripping his heart. “No, no, no. I knew you’d react like this.”

Sirius took a step further, but Regulus backed up against the sink, bracing his hands against the edge.

“Please… explain?”

“You’ll think I’m a freak. A defect.”

Hurt shown a little in Sirius’ eyes for a brief moment, Regulus couldn’t care. He felt very much like a cornered animal.

Sirius took a deep breath, pushing it out slowly. “Cass, I don’t think you’re a freak. I would never. I just need you to explain to me this. All of this. The hair, you. Everything.”

He opened his arms. Regulus hesitated before he fell into them. In the strong embrace of his brother, he felt a little bit braver. Like maybe, just maybe, he could do this. He could tell him.

#

“So… you’re a boy?” Sirius said slowly. They had sat down against the wall as they talked.

“Uh, yeah.”

“And your name is Regulus, not Cassiopeia?”

Regulus nodded slightly.

Sirius mulled it over in his mind, gnawing on his bottom lip like he usually did. When he made up his mind, he slung an arm around Regulus, tucking the boy into his side.

“I’ve always wanted a little brother.”

Regulus smiled a little.

“You’ve always had one, he was only just a little hidden.”

Sirius shrugged “Cassiopeia was a tacky name anyway.”

Regulus laughed lightly, his heart warm from acceptance.

[twst-drabbles]

Grim 6

Summary: You finally caught the little creature that's been lurking around your house. He did not come calmly, that's for sure. But, all it took was a can of tuna for things to quickly turn around.

(More kitten grim but in the house pet au, because it's pretty suiting.)

When you initially spotted this little cat-like creature, you didn't really do anything about him. You saw him, he saw you, and you just left him alone because you had assumed this cat-beast was part of some kind of bigger colony. Or perhaps a traveling one. Either way, you weren't under the impression he was some kind of domestic magical creature that you can just randomly take in.

But, of course, that was back when this blue fire creature was on the fat and plump side. But then you spotted him one day, laying down at the foot of a charred tree, fur missing in places and the bones of his spine barely poking through the skin. The fire that always billowed out of his ears? It was barely stronger than a candle's light. You don't know what happened, all you can assume was that he probably lost his food source.

So, you quickly grabbed him by the scruff and he woke up with very high-pitch, very distressing yowl. His mouth opened wide, swiping his claws about to try and both scratch and bite you. Horrible decision on your part, but you didn't have any traps, and you don't know anyone that could come quickly enough before he woke up and moved again.

Luckily, just by the feel of his skin, he didn't need to be rushed to any emergency vets.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," you walked as quickly as you could, thankful that your house was nearby, "It'll be fine, I promise."

You rushed through the gate, ignored the stunned looks of Ace and Deuce, and went to the room you had dubbed "the quarantine room."

You planted the cat's fighting self on the floor, and immediately dashed under the wardrobe. All you could see now was a pair of glowing, glaring blue eyes, ears pressed so tightly against his head it hide his flames.

"You can't even spew flames at me, huh?" Not a single lick of it. "Hold on a moment."

You carefully exited the room and swiped a can of tuna from the kitchen. After speaking with Crowley in the backyard and getting a small bottle of blot, you went back to the room. This creature has not moved, still warily watching you for anymore acts of betrayal.

Then, you pried open the can. The minute the metal tab cracked the lid, the cat's pupils went wide, and his little nose poked right out from beneath the wardrobe.

"Time to blow your little mind," and you uncorked the bottle of blot and poured it over the tuna can. Smelled horrible, like burnt fish oil. The cat rushed out, but stopped awkwardly in the middle of the floor when he probably realized what he was doing. Claws dug into the floor, head stupidly big on his tiny body as his fur stood on end as if you were the one that forced his legs. "You ain't the smartest huh? Here."

You put the can down and slid it to him with a light kick. Before the can could fully stop before the puffed up cat, he pounced onto the can and buried his face in it. His too-big ears moved and twitched with every ravenous bite, whole body trembling as you heard that classic, angry myan myan myan noises as he ate.

You crouched down just to watch. Briefly, the kitten looked up, face smeared in bits of tuna and inky blot, hugged the can closer and went back to eating.

Well, you guess it's about time you had another addition to the house.

"Not even gonna share huh? How rude." You got back up and dusted off your clothes. "You're staying here for now, at least until you get too big for this house. Let me go get you some water."

But, you'll have to be a little careful, you can see two little shadows right under the door, probably trying to peek in. You can see a little glimpses of little tulips and lilies. Certainly wouldn't want to agitate this blot eating cat more than you already have.

[coeurify]

ellie comes home from patrol in the middle of the night.

was sad and touched starved last night so this happened..

…

Sleep had never been your friend. She had never graced your mind with her fingertips the moment your head found a pillow, never let you press your eyes closed when she turned the sky dark. If anything, you think she may be an enemy, out to get you with every chirp from a cricket that you just couldn’t ignore, looking to taunt you with the flashes of infected and other dark nightmares when your eyelids shut. Even after you settled in the safe town of Jackson, sleep and you had never made up.

This rivalry between you and sleep only got worse when your girlfriend was away on patrols. Ones that lasted many rises and falls of the sun. You would sprawl out on the too empty bed on these nights, clutching one of Ellie’s pillows as you begged for a night with no arguments from your mind.

Tonight was no different. It was your second night alone, your only company that of the crickets sent outside to steal drowsiness from you. The mattress of your bed had grown too stiff all of the sudden, leading to hours of tossing and turning under the cream-colored sheets. Long after the sun had set and the town around you got quiet, you stood up.

Pressing your bare feet to the cold wood under them, you found your heart taking control over your body, tugging you to the shared dresser that sat against one of the walls. Your fingers danced over each drawer, eyeing as much as you could through the darkness until you came across what you were looking for, a un neat drawer on the bottom left, slightly off the hinges, with a shirt poking out. Ellie’s drawer. You press it open, grabbing the first shirt you come in contact with, clutching it to your chest. Your previous shirt is tugged off and thrown to the floor with little care to wear Ellie’s instead.

It's something she wears often; you can tell by how it’s ripped in some areas. You stumble back to bed, fingers pressing into the fabric in the act of self-soothing as you find your way back under the covers and squeeze your eyes shut. You do your best to convince your mind that the fabric between your fingers is worn by Ellie instead of yourself, that she’s lying next to you.

It works, eventually. You don’t quite remember falling asleep, just that the black vision between your eyes was no longer the faces of clickers or worries of where Ellie may be. For once, sleep had patted your back with an open hand instead of a closed fist, she had welcomed you into her arms and lulled you into the inky dark of rest.

It didn’t last long. The one time you found sleep while alone was rudely interrupted at an hour you assume is ungodly, eyes blinking open only to be met with more black. The force that seemed to wake you was the sound of shoes banging against the floor, a sudden shift of the mattress next to you, and something large pressing into your back.

You feel the tickle of skin against your neck when a nose nudges you there, fingers that weren’t your own finding your hips to pull you against them. Ellie.

“Babe?” you whine, throat thick with tiredness as you try to swallow it down. “Go back to sleep,” the voice, undeniably Ellie, whispers in response.

“You woke me up.”

“I was being quiet,” arms wrap around you next, finding the skin under your shirt.

“If that’s you being quiet, I hope I never have to go on patrol with you,” you bite through yawns.

“Shut up,” Ellie mutters, pressing further into your neck to place a small kiss there. Your nose crinkles at the action, the sudden smell of god knows what invading your previously clear nose. “I missed you,” she continues.

“You smell like the woods, Ellie,” is your only reply, gaining you a low scoff. For a moment, you lose the heat of her body, listening to the shuffling noises of her moving around. It isn't long before she's against you again, though this time, the skin of her bare stomach meets the cloth of your shirt. You could only assume she had stripped down to her bra and boxers, which you would chastise her in the morning for not doing before laying in your bed. You guess she had been just as eager as you to return to bed with you, so you don’t say much. She takes position against you again, arms wrapping around you. “Better?”

You hum as an answer, eyes finally falling closed. “What time is it?”

“Late, or I guess really early,” your girlfriend mumbles into you. A shiver raises on your skin when she begins to trace over them nonchalantly.

“Thanks, genius.”

“Go to bed,” she groans, fingers finding the hole in the sleeve of her shirt. You swear you can feel her grin against you, a hot puff of air finding your flesh when she chuckles. “Are you wearing my shirt right now?”

Even in the darkness, you can feel the heat on the back of your neck crawling to the front of your face, and you fight the urge to shove your face into a pillow. “Yea.”

“You miss me that much?”

“Always,” you answer truthfully, another yawn escaping you as she draws shapes into your skin. Sleep had never been kind to Ellie either, and she had made it a repeated pass time to comfort herself with you. Playing with your clothes, and your hair, drawing random letters and numbers into your skin with the pads of her fingers, until it made both of you fall asleep.

“Missed you even more,” is the last thing Ellie says before you feel your mind slipping away again, this time with no argument from any outside factor. You had been woken so abruptly that your head hurt, but that ache left as soon as Ellie’s breathing slowed behind you. She never let you go, if anything she gripped you closer as she fell asleep.

You would gladly let Ellie interrupt your sleep any day if it meant she was coming home.

[angel-of-the-moons]

I need me some venom angst…

Can you do some Venom/Eddie x reader angst? Whatever you want idm! Also the reader is goth. No specific reason. I just like goth girls…:P(sorry if that last part was weird idk how to say it…)

*cracks knuckles* Hoooo I'm boutta make y'all cry up in this bitch (I know I said I only had requests open for 2 days but I only got two requests during that time frame so you get this as a lil treat 😘)

Chocolate Friends

Venom x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Angst angst angstttt! But don't worry , it gets fluffy!!! Depression, mentions of domestic violence/abuse, self-harm, suicide attempt, Reader has long hair and piercings (I love me some goth girls, too, especially the classic onesss)

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

It was a typical night in the city--the nasty, dirty, smelly city that was crawling with vermin once the lights went out.

But during October, it was different. Especially because of Halloween. Children frolicking in the streets, asking for goodies and playing games... well, people of all ages, really.

They needed someone to look out for them.

And that's what they did. That's what he did.

Venom. The one many consider to be a "bad guy". It's not his fault he needed to eat people's brains to survive. And besides, he promised Eddie he'd only eat "bad guys".

Which is what he did. A you g family with their two innocent little children were on their way back from a candy carnival when they were jumped by three men with masks and blunt weapons.

They weren't expecting Venom to be prowling the streets tonight--to be right above their filthy, filthy heads. They certainly didn't expect to have their heads bitten off, either. (Venom of course ensured the children didn't see anything of course, neither he nor Eddie would ever traumatize such tiny people!).

The police showed up not long after, but before that, one of the children rushed up to Venom and placed in his massive hand a little plastic baggy full of chocolates!

Venom patted the little boy--dressed like some green video game character--and left before the police barley rounded the corner.

"Tonight was amazing!" Venom growled as he popped another piece of chocolate into his maw. "Ate some bad guys and got some chocolate!"

'Yeah,good job, Vee.' Eddie chuckled softly from within.

He practically skipped from rooftop to rooftop across the city, humming and singing to himself as he did.

However, something gave him a pause.

Atop some sort of warehouse building was a figure dressed in all black. His first instinct was maybe it was some idiot trying to be some kinda super villain. They were all over the place, these days.

However that changed as he silently crept closer. He strained he and Eddie's combined senses to the highest level to examine the person.

You.

You were crying. Your long, wispy black hair blew in the breeze from the dank city. Your face was an almost ghostly white with thick black streaks cutting through like tar on snow. Your dark lips trembled, your snakebite piercings (At least that's what Eddie said they were) poking through the delicate skin, shining off of the dim city lights.

Your eyes were shrouded in thick, heavy eyeliner and eyeshadow, your wispy lashes brushing your cheeks as fresh tears fell.

Your feet teetered on the edge as you looked down, your hands grasping one another as if having second thoughts.

"Oh, shit!" Venom cursed to himself.

You were going to jump.

He thought quickly, rushing and leaping onto the rooftop with you. You either didn't notice or didn't care, your entire body shaking in the chilly air.

Your clothes had holes shredded into them in multiple places. Fishnets poked out from beneath your baggy pants, the chains tinkling as you shifted your weight around; an equally baggy shirt for some grunge band or another fluttered a bit as the breeze caught it.

Your nails were a nice, lacquered black, almost like his own inky body.

Apparently Venom and Eddie both blue-screened and their body merely acted on its own accord.

He plopped his butt down on the edge of the roof next to you, hanging his massive legs over the side.

"A little close to the edge, right?" Venom tried to say lightly. He could just barely make out the scent of blood on you, and he didn't like it. Neither did Eddie. They were both worried for you, and they didn't even know who you were.

"Wh-what do you care?" You asked, your voice trembling as you side-stepped by an inch, your eyes hesitantly dragging to the dirty street below.

"Just a little close, is all." Venom grumbled out with a shrug, kicking his feet a little.

"One wrong step and--" He made a descending whistle and then a "boom", gesture with his fingers. "Splat! Wind up decorating someone's car for Halloween in a real gross way."

Despite yourself, you huffed out a laugh, followed by a sniff, "Well it w-won't be a problem I have to worry about then, would it?"

Venom snorted, "True. But think about the poor guy that's gotta scrape the bits off the sidewalk! Traumatizing!"

You shook your head, swallowing deeply.

A tense silence falls between you as you continue to contemplate your fate--trying to make that one decision whether to end it all or back away like you have so many times before.

Venom broke the silence as subtly as a bulldozer trying to drive over a frozen lake.

"So. Why are you up here?"

"Because I want to die, wh-what does it look like?" You sniffled, trying to fight back the fresh sobs that tried to claw their way out of your chest.

"Well, yeah. That's obvious," He replied, tilting his head to the side to look at you. "But why?"

"I... I just..."

You weren't prepared for that. Nobody just asked you things. Nobody cared. Nobody just asks someone why they want to die. Right?

Your shoulders slump as you collapse into a squat, burying your face in your arms as you cried.

"I'm so tired... I can't take it all anymore."

"Can't take... what?" Venom pressed gently, his body relaxing slightly, hoping your new posture indicated you weren't just gonna swan dive over the rooftop.

"I... I try so hard, y'know?" You whispered, barely audible from how you had your face buried. "I try to take care of him, to help him get better, but... but he turns around and says it's all my fault. That it's all me. That he only does it because of me."

Venom looks at you, his fingers twitching. Ah. So that was it. He let you continue;

"I know he doesn't mean it. He just--he gets so angry when he drinks. Tonight I tried to h-hide the b-bottles and he... he just--"

Venom feels something nasty twist in his gut as you choke off into another crying fit.

"But he's my dad. If I don't s-stay... he's all alone. And he's gonna drink himself to death!"

"If he needs you, why are you up here?"

You snapped your head to look up at him, your makeup smeared down your face as your brows pinched.

"I mean, obviously your dad needs some serious help, but by your logic, he won't get it if you're not around..." He looked out into the city streets for a moment, "Don't understand it."

"I..." You swallowed, your mouth going dry. You sighed deeply, letting your body sag. "I don't know. I'm so tired. I'm sick of people treating me like shit just because of how I dress--I-I had an old lady hit me in the back of my head with her cane because she said I'm some kind of--of Satan worshipper!"

Venom growled lowly, making you jump a little as the sound vibrates off your bones, "Stupid." He spat.

"Y-yeah!" You say, letting your feet dangle over the edge, like his.

"It... It's just that I like being like this! But nobody has ever understood it!" You say, exasperated. "They just... They just..."

You couldn't find the words to continue, and was shocked when Venom held out his hand, offering tiny wrapped pieces of... candy. Chocolate?

"My other half says chocolate is good when you are sad. It makes your brain feel better." He said rather plainly. He could have gone into details of the effects it had on the human brain, but you didn't seem like you were in the mental state to have a scientific conversation right now.

Your shaky fingers take the morsel, unwrapping it before popping it into your mouth.

"So people treat you bad because you like to dress in all black?" He scoffed.

"People always equate goths to bad things in general." You replied sadly, your eyes downcast around the chocolate as it coated your tongue, "I'm not even really into the subculture itself, I just... sometimes the fashion is pretty and the makeup is crazy intense y'know?"

Venom grinned, happy that you've stopped crying, offering you another piece of his previous chocolate loot and letting you vent to him.

"What's wrong with dressing in all black?" Venom said, puffing up his chest a little dramatically, even striking a bit of a pose, "I think the look goes quite well with everything."

The sound of your laugh made him relax a little bit more, the tenseness in the air fading as he shared his snacks. He listened to you talk about the kinds of clothes you liked, makeup, music, how you DIY'd some of your own fashion yourself; and most of all, how people treated you because of it.

But the only person to really accept that was your dad. He just had his own problems, and didn't have the strength to drag himself out of the pit he was drowning himself in after he got laid off from the job he'd had since you were a baby. Since before your mom...

Little by little, your exterior chipped away and the sight of the real person you were came bubbling to the surface. Despite your dark aesthetic, you were a very bubbly and sweet person. Perhaps caring a bit too much about others rather than focusing on yourself, yes, but it showed how big your heart really was.

Eventually, the candy ran out. And you apologized. And before you knew it, it was well past midnight.

You don't want to jump anymore.

"Do you want some help?" Venom asked.

You nodded, whispering; "Please."

He took one of your tiny hands into his, as if you were made of the most delicate porcelain and lifted--pulling you onto the rooftop with him.

You rubbed your elbow, feeling guilty for everything, despite what was going on that wasn't your fault.

Venom could tell you were still feeling upset... and he didn't like he could still smell blood on you.

"... you're hurt." He finally pointed out, noticing how you flinched.

"It--it's not that bad." You muttered, your heart pounding as Venom crossed his arms and stared you down. Not in a malicious way, but in a way that said "I'm not falling for your bullshit".

And, of course, you break. You tell him about how sometimes, when the pain gets so bad, you... hurt yourself. You take a razor, or a knife or a pair of scissors and just... cut. The injuries are always to your legs so nobody can see, so they are easily covered by pants, but... obviously Venom could smell they were there.

"How about this." He held up a finger, "Meet us here again tomorrow night. My better half will get us more chocolate--"

His head snapped to the side and he growled, "You promised!"

Venom turned back to you after apparently having an argument with... himself, and said, "--and then we can sit down and talk some more. It can be our little chocolate spot any time you get the feeling like you want to hurt yourself. We can give you our number!"

"But..."

"No buts!" He said, wagging his large finger at you in reprimand.

You can't help the laugh that slips out of you, wiping at your face, uncaring if any more of your makeup got ruined. Despite yourself, you nod.

"Yessss!" Venom hisses, holding out his fist for a bump. "Chocolate friends!"

"Ch-Chocolate friends." You hiccup, giving him the bump.

You never came back to that rooftop with the intention of throwing yourself off of it, after that. It only became associated with your new and unlikely friend, the sweet treats you shared, and the knowledge that out there--there was somebody even weirder that you who was treated as much as an alien that you were.

And he/they had one hell of a sweet tooth.

[haunting-venus]

line 'em up and measure ↳ lo'ak sully x male!human!reader

content warnings | smut ( mdni ), characters are aged up, brief description of wounds, slight intoxication, mutual masturbation, literal dick measuring contest, xenophilia ( alien biology ), dirty talk, praise

word count: 3995

notes | this was originally supposed to be for the last day of @eywaite and @tallulah477 romancing pandora event, but life got in the way. still, i couldn't get this out of my head so please enjoy this now !

na'vi dictionary | narlor — beautiful ( visually )

It was stupid—absolutely fucking insane, really—the situation you’ve planted yourself in. You knew you were a trespasser, not looked upon with any grace by Eywa on this exomoon but fuck, this must be some kind of sick joke.

“Dude, my dick is definitely nicer than yours.” Lo’ak’s cheeks are flushed with alcohol, grin toothy and shit-eating as his knee bumps yours.

You’d come across the Omatikaya purely by chance—a lone xenobotanist presumed dead after the tragic and fiery crash of your research team’s buggy in the depths of Pandora’s forests. You’d been warned about the local indigenous population, of course, and had been explicitly told your group was not important enough to risk more lives should you fuck up this exploration.

No one was looking for you, and you were alone on an alien planet with nothing but a scalpel and a faulty research tablet.

You’d wandered for hours, bleeding and disoriented, ears ringing with the impact of your buggy into the tree and heart pounding in fear at the inescapable situation you were now in. You were certain that you were smaller than anything in this forest, and that your sluggishly bleeding wounds and pounding headache would soon make you easy prey for whatever roamed in these woods.

You’d thought the time had finally come as you gasped against a tree for air, vision blurring with pain as your legs shook with the exertion to keep you upright. The air was rife with beastly screeching, the sound so high-pitched you thought briefly that this might be what death sounds like. The deafening flapping of giant wings had you scrambling to the forest floor, using the last of your strength to move pitifully away from the gnashing jaws of the creature who landed in front of you.

You were able to catch a glimpse of worried golden eyes and a lean blue frame that towered over you before the world slipped into inky blackness.

You’d learned afterwards that the Omatikaya did routine patrols in the areas known to the RDA, scheduled bouts of precautionary scouting should the Earth’s military ever stray too far from their boundaries. Well, you’d strayed a lot, apparently.

The man who’d saved you had carried you in a princess hold before the chief, his strong arm holding up your back and looped under your bent knees. It should’ve been embarrassing, you thought, a grown man having to be carried like a ragdoll by a stranger who was bargaining for your life to be saved. Then again, you didn’t exactly have time to worry about how tough you looked when you were on the verge of slipping unconscious again.

It had taken over a week in the medical care of the nearby human outpost before you were on your feet again, body weak from dehydration and healing minor fractures. The man who saved you, Lo’ak, came to check on you regularly, asking questions about your life and your intentions—how you’d wandered into the Omaticaya borders, why you were traveling in the forest, if you had any trackers on you, if anyone was following you.

After several days of him poking and prodding at you with questions, he returned with a much more intimidating man at his back—The chief, Jake Sully, adorned in ornate feathered regalia and a stern expression.

You knew you were best off telling the truth—you were a researcher with many injuries, nowhere else to go, and of no harm to any of the People. You’d even offered to leave once you healed, return to the RDA encampment with tight lips and fake amnesia, though Jake Sully had quickly brushed that off. It was in the People’s best interest that the RDA never knew you came in contact with them, and the only way you could do that was by never returning.

You were met with a mix of fear and anger from the local population. You were an intruder, an unwanted reminder of just how closely war knocked at their doorstep. It would’ve been easy to feel isolated, a bird without a nest.

Except you were surrounded with the most incredible flora and fauna you had ever laid your eyes on, the lands near the village so much more rife with life than the secluded bases of the RDA. The scientists at the outpost just outside the village welcomed you eagerly, sharing their notes and knowledge and living space with open arms. Then, of course, there was Lo’ak.

Lo’ak was a friend, one of the few that you’d acquired in the months since the crash. Turns out, one of his best friends was a human boy who’d grown up in the labs outside the Na’vi encampments, Spider, so he was neither scared nor angry with you. He was mostly curious, poking and prodding you with questions about Earth and showing you hidden wonders of the Forest when he got a rare day off.

He was also damn beautiful—tall and indigo-skinned, with lean muscles and swirling tattoos over the length of his strong arms and the curve of his ribs. You would be able to get over your little infatuation with some ease, you’d met plenty of good-looking people in your life, except he wasn’t just beautiful. He was fucking kind too, and it drove you nuts. 

So yes, Lo’ak was beautiful, funny and kind. He made you feel safe and wanted in a world that wanted to kill you at every turn, and he did it with the most endearingly toothy smile you’d ever seen.

He was also the chief’s son, which made him explicitly off-limits even if you did have any chance in any multiverse of getting to be with him. Which was exactly why you shouldn’t be in this situation right now, lazing together on a couch that is far too small for the two of you, passing a leather flask of pxir that was quickly emptying.

You must have been more drunk than you thought, letting the rogue idea slip between your teeth. It was supposed to be a joke, really—a dumb quip about how much you missed getting dicked down back on Earth. Your options were extremely limited, even more than they had been in the RDA outpost. At least over there there had been some sexually repressed military guys to get it on with. Here, everyone was either decades your senior, or definitely not your type.

“You just need to get some Na’vi cock. It’ll make you forget all about whatever puny action you were getting on Earth, bro.” Lo’ak laughed

 You were two young men, tipsy and comfortable with one another, it was completely natural to talk about sex. You knew that the Na’vi were extremely comfortable with sex, seeing it as a connection between life forms, something natural and beautiful. Plus, humans were inherently curious, not to mention repressed and hormonal. You figured that sexual experimentation between the two species was something nearly inevitable.

Still, it made you hot beneath the collar, having Lo’ak’s eyes so keen on you with hazy comfort as he suggests you get down and dirty with a Na’vi. With someone like him.

“Hey, watch how you talk about human cock. I’ve still got one, dude.” You scoff, taking another deep swig of the bitter alcohol. It’s always been so easy this way, hiding your discomfort behind sarcasm and dumb jokes. “Besides, it can’t be all that different.”

“Dude, my dick is definitely nicer than yours.”

It should be insulting. It is insulting, you tell yourself. That’s why your cheeks flush so devastatingly red, definitely. “Oh, fuck you, pretty boy. If that’s what you tell yourself to sleep at night, go ahead.”

“Well, there’s one way to find out.” Lo’ak’s eyes glisten with amusement, obviously reveling in the dumbstruck look on your face.

That was another thing you’d come to love about Lo’ak. He was always competitive, even over the stupidest things, even with stuff that will get him smacked or killed. He jumps at any opportunity to prove to himself and others that he was capable and brave. It usually made your heart flutter with admiration, now it just puts you on edge.

“You’re not seriously suggesting to whip it out, are you?” You chuckle

“What, you’re scared I might be right?” He goads.You’re about to deny him, about to insist you’ve had too much to drink when you’re barely even feeling a buzz so you can  

Except that Lo’ak is already pulling his hips up from the couch, moving to sit up on the arm of the seat so he can untie his loincloth. His muscled torso stretches while he extends his body, black swirling lines of tattoos he acquired with the reef tribes etched down his ribs and tapering just at the edge of the v-line leading into his bottoms.

It’s completely stupid and irrational. It’s definitely something that could get you smacked or even exiled if people found out. Hell, Lo’ak could never talk to you again if he knew what dirty things were running through your mind. It’s also the start of every stupid, dirty fantasy you’ve been unable to repress for months.

If you were a stronger man, you’d get up and leave. Except, you’re not.

“Alright, pretty boy. Put your money where your mouth is.”

Lo’ak’s grin is a little smaller than before, still confident but edged with something that seems bashful, his tail swinging leisurely behind him. It only takes a few tugs of his practiced fingers for the leather of his loincloth to loosen, then fall to the tiled ground of your room.

You feel ashamed for looking, even though that was the whole point of this stupid competition, if it could even be called that. You try to keep your face neutral as Lo’ak lighty spreads his legs, brows furrowing a bit. The apex of Lo’ak’s legs resembles more of a human female’s anatomy than anything. His skin is smooth, hairless just as the rest of his body, the darker stripes on his skin narrowing to a slit in his crotch

You swallow heavily, tucking one of your legs up to your chest to hopefully obscure the growing bulge in your shorts. You try to keep your voice even, teasing, even as it shakes. “From where I’m standing, looks like there’s nothing to compare, bro.”

“Fuck off, just give me a second.” Lo’ak mutters, cheeks warm as he brings a hand between his own legs. “Only humans are dumb enough to have their shit hanging out all the damn time.”

You’re glad to see a flush on Lo’ak’s cheeks, hear the gruff rasp of his voice. It’s comforting to know you’re not the only one a little affected, and you feel a bit of hope blossom inside your chest.

His fingers move between his legs, parting the slit with soft movements, his fingers shining with slick between his legs as he coaxes the opening open. He keeps his lips tight, chest moving with heavy breaths at each of his own touches.

Your eyes are rapt at his every movement, heart pounding .You briefly wonder if this is how he touches himself when he’s all alone, if he makes the same heavy breaths and twitches of his ears.

It takes only moments for something to begin breaching the folds of Lo’ak’s slit, his breath coming a little heavier. Slowly, a cock emerges from the sheath inside his body, a lighter shade of blue tapering to pinkish at the tip. There’s no balls that follow it, though the base seems a bit swollen as he hangs at half-mast before you. 

“Whoa.” You clear your throat quickly, averting your gaze from Lo’ak’s laughing eyes. “Thought you’d be bigger, honestly.”

It’s a big fat lie, and an obvious one too. Even without being fully hard, Lo’ak’s cock almost easily matches the length of your forearm.

“Oh, fuck off. I can smell you, you know. I know just what you think of your first Na’vi cock.” His tone isn’t malicious, just teasing, each word laced with 

Your face flushes, fingers twitching anxiously against your thigh that still sits tucked up against you. It’s easy to forget how superior Na’vi senses are when you spend so little time with them, especially outside of the lab. You briefly wonder if Lo’ak has been able to tell every time you’ve felt a flare of arousal in his presence, if he had connected the dots that your brain constantly wandered to your filthiest thoughts in his presence.

He leans forward, pressing one hand on the arm of the couch behind you. He’s close now, his breath near ghosting over your face as his eyes search yours. “Your turn. Not much of a competition if I’m the only one showing off, now is it?”

This is quickly treading into dangerous territory, something that sobers you up quicker than any water of coffee could. Lo’ak’s hand is still cradling his length, just ghosting lightly along the enlarged base as he leans over you with his muscled body. You know you’re hard, can feel the blood rushing from your head to pound between your thighs, can feel your length pressing uncomfortably against the cotton of your shorts. Unlike him, there’s nowhere for you to hide, no way to conceal just how affected you are.

You feel like you’re free-falling, diving head first into all the emotions you’d convinced yourself would be better off tucked away. Part of you wanted to keep it all at arm’s length, to let this be a moment of lust, another memory to be tucked away. The other part wanted to jump in feet first, consequences be damned, fuck the fallout.

You steel your nerves as Lo’ak backs off a little, giving you the space to undo the buttons of your pants. You know you can end this all with a few words, that if it really bothered you Lo’ak would forget this ever happened and never bring it up again, because he was that kind of guy. Except, you’re sure you aren’t imagining the lingering heat in Lo’ak’s gaze, or the excited flick of his tail as his eyes follow the movements of your fingers as you drop your pants.

You don’t need visual confirmation to know you’re already hard and leaking, the tip of your cock red and aching as your fingers ghost along your thighs.

“Looks like I win.” Lo’ak’s voice is breathier than before, his knee brushing against your leg as he lingers closely to you. His hand still sits close to his own cock, which has made no signs of retreating back into his body.

“Okay, you’re obviously gonna be bigger than me. You’re a fucking giant.” Your face flushes, trying to ignore the throb in your cock as Lo’ak’s eyes trail across your body.

“Don’t be so hateful, bro. No one likes a sore loser.” 

“Yeah, well, at least I have more stamina than you.” It’s so easy to slip back into teasing sarcasm, like a shield you can put around yourself to keep all the confusing emotions at arm’s length. It helps you feel some control that has been steadily slipping away, grasp onto some sort of reality.

Lo’ak just chuckles lowly. “More stamina? I’m a trained warrior, bro. Stamina is my game.”

You snort, trying desperately to forget the fact that you’re both naked beneath the waist. “You’re the most reckless fucker I’ve ever met. I bet you blow your load in two seconds.”

“Oh, come on, you’re the pent up little scientist. You really think you can last longer than me?” Lo’ak’s voice deepens, one of his hands trailing up across the outside of your thigh as he shadows over you.

“Try me.”

Lo’ak’s mouth is on yours before you have a chance to regret the challenge. He’s so much bigger than you, and the way his entire mouth encompasses yours is strange but not unpleasant. One of his hands eagerly comes up under your shirt and along your ribs, the other holding up his weight on the couch behind you. You run your fingers up along the planes of his body, tracing the ridges of his ribs and the curve of his shoulders, to embed them in your memory.

He gasps as he pulls away from you, his hips dipping to nudge his hardening cock against your hip as he leaves a line of wet kisses from the corner of your mouth to underneath your jaw. You vaguely register his tail thumping excitedly into the plush of the couch, the way his ears twitch forward to catch every hitch of your breathing.

“Shit, you’re so hot.” Lo’ak’s voice mumbles across your skin, canines grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as he pushes himself closer to you.

“Touch yourself.” You gasp, tightening your grip on Lo’ak’s bicep as he pushes his hips down into you.

Lo’ak pauses. “What?”

“Come on, you wanted to talk a big game. Let’s see how long you really last.” Your grin is devilish, edged with excitement and desire as you trail your fingers teasingly across the muscle of his arms. You delight in the little shiver that passes through him.

“Wouldn’t you rather be the one to touch me?” His voice is raspy, breathless as he nibbles along the curve of your neck.

“Oh, where’s the fun in that, pretty boy?” You bite your lip in a grin, resting your forehead along his own. “We want this to be a fair trial, and having my skilled hands on you could definitely skew the results.”

Lo’ak laughs, removing his hand reluctantly from your ribs to palm along his own cock. “Fine, no touching. For your results.”

You can feel yourself steadily losing control as you lean back and watch Lo’ak—the way he teasingly trails his fingers down his own chest and across his cock, the little gasp he lets out when he tightens his fingers around the base, the desperate hitching of his hips as he keeps his eyes firmly on you as he works himself over.

Lo’ak’s eyes flick expectantly towards your own hard cock, moaning loud as he finally sees you grip yourself in your palm. You’re so sensitive and it’s been so long, each touch feels magnified with Lo’ak above you, watching your every move with panting breaths. Lo’ak slows his movements on himself a bit, moving to grip himself at the swollen base of his cock. His reaction is immediate, a deep groan vibrating through his chest as his eyes roll a bit.

You tighten your grip on the base, heat shooting through you as you drink in the sounds of Lo’ak’s moans. Fuck, of course he’s loud. Your lips brush against his own as you speak. “Jesus, the sounds you make are fucking incredible.” 

A knowing smile reaches across Lo’ak’s flushed face. He parts his lips to run over yours, drinking in the sigh you let out. “Really? Well, you’ve got a pretty incredible mouth too.”

“S-shut up-” You gasp. You know you should go slow because some stupid part of you still wants to win, to make Lo’ak come undone first because of you. Yet, you can’t help the way your fist tightens at each wet little gasp coming from Lo’ak’s mouth, the way your hand quickens around yourself as you watch his pretty cock move through his fist.

“It’s true. You don’t know how many times I’ve done this thinking of your stupid smart mouth, how it would feel.” Your breath hitches at Lo’ak’s words, each breath emphasized with the roll of his hips into his own fist.

“Oh, oh, shit.” You know your desperation is seeping into your tone, suppressed moans barely being hidden by your gritted teeth. You’ve always been weak to Lo’ak, and now is no exception, especially now with the admission that he’s thought of you before.

“You look so sexy like this, all spread out under me. You know, you’re always calling me pretty boy but you’re putting me to shame here, narlor.” Lo’ak’s eyes are hazy but calculating, watching each expression on your face as the filth he’s saying echoes into the air around you. He has a look in his eye, like he knows he’s winning.

“Oh fuck you.” You groan, your hips moving desperately up into your hand. You can feel the heat of Lo’ak’s body encompassing you, the head of your cock brushing against his leg with each movement of your hips. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Hah, really?” Lo’ak gasps. The sly grin that comes across his face is all the confirmation you need.

“You’re trying to get me off, by…by saying that stuff. I-it’s cheating.” You moan as your fingers snag against the head of your cock, catching the precum leaking from your tip to slicken the slide of your fist.

“Oh, that wasn’t in the rules,” he teases, licking a stripe up your neck. He lowers himself closer to you, the head of his cock bumping against your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. “Not my fault I can’t stop thinking how perfect you’d feel wrapped around me.”

Fuck, you don’t know if he means your mouth or your ass but it really doesn’t matter, either one of the images sending your brain into a frenzy. A moan rips through you, fingers twisting around your cock. It’s so easy to picture how Lo’ak would look inside you, or how he would fall apart on your fingers. It has you hurtling dangerously close to the edge.

Your breath quickens as you look up into Lo’ak’s eyes, dark pools ringed with the slightest amount of gold. His tail coils around himself, wrapping possessively around your shin.

“Fuck, look at you. It’s like you’re out of a wet dream.” Lo’ak grits his teeth, pushing his cock up against you as he strokes himself. You can see the slick from his slit dripping across his cock and down his thighs, a sweet and musky smell coating the air.

“Hah, have a lot of d-dreams about me?” You tease, but your voice is thready, more pleading than asking.

He grins against your lips. “Maybe. Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And fuck the thought has you reeling. It’s so easy to see Lo’ak in your mind, waking up hot and needy to dirty thoughts of you, half-asleep as he stuffs a fist in his mouth and strokes himself to completion with your name on his lips.

“S-shit, shit, Lo’ak, I-” your breaths come in quick gasps, too turned on to care about any embarrassing sounds that are leaking from your throat.Your body is thrumming with energy as heat coils tightly in your stomach.

“I want you to come, narlor. Right now, on me.” Lo’ak groans and you can feel his fist bumping into your hip with his rapid movements. Your eyes are clenched shut, riding the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm 

“Come, let me see it. Now.” His voice is urgent, pleading.

“Oh, f—uh-”

The muscles in your thighs clench as you buck up into your fist, your cock bumping Lo’ak as you come across your fist and stomach, smearing your release onto your partner with each movement onto Lo’ak. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulder, a moan tumbling from your throat as you come harder than you ever had. Maybe there was something to Lo’ak’s theory about Na’vi cock after all.

Lo’ak isn’t far behind you, panting into your mouth as his hips move unsteadily against you. His throat strains around a loud groan, and you’re able to open your eyes just soon enough to see his face scrunch in pleasure, ears twitching with each rolling wave of pleasure pulsing through him. 

You try to commit the look to memory, down to the lopsided and dopey grin that stretches across his face. Lo’ak sighs with satisfaction, his dirty hand coming to rub softly across your hip. “Told you I would win.”

You can’t help the giddy smile that comes across your face, giving a peck to his grinning lips. “Best two out of three?”

[skulls-soul]

Are there any fanfics in were Bowser signs a peace treaty because he wanted to date Luigi…

Like imagine Bowser is trying to get Mario’s blessing to date his brother because Kamek told him to (do it right this time you’re impatientNess)

Mario, of course says “ over my dead-a body. Will I allow-a you to date my brother”

It was only once he was talking to peach (he took Luigi and himself to the castle for Luigi’s protection that, and he was worried that the princess was gonna get kidnapped again) when she gave him the idea to give him trials and so throughout the entire afternoon Luigi just sat there, watching Mario and peach and daisy who they called up specifically for this conversation on what kind of things Bowser can do to prove himself

Although, at some point, Daisy mentioned about when exactly did Bowser get feelings for luigi, which intern cause everyone to turn to Luigi to see if he had any answers 

Luigi begrudgingly admitted that him and Bowser  would strike up in conversation during sporting events, party games and racing competitions, growing into being a bit of a “situation ship” ( say thanks to @silly-inky for the “Situationship” they mentioned it in a post of theirs, and I loved it too much, that I couldn’t not implicate it into something of mine)

Anyways flabbergasted, they started questioning Luigi on why he would strike up a conversation with the king Koopa. only for luigi to respond with “ you want me to ignore the koopa King or something? I don’t have a Deathwish!”

 They were shocked to hear that Bowser of all people would start up a conversation with one of the Mario brothers, although, in hindsight, it is just as equally as impossible for Luigi to start a conversation, if not more. Not letting the conversation go they poke around for more information

Luigi, without getting too into detail, tells them that it started off with a simple question. Bowser had asked him what he was doing in the sidelines instead of with the others in which Luigi responded with how he wasn’t as popular as the others, and would only be in the way

Mario and princesses didn’t appreciate this “fact” and was quick to tell him

Peach: you could never be in the way!

Mario: you have fans!

Daisy: yeah, me!

Luigi simply just shook his head in which the others were ready to tell him off once more if it wasn’t for the fact that Luigi spoke, saying how Bowser said something similar

Luigi: “ he said how he couldn’t believe someone who fought him was anything but popular”

 once again, the other three humans are caught off guard by Luigi’s words, or more specifically this time by Bowser’s. each of them having the same thought about how oddly kind that was of him

Luigi decides to forego mentioning about how his face immediately went hot with flustered embarrassment at Bowser’s words and instead mentioned that he intern, asked Bowser why he wasn’t with a Koopalings. After all his mama raised him right, if someone strikes up (somewhat) polite conversation with you then you should recuperate if possible

 Mario nods in response to that, the Brother ‘s were nice to the fault for a reason although it seems Luigis kindness surpasses Mario’s by a hair

Luigi: “ so after that, we just kind of started talking more and more sense we seemed to be on the sideline together a lot”

Luigi refuses to give more details, they don’t need to know about the copious amounts of time that the reptilian caused him to blush

Or about all of the flirty comments and what if scenarios that would slip into their conversation

Anyways, (I got a bit side tract sorry) by the end of the conversation that Bowser should sign a peace treaty with a Mushroom, Kingdom and Sahara desert that would lead Bowser in to doing charity work

Princess, peach and daisy were hoping for a an alliance(tho hopes were low) while Mario was hoping for Bowser to stick with his pride for once, since the Koopa king would never!!! Do charity work

 luigi on the other hand was sweating profusely as he hoped that Bowser would pass this trial that will allow them to be happy and open together 

Soon they will see who gets there wishes

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][attempted divorce][manipulative man][condescending but make it sexy][underwater oral (f! receiving)][a gaslighting king][fingering][cowgirl][cockwarming][denial][petnames][he's a little bit crazy but in a cute way][established relationship]

"Just sign the papers, Minhkhoa!"

You feel erratic. The urge to claw your eyes out getting stronger the longer Khoa draws out this divorce, chestnut eyes focused on the blue and gold fountain pen between his muscular fingers, instead of the stack of documents in front of him.

"No."

His calmness frustrates you to no end, forcing you to let out a low and annoyed groan, dropping into the seat across from him, brows pinched into a frown and lips tugged downwards.

"Just sign—"

"I'm not signing the papers." Khoa interrupts, his gaze lifting from the pen to meet your eyes, before he sets the writing tool down on the mahogany, interlocking muscular digits on the varnished surface.

"Tell me, petal," Khoa hums, "how do you know what this is?"

Your brows knit into a confused expression, upper lip scrunching in that way that makes him look at you like how a lion would look at a deer that's wandered into its den with flowers on its antlers.

Enchanted, but still, you're prey.

"Know about what?" You question and he motions towards the stack of paper.

"Divorce?" Your expression falls. "You're asking me how I know about divorce?"

"Yes." He answers with an exhausted huff, before leaning back in his seat, muscular arms crossing over his broad chest and his biceps bulge with the action. "How do you know what a divorce is? Who taught you?"

Is this what it feels like to see red?

"The fuck kind of question is that?!" You hiss, hands clenching into fists, so hard that your knuckles are turning pale. It's a stupid question, but you can tell that Khoa got the answer he wants, the outburst. Especially when you see the way the corners of his mouth twitches, his tongue peeking out from between pearly teeth, pointed canines on either side of the wet muscle.

"Darling, you're clearly overly emotional. You're not thinking this through."

God, this is making you rethink the half a decade you spent married to this gaslighting, manipulative, psychotic and aggravating man.

"How about we take a nice, long hot bath, and we can talk out our problems like grown ups, instead of being childish and pulling the divorce card, hm?" Khoa goads you, lifting himself from his seat across from you and rounding the kitchen table, his hand grasping your jaw in a firm yet gentle hold, before leaning down, pressing a kiss against your lips before he pulls away, and moves towards the bedroom, ready to fill the ensuite tub with scalding water and a plethora of bubbles.

"As if a bullshit law could stop me." Khoa hums, softly but loud enough for you to hear that melodious chuckle slip from his lips.

"No order can restrain me, darling. None."

When you make your way towards the end suite, that seductive scent makes your footsteps stagger and you need to gather your bearings before continuing.

The scent of oud, woody and cardamon cling to the air alongside the slightest hint of chocolate, and the flickering of golden candlelight makes you cringe inwardly.

Steamy air makes it almost difficult to see, bathroom tiles slippery with condensation and fogged up shower doors and you gaze drops to where Minhkhoa rests at one edge of the tub, arms outstretched along the porcelain and honey-toned knees poking out from between foamy suds. Damp, inky hair clings to his forehead, his broad chest wet and dripping with water, and you shrug off your clothing as he turns his head away from you.

A feign of modesty and respectfulness, when Khoa is anything but.

His very existence is a crime against humanity.

A cesspool that wraps a hand around your wrist, tugging you closer to him once you step into the tub and you sink beneath the water, popping bubbles and suds kissing at the flesh of your chest and shoulders when you lean back against his broadness. Feeling the way squishy pecs and carved abs press against the curve of your spine and his arms wrap around your midsection.

Face nestling against the curve of your neck.

"You want to leave, sweet girl? Why?" Khoa questions, his voice a low, husky timbre and when it's paired with the steam that clouds your vision just a bit, the scent of spices and sweetness....

God.

You feel guilty that you've wasted printing ink on all those documentations because you know— you just know that even if Batman himself interfered and Superman was his hype man, no one could free you from the skilled and... Oddly nimble clutches of Minhkhoa Khan.

You swallow, trying to find exactly why you want to leave him.

Rude.

Unapologetic.

Psychotic.

Possessive.

Territorial.

Demeaning.

Manipulative.

Certified gaslighter.

"You don't take me seriously."

You respond, your voice small and you know damn well that you could belt at the top of your lungs, you could argue for hours and you could give Khoa a black eye by the end of this bath, but calloused fingertips trace slippery infinities at your side while his lips brush teasing kisses along the curve of your neck.

"I take you seriously." Khoa argues, his head lifting the slightest bit and he dips, his eyes meeting yours and you see that little furrow in his brows.

"I take you very seriously."

One very skilled and very muscular hand dips even lower, fingers circling your slippery clit and you're not sure if you're even breathing anymore. Not when one hand clutches your jaw gently, forcing you to keep eye contact with him, while his other hand makes teasing ministrations that make you glad that your feet are hidden underneath the bubbles.

Heaven knows Khoa would have a field day watching your toes curl while you're trying to explain to him why you want a divorce.

It feels like looking into the eyes of a cobra.

A dark brown canvas, painted with slivers of gold and yellow, hazel flecks and chocolate streaks that make his eyes look like a marble, pulling you into the endless vortex that are those endless pupils.

Strands of wet obsidian cling to his forehead and the back of his neck, Khoa's head tilts as he examines you even more carefully. Like a scientist looking at an insect underneath a microscope and he lets out one of those low, purring hums that make your ankles itch to be the accessories that decorate his earlobes.

"I take you more seriously than anyone else."

He speaks quietly, before lowering his head, brushing his lips against yours just as two fingers slide gently into your gummy cunt, and he inhales just as you take that shaky gasp, reveling in the way your lashes flutter shut and your hips buck, trying to take him all the way.

"Eyes on me." Khoa breathes out with a low hum, his fingers tracing over your jaw while his other hand continues to work beneath the surface of the water, watching with pure adoration as your eyes flicker open.

And Khoa gets to watch, in seemingly slow motion, as your lips part to let out a whine, as your eyes roll back in your head when his fingers push all the way in, his wedding band flush against your fleshy pussy lips.

If you thought there was nothing more hypnotizing than watching Khoa's eyes roam over you like he's trying to burn your image into his brain, you realise that it has nothing on the way he shifts against the bubbly waters.

Resting you back against the porcelain, Khoa positions himself between your thighs, carefully guiding your legs to part for him before he slowly sinks, his eyes remaining on yours.

And they only shut when he has to pass through the bubbly surface.

Muscular hands grasp the fat of your hips, lifting you just enough for him to make himself comfortable, and your stomach clenches when you feel the way his tongue drags through your folds, tasting you.

Two fingers slide into your cunt and you feel the way he prods at that little gummy spot he's always found with far too much ease and his tongue circles your needy clit. You feel the way his pointed nose bumps at your hood, your fingers lowering beneath the frothy surface and your nails scratch at his scalp, digits entangling themselves in his hair.

Khoa groans beneath the water and you don't bother wondering why he knows how to hold his breath so long. Because it's Minhkhoa and he's got a set of skills that go hand in hand with his job.

With each pass of his tongue and each thrust of his knuckles, Minhkhoa feels the way your cunt spasms as your orgasm nears, and your chest heaves.

"Khoa, I—..." You breathe shakily, one hand gripping the edge of the tub while the other remains knotted in his hair, raven tresses wrapped around your fingers as you push his face closer to your drooling and overstimulated cunt.

Khoa teases your clit with the tip of his tongue, before soft lips find purchase around the bud, and your lashes flutter, eyes slamming shut and stars begin to dance behind your eyelids. Because you know he's doing this with purpose.

A leisurely tongue fuck that has your mind racing for ways to not inflate his ego by coming too fast, but it's too late because by the time you get to the conclusion of thinking about his past lovers, your toes are curling and you're coming around his fingers.

Khoa doesn't stop either, fingers bullying your cunt like they owe him money, suckling and teasing your clit until it swells, peeking out from between velvety folds and it's only when your hand moves to his forehead, meek attempts to push him away do nothing but egg him on, but Khoa raises his head nonetheless.

The crown of his head pierces the bubbles, and he cards his hand through his hair, pushing the strands back and you watch as he kneels, water dropping down his toned torso in rivulets and bubbles and his eyes open.

Half-lidded gaze with wet lashes and you're panting, reaching forward and using your dry hand to wipe the water away from his eyes.

Khoa lets out an amused hum, and thats all he does before carefully repositioning you, holding you like you're porcelain and cradling you in his lap.

Like you're precious.

He guides your hands to rest on his broad chest, positioning them in a way that you can feel the calm, steady beat of his heart beneath sunkissed flesh and he watches as you raise yourself just enough, your legs still weak as you wait for Khoa's next move.

Carefully, notching the flushed tip of his cock against your slit, and Khoa's eyes remain on yours as he guides you to sink slowly, his eyes only fluttering shut once the curve of your ass is flush against his sack.

Each inch is a tantalizing and burning stretch, the kind that makes you wonder how you're even surviving because regardless of whether or not Khoa fucks you like he's a rabbit in heat, you never get used to the stretch.

His cock presses a sloppy kiss against your cervix, precum leaving his tip in thick, goopy drops and smearing against your fluttering and gooey walls, and he gives an experimental roll of his hips.

Feeling the way your nails threaten to break the skin of his chest and Khoa lets out a low groan, head tipping back against the porcelain before he runs his tongue over his teeth.

Candles have flickered out, the bathroom is relatively darker but you can still make out that animalistic glint in Khoa's eyes as he regards you, hands moving to grasp the curve of your hips beneath the surface of the water, fingers digging into the plumpness.

He keeps you from moving, forcing you to sit and feel each twitch of his cock against your constricting walls, but being unable to do anything about the way he just so shyly avoids that spongy spot.

Khoa wants nothing more than to watch you bounce on his cock, to feel the hot water lap at his torso with each of your movements but he knows you need to learn your lesson.

"Go on, lovely." Khoa urges you. "Explain to me why we need a divorce, again."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@fayethefaerie 🦋

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@allycat4458 🪻

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

[mamadovie]

Could I ask for a drabble or smth where it's just after a female vampire db has found Kaidan? Like they've just gotten to Ivarstead and when he finally has the time to fully look at her cause they're able to rest at the inn, he notices there's something...off about her eyes. Glowing, slightly tinged red, etc. He asks her about it when there's nobody around--possibly slightly angsty (maybe a smidge of hurt/comfort?) because the db doesn't like being a vampire but hasn't been able to see Falion about the cure yet because she hasn't found the item she needs.

If this isn't your thing please feel free to ignore it!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⠀ ⠀ ⠀𐙚 KAIDAN.

A N: I love this idea sm. From what I gather, you mean when Kaidan and the MC first meet, by 'where it's just after a female vampire db has found Kaidan'? That is how I will write it, if not, I am sorrryyyy.

A B O U T: You're a vampire, and Kaidan finds out.

W A R N I N G S: Angst, blood, hunger/violence.

Your secret was a painful one, and one that had you holding your breath every time a mortal was in your presence. You didn't choose vampirism, it was cursed upon you during your travels. Even though it's a goal of yours to rid yourself of said curse, a man by the name of Kaidan flipped that plan upside down. Between the potential threat of the end of the world and the Thalmor that drove their swords up your asses at each turn didn't make it easy to find the cure.

You were hungry, so much so that your teeth ached against your gums and as the sun glared down upon you, you craved for the cold weather, where Skyrim's sky grew dreary and upsetting; everything was heightened and you felt as if you were about to pass out.

Kaidan didn't pay much attention. He was still aching at the bones from the torture that he endured up the abandoned prison. He noticed you wince whenever he'd press at the wounds, the blood seeping through his wraps. But he gathered that maybe you're a little squeamish. Who was he to judge?

And the fact that you wore your hood up all day, then again, maybe you're trying to lay low. Who knows? It's not every day that a general member of the public goes delving in abandoned prisons that's threatening to collapse. You're obviously a person that's either up to no good or up to something. He can't judge about that either. He's not exactly got the cleanest background.

So he allows space between you both. He doesn't want to step on any toes, you saved his life, and the best he can do is shut up and try to allow himself to heal.

But on the inside, you're bubbling away. Each time he unravels the wrappings, when he cleans himself, you watch the blood mingle with river, and you feel your fangs protrude in your mouth, angry and sharp. But you can't. No, you really can't. You need to heal. You need to get a black soul gem. You need to.

As the sun melts into the horizon, you watch it with glee as your shoulders sag in relief. It’s almost night, the sun would give you a few hours of mercy and Kaidan would soon sleep, leaving you to venture into the woods to feed on its wildlife — it wasn’t the best, but it helped you survive, not to turn to ash in the sun or die of literal starvation. But you couldn’t ignore the pounding in your head, you needed a cure and fast; or soon you would feed on human life, and so far, Kaidan has proven to not only be useful but he’s also not that bad to travel with. You really didn’t want to wake up covered in his blood and his body mauled like a bear lost a competition and threw a fit of rage. 

Returning from the edges of the river, an alchemy pouch dropped from his hand and onto the floor, “just found it, might have some stuff you’d like.” Kaidan shrugs, poking his fingers at the fresh wounds against his torso. Wincing, you look away and grab the pouch. 

A few ingredients flooded from the pouch but something seemed stuck, probably a stupid soul gem, not the kind that you wanted, anyway. Pulling it out, your eyes widen as you take in the inky-toned gem. “By the Gods.” You could have cried. 

“You hungry?” Kaidan asks, stirring the pot as he shrugs off the coming cold. You forgot what it felt like to feel cold. To feel anything slightly human. But you had a chance now. Finally. 

“No, I’m not.” You say, still looking at the black soul gem. “Tomorrow we're heading straight to Morthal.”

From inside of the dense thickets, your teeth ached against the withering being as it shook on the floor, sad and wide eyes blinking in paralysed terror. You learned to look away, not being able to withstand the guilt. Killing bad people is easy, robbing the rich is easier still, but taking innocent animal life stung. But it wouldn’t cost you your life in the dungeons, or getting killed by the Dawnguard. No, feasting on animals was safer. 

“What in the…” A voice, a very unique and memorable voice called from behind you. Looking back in fear, you wipe your mouth and stand up, your entire body tenses up as Kaidan watches you. Fiery red eyes, long and jarring fangs, your mouth covered in blood and your skin glowed in the moonlight. “You’re a … a vampire?”

His knuckles whiten against his sword, his jaw clenches and for the first time, he looks at you with disgust. You can smell the fear radiate from him, his blood is stricken with betrayal — you’re a liar. You deceitful little bitch. 

“No!” You shout before he walks any closer, your blood eyes shaking in… fear? He quirks a brow up, aren’t you the predator here? So why do you look so.. Ashamed. So scared. 

You’re a monster. Not something to sympathise with, you lied. Lured him in. 

“The black soul gem,” you raise it up in the air. “I filled it just. That’s why we’re going to Morthal, I know someone who can cure me, please, believe me, Kaidan.” You beg, your entire face scrunches up in remorse. 

Kaidan remains conflicted as he loosens his grip on his sword with hesitation, “why didn’t you tell me this before?” His question almost makes you laugh because isn’t it obvious?

“I knew that you would react like this. To try and kill me.” You say with a deflated tone. “Just believe me, Kaidan. I beg of you.” 

Kaidan stands in the cold for a few moments, looking you over before sighing, “fuck. Alright. Straight to Morthal, we’ll head off now. The sooner that you’re cured the better. You can't live off of animals forever.” 

You finally breathe out, your entire body relaxes as he allows the edge of his sword to drag across the floor rather than your neck as you head back to camp. You both clear the camp up and set off early into the morning where you can keep your hood off and tell Kaidan all about the curse and how it met you.