#I want to draw al being soft and I only believe he’d be that around Rosie

[greykolla-art]

I want this horrible man to be cherished by his best friend!❤️

#grey art #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin rosie #radiorose #i just don’t want them to ever be separated! #let them be in each other’s presence! #I want to draw al being soft and I only believe he’d be that around Rosie #rosie should also adopt me #queer platonic relationship #platonic soulmates #I want to draw them kissing a little too

[tnystrk-exe]

Estocolmo 3

Hannibal x Reader

Masterpost

First Chapter

Warnings: 18+ thigh riding, in a public setting, degration, cockwarming

Word count: 6k

Chapter Three

Maybe you hadn’t thought through about going to Hannibal’s dinner party. In the moment you had just missed the sound of his voice. His touch… Okay, you were motivated by other things than how much fun you would have at this little dinner party of his.

However you had to pull a lot of strings and work extra shifts, just so your bosses would even consider letting you off for a couple days. You were a valuable worker, one that would damage them to lose, but pettiness didn’t know any bounds. The stress was adding up. Still you trudged through it all. Not one to ever want to end up on Hannibal’s bad side.

You didn’t like making the perfect, polite ones angry. Loud anger you could handle. You were used to it. Quiet anger was just upsetting. He’d be upset you let him down, but he wouldn’t say it right. A soft sigh followed by a half meant it’s okay would probably be the most he’d give you. Disappointing him was a no go.

“I can’t wait for you to leave.”

“You’re so good at making me feel loved.”

“You know I do!” She laid back in your bed, arm’s comfortably behind her head, “But since you planned yourself a date. I did too.”

You grabbed clothes and threw them into a small duffel bag. “The chick from work?”

“God I wish. Can't work up the courage.”

“Don’t tell me you called up Reggie,” you laughed.

“Don’t tell me you got called up by Hannibal,” she mocked your voice. “Look! We’re a team! You can get dicked by someone that doesn’t deserve you. And I’ll romance a very pretty woman the entire weekend.”

“When is she getting here?”

“I’m shooting the text the second you’re out that door.”

You sighed, “You replace me so easily.”

“Oh baby,” she cooed, “Remember who’s leaving who.”

“A couple of days. You could be lonely for a few days.”

Alex walked you out. Stressing that you had to text her throughout your drive. It was only a three hour drive, but a lot could happen within that time.

All in all it wasn’t a bad trip. Monotonous without your usual partner in the passenger seat, but not bad. Your nerves bit at you. Hannibal’s social presence really was everything to him. Your head ran though countless ways you could mess up the night. Ultimately you wouldn’t, you knew that, but your brain sure did like to torture you with the idea.

“Everything will be fine,” you told yourself as you parked alongside the manor. Staying in the car for a moment you built yourself up. It was Hannibal. He knew about your home life. How you took your coffee. The things you’ve allowed him to do to you. Probably some understanding of things that he hadn’t done to you yet. A knock on your window pulled you out of your thoughts.

Opening the door you got out of the car.

“You weren’t thinking of running away, I hope,” Hannibal greeted.

“I wasn’t. Nerves,” you admitted. “It’s usually just the two of us, y’know…”

“Darling,” he scoffed, adjusting a piece of your hair, “I have no doubt in my mind that my companions wouldn’t adore you as much as I do.”

You moved to grab your bag, only for Hannibal to immediately take it from you. “You say that now, but that’s only because you’ve become accustomed to that certain charm I have at three in the morning after a night of studying. I’m not sure I can be as adorable to all of your friends.”

“Anyone that thinks otherwise has no place in my home.” Hannibal grabbed your hand in his own, leading you to the manor.

Once the front door closed, he wasted no time pulling you close. The kiss was long and rough. Both attempting to make up for lost time in the limited minutes you had. A soft moan from you made him press you against the door, the bag that had been in his hand long forgotten. His hand pressed lightly against your throat as he pushed a knee in between yours.

It was a long while before he pulled away. He rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed my favorite plaything,” He spoke into the shared air, “You’ve been away so long.”

“Your favorite?” You asked, looking at him dazed.

He smiled, mischief in his eyes. “I’d wager they couldn’t kiss you so well you’d look at them like they hung the stars after.”

“I do not!”

“Of course you don’t, darling.” He picked up your bag. “Come, we should start getting dressed.” You followed Hannibal up the stairs to his room. Apparently yours too, at least for the next couple of nights, since he emptied the contents of your bag into an empty dresser drawer. “You’re more than welcome to explore if you do get uncomfortable. I know meeting a sea of people can feel overwhelming.”

“I’m just afraid I’ll be out of place.”

“You’re exactly where I want you to be,” he disappeared into the walk-in closet, “The other’s are decent enough people. However, it makes sense that such divine beauty doesn’t fit in amongst commoners. I’d never dream of you finding yourself their equal.”

You walked over to examine the drawings he had hung on the wall next to his bed. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of such high thought.”

He came back, placing the suit and dress onto the bed. Standing behind you, he wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. “I really do mean it, beloved. You’re strong and intelligent. As much as I’d like to, you won’t allow me to pull strings and help you. That’s more than most of the crowd coming over tonight. They haven’t faced hardships like yourself and I. Don’t allow yourself to be treated less than and, please, tell me if anyone makes you feel that way.”

You turned your head, kissing his cheek. “I’m not sure I believe it, but I’m grateful for the thought.”

“I simply must make it my mission to prove it.” He inhaled deeply, “You’ve changed your perfume?”

“I liked the one you bought,” you said simply, getting out of his arms, you looked at the dress he had gotten you. The piece of fabric was easily the most expensive thing you owned now. It didn’t match his suit, but the two certainly complimented each other. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I want to,” he went to open another dresser drawer, pulling out a small box, “Consider it all a graduation present. You worked hard and deserve a reward for it. We didn’t get a chance to see one another before you left.”

“You’ve had these since then?” You asked.

“Of course. How could I resist an opportunity to find you a gift? And with Alex so graciously allowing me to buy you a dress, I figured tonight would be a wonderful time to give you your gift.” He opened the jewelry box.

“Hannibal,” you gasped quietly, the jewelry glimmered brightly, “It’s beautiful.” Usually you weren’t one for objects, but this was also the most thoughtful thing you’ve ever received. Hannibal had taken the small bits he knew of you and picked out the perfect pieces of jewelry for you. It was the feeling of being known so well that made it special.

“The second I saw this set I couldn’t help but think of my darling girl. Would you like me to put the necklace on you now?”

You quickly shook your head, “After I get dressed, please. I wouldn’t want to risk dirtying it while I’m getting ready.”

“In that case, I’ll show you where you can get ready.”

You grabbed the things you needed to make yourself look presentable and followed Hannibal to the bathroom. To your surprise he started to undress after he hung up his suit and your dress. You shrugged it off and set your stuff on the counter, you were more than comfortable with him and you and Alex had taken to doing similar in your cramped bathroom early mornings. The shower turned on while you took out your makeup. His humming filled the otherwise quiet room.

When you were pleased with how your makeup looked, you moved on to fussing with your hair. The shower shut off and your eyes wandered briefly in the mirror. You watched the show as he dried off his chest and followed the towel up as he dried his hair. He caught your eye, brow raised, you shrugged and sent a wink his way.

You got undressed, tossing your clothes in the hamper as you did. Walking over to the dress you felt the fabric between your fingers, studying the intricate pattern that was sown on to it.

“You don’t like it, darling?” Hannibal asked as he buttoned his shirt. “There’s another in the closet, but I was hopeful you’d like this one. You'd look stunning.”

“Admiring,” you stated simply, “Wait there’s another?”

“There’s a show, I’d like to see tomorrow. I figured it could be an outing for us.” He checked himself over before styling his hair. “This is ‘Making it worth my while’ as Alex said.”

“Han, you know better than to listen to Al.” You sighed, “I’m grateful, I honestly am. It’s just embarrassing. I really can’t give you anything in return.”

Hannibal came over to you, holding one of your hands in his. “They’re simple trinkets of my affection. In the end they all mean nothing. YN, you grace me with your presence and time, which is something that can never be repaid in form. I hold you dearly, your time is more than I deserve.”

You stood on the tips of your toes kissing him gently. There was all the time later for a rougher touch. Now you just wanted to feel him pressed close against yourself. A brief flick of thought asked if you really wanted this to just be a fleeting thing between friends. Pulling away, you gave him one final kiss to the side of his mouth.

“You’re allowed to give me one gift a month,” you teased, as you grabbed his tie and set to work on tying it for him. “You’re not my sugar daddy, as much as Alex wishes you were.”

“And you’re welcome to set as many rules as you’d like when it comes to this. However, what’s forcing me to follow them?” His hands grazed along your sides, “We both understand who makes the rules, don’t we little one?”

The part of you that had become accustomed to that particular tone, faltered slightly. “Hannibal, we’re not always in sessions,” you reminded him as you tightened the tie, “You can’t just have your way.”

“Why not?”

You shook your head, annoyed, “Or you can do what you’d like. It’s your wallet after all.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately, “I don’t want to offend you.”

You let it go, there was no use to fight over this. “It’s okay, you’re only teasing right?”

“May I please see you in the dress?” He asked, lightening the mood.

You turned, returning to the piece of elegant fabric. Carefully you pulled it on. He really was excellent when it came to fashion. The dress hugged the right places and accentuated everything wonderfully. Hannibal stepped behind you once again. Zipping the back for you, his fingers trailing up as he did. Carefully, he moved your hair to the side as he fixed the necklace in place. Dipping his head down, he kissed that spot on your neck he had quickly learned turned you to putty in his hands. You leaned against him, angling your neck to give him better access as a soft moan escaped. His teeth grazed gently against your neck, he seemed to toy with the idea of making a mark before backing away. As much as he’d enjoy to see it blossom, he knew you had many first impressions to make.

You whimpered at the loss of contact. Suddenly realizing just how much you had missed him.

“I know, little one,” he sighed, pressing a kiss on the side of your ear, “but we have a night to get through. After this, I belong to you. We will have all tomorrow for each other.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

-

The dinner party was beautifully done. Of course it was. Hannibal never spared any expense, let alone when he was trying to impress. He had introduced you to a couple people, they were nice enough, but you just couldn’t find a connection with them. You definitely steered clear of Bedelia. That woman was intimidating to a whole other degree. Definitely someone you could actually see Hannibal going after. You wondered why he didn’t.

An hour into the dinner party, you slipped away. He had said you could explore and honestly, without him you weren’t much for conversation. You had already gotten a snide look for saying you worked at a bar on nights, but they didn’t hold much interest for you either. All the conversations you had heard were meaningless droning. People constantly trying to one up another or bragging about something new they acquired or some business deal.

So it was safe to say no one noticed your absence. Well maybe one extremely observant man.

You found yourself in his library, taking residence in a nook next to a window. Hannibal’s sketch book in your lap as you looked over his drawings. Each drawing looked like he must have spent hours on it. You marveled at his talent, watching the range go from almost romantic to grouesome. Some things could be recognized as his take on art pieces, and landscapes, while others seemed to be originals. The originals were darker in nature, but you supposed it made sense. He saw death as something comforting and could be considered beautiful. Of course it would translate into his pieces.

The door opened, revealing the man that occupied your thoughts at the moment. “Is everything alright, darling? No one bothered you, I hope.”

You smiled up at him. “I’m fine. I just wanted a break, I’m getting a little bit of a headache.”

“Oh?” He touched your forehead with the back of his hand, “Are you feeling well?”

“I’ll go back in a moment,” you promised himas you brought his hand down to press a peck onto it, “Go enjoy your party.”

“They can keep themselves entertained for a while.”  He took a seat next to you, pulling you to rest against him. “I could use a moment too.”

You couldn’t stave off the smile that played on your lips to get to have him to yourself. He made you feel comfortable and honestly you were out of your element at this party. Hannibal rested his head against the wall. That left his neck vulnerable and you couldn’t resist placing a kiss on it.

“Why must you insist on acting up when we are alone, darling girl?” He hummed quietly, his hand entertained itself absentmindedly drawing things on your thigh.

“I missed you,” you insisted. “Not just like that. We used to spend a lot of time together.”

“It has been a long time. I’m sorry about that.”

“I had your number too. I’m not completely out of blame.”

“Well, you’ll find a way to make it up to me.” He tugged you closer, “You’re too far.”

You straddled one of his thighs, placing your hand on his shoulders. “I’m sure you have a couple ideas of how.”

“A couple.”

Leaning in you caught him in a kiss. His hand started to trail lower, you caught him by the wrist before he got to his destination, placing his hand back on your hip. With his original plan voided, he bounced his thigh against you, the hands on your hips helping you grind down. You couldn’t help the moan you let out. Letting him continue until you remembered the party happening not so far away.

“Hannibal,” you whined against his lips, “Not right now.”

“But you sound so sweet, darling, don’t mind them.” He continued his earlier assault on your neck, this time not thinking twice before sucking his mark onto it. “You look so beautiful tonight. I know you can give me one before we’re missed, you’re always so good for me. Don’t you want to be good?”

The growing lust clouded your judgement. Hannibal’s soft words and the gentle but perfect rhythm he was working on made it hard to find any reason to argue.

“Yes, daddy,” you sighed softly, “I want to be good for you.”

The door opened again, followed by a dramatic gasp, “Hannibal, having dessert before the rest of us?” The strange man eyed you, “Plan on sharing?”

Hannibal had been quick to tug down the dress that had rode up, keeping you safe from prying eyes. “Unfortunately, I’m not one for sharing. If you don’t mind waiting in the hall. I’ll meet with you in a second.”

“Oh, I’d much prefer to stay. Hello, what’s your name? Is Hannibal keeping you entertained?”

You hid your face against Hannibal’s shoulder, your face burning to the touch.

“Shy thing isn’t she, daddy?”

“I really must insist you leave now,” Hannibal said, the anger evident in his voice.

“Fine, killjoy.” You heard retreating steps and the door closed again.

“Of course out of everyone to find us it was the gossip,” he sighed to himself, dropping a kiss to the top of your head, “I’m sorry about that, love.”

“I told you not now,” you said, pulling away and going back to your seat beside him.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he kissed the back of your hand, “I thought we’d have a couple more minutes before someone looked for us, let alone find us. Let me handle this and then you’ll never see him again.”

You nodded. “Can I go to the room for the night? He made me feel… strange.”

“Darling,” he cupped your cheek, a sad look in his eyes, “this is your home more than anyone else out there. Don’t let him ruin the night for us. I’ll make sure he’s gone and stay by you the rest of the night. Does that sound okay?”

And true to his word he was, he had escorted the man out quickly once he found him. However the Gossip was apparently a fast worker, because a couple people did give you lingering looks. Though they were quick to save face if they so much as thought Hannibal noticed. Whatever they thought didn’t matter. You were two grown, consenting adults that enjoyed each other’s company, be damned what others thought. Throughout the night you kept telling yourself that, hoping to cut the embarrassment short. A couple times you caught yourself, thoughtlessly intertwining your fingers with Hannibal’s when you were less than sturdy. Each time he squeezed your fingers gently, quiet reassurance that he was there for you.

-

You woke up the following morning. Hannibal was still asleep beside you, it must have been early. He looked sweet in the mornings. Relaxed, not as stiff as he usually was, his hair sticking up in places he’d immediately flatten out once he woke as he greeted you with that deeper more accented voice that accompanied the mornings. You pressed a kiss to his chest, before carefully removing the arm that was sprawled across your stomach.

Looking at the clock, you considered the time. There was enough if you worked quickly. Standing up, you grabbed one of your shirts and shorts. After freshening up, you made your way down to the kitchen.

It was different. You hadn’t toured much of the home, let alone know where anything was, but you gathered your bearings fast enough. The things you needed had been placed somewhat similarly to his old home and you set everything onto the counter. Protein scramble, fruit, and pancakes seemed like a good option today. The pancakes, he had taught you to make when you asked where the box mix was and obviously he wouldn’t stand for you not knowing how to make something so simple from scratch.

Your phone played music as you set to work, washing the used dishes along the way so there wasn’t too much of a mess.

As you were plating the food, you heard Hannibal call out your name.

“Kitchen!” You called out.

He was quick to meet you, “Darling, I could have made you breakfast. You should have stayed in bed with me.”

“I couldn’t sleep any more and you looked too sweet to wake,” you poured two cups of coffee and prepared them to both of your liking, “Figured why not play domestic for a while.”

“How did you like it?” He asked, walking over to take the cup from you.

“Eh well you know, the domestic life,” you shrugged, feeding him a cut strawberry, “I like to let my partner sleep in on Saturday’s and make them comfort breakfasts. Sometimes they ruin breakfast in bed by coming down too early, but what can you do?”

He chuckled around the bite of strawberry, “I’m sorry, beloved. I’ll stay put next time.”

“Yes, you will.” You stood on the tips of your toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “But I’m not too angry at you. I enjoy your company.”

His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. “Aren’t you usually sporting my shirts on these mornings?”

“I didn’t want to ruin one of them.”

“You couldn’t ruin a thing if you tried. I’ve got more than enough for you to steal away when you go back home too.”

“I only took them, because someone made a habit of messing up my shirts.”

“And your reasoning for keeping them, little one?” He grabbed the plates, “Come along, the mornings have been wonderful recently.”

You grabbed the cups. “You should’ve come and picked them up the same way I had. It’s your own fault they aren’t back where they belong.”

The afternoon was spent in each other’s company. Hannibal had insisted he’d wash the remaining dishes and asked you to pick up his sketchbook and pencils from the library since you were going to find yourself something to read. You did as asked, before returning outside. Setting his things on the table, you went to go sit in a sunny spot of grass.

It wasn’t long until Hannibal rejoined you outside and took a seat.

You glanced up curiously after a while, he was sketching away.

“Anything I can do for you, beloved?” He asked, not looking up from his work.

“Just watching.”

He hummed in response.

Some unease settled in your stomach when you remembered why exactly you were over here. What was the harm in voicing it? “Hannibal?” You waited until he looked up at you, “You’re okay that we haven’t slept together yet? I mean… I know that’s why I am here.”

It was true, the lingering looks you had gotten at dinner, paired with the small embarrassment of realizing one of Hannibal’s love bites got to bloom in front of them all threw you off at night. You had tried to let yourself go, let him have control of you for a while, but you couldn’t go past taking off some clothes and letting your hands feel the other. He didn’t mind when you didn’t want to do more. Always the gentleman. Instead he settled you against his chest, an arm keeping you close, quiet conversation and long breathtaking kisses filled the night.

“I’m not one of those little boys you’ve found,” he stated, seeming to be mildly offended, “I enjoy our quiet moments just as much, if not more. Sex is something else we could do together, nothing more. It’s not everything, little one. You’re not here for that purpose. What I enjoy is your company and I’ll take it any way you give it.”

You tilted your head looking at him closely, he mimicked you, narrowing his eyes at you playfully. That made you laugh softly, you decided he was being honest and not covering up his disappointment with sweet words. Patting the grass next to you, “Sit with me.”

“YN…”

“Please?” You asked, sweetening the pot with a pout.

He shook his head but gathered his things, soon joining you. Resting your head on his shoulder you looked at what he was sketching. The scene was you at the present moment. Half faced toward him, book in hand, completely relaxed, and more perfect than you ever dreamed of being.

“That’s an exaggeration, I’m not that beautiful.”

“That’s where we must differ, my love,” he kissed your temple, “Try as I might I’ll never be able to draw you with the dignity you deserve. It’s a poor imitation of the way I perceive you.”

“You’re a ridiculous man,” you said fondly, “Though I suppose I’d like to keep you around a while longer.”

“Suppose” he scoffed, “ You’d be lost without me.”

You stuck your tongue out at him childishly and went back to your book.

-

“Darling, I do adore when you take care of yourself, but we’ll be late if you don’t hurry,” Hannibal said, leaning on the bathroom’s door frame already dressed for the outing.

“It’s not my fault you always manage to get the bath perfect,” you groaned, getting out of the bathtub.

Hannibal walked over, grabbing a towel on his way. “I’ll run you another later.”

You took the towel, drying yourself off. It was nice to see a rare impatient Hannibal. There was more to that calm and collected demeanor he usually had. “You’re cute when you’re excited about something. Where are we going?”

“I got us tickets to the opera.”

“Really!” You lit up at that. When he talked about the shows he had seen before, he’d get so much more animated. It would be nice to experience one with him. “Which one?”

“Die Entführung aus dem Serail,” he answered, taking you in with a smile, “but darling, your excitement may go to waste, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll be quick!”

With you keeping your promise and Hannibal’s quick driving, it didn’t take anytime to make it to the opera house. There was time to spare and Hannibal socialized a bit, introducing you to other regulars. You exchanged pleasantries and let Hannibal control the conversation as you looked around the place. Some people you recognized from last night. One person you saw nod towards you whispering something to his companion.

“I didn’t think he’d be one for cradle robbing,” you caught the man say, as he eyed you up, “Lucky man. Reckon I could steal that little piece away?”

You subtly moved closer to Hannibal, feeling the heat rise to your face.

Hannibal turned his attention to you when the others started talking amongst themselves. “Are you alright?” He asked quietly, tucking away a strand of your hair that fell out of place.

“Yeah. I’m great,” you lied, knowing he’d probably take offense to any minute comment made about whatever kind of relationship the two of you had.

“Are you certain?” The tone of voice saying he knew you were hiding something. He always seemed to read you so easily. In that he knew you’d continue to deny anything. “Would you like to go to our seats now? The show should start in a couple of minutes.”

“Yes, please.”

Hannibal grabbed your hand in his, leading you away from the crowd. To your surprise he took you to a private balcony above the rest of the audience seating. “Since, it’s your first time, I figured privacy would do us well. No distractions,” he paused for a moment, “No one to get into that pretty little head of yours.”

“I just don’t enjoy all the looks and comments,” you sighed, allowing him to pull you down onto the seat with him. “I love spending time with you. It’s just soured by people that don’t mind their own.”

“It’s not ideal, but we mustn’t let them ruin our nights. With this kind of community, people make assumptions and talk. Darling, I really do insist you tell me when someone makes you upset.”

“I know, I know. Guess I should have braced for it more. I’m just not used to these kinds of things. When we’re alone it’s easy to just exist together. Just us.”

“I understand completely. However, I do enjoy that we finally got to leave the house. You look absolutely breathtaking tonight.”

You smiled at that, “Well, you do seem to have an eye for what suits me.”

“That, I do.”

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you breathed the comforting scent of his cologne, “I’m sorry I let them get to me when we're supposed to be enjoying our time together. It’s not fair to you.”

“They get annoying,” he gave your thigh a gentle squeeze, “Of course you’d take offense for us. There isn’t much we can do besides understand that we’re here for the right reasons. Though, it does get under my skin to see you affected so under my care.”

Soon the crowd made their way to the seats and the lights dimmed to near black. When the music started Hannibal whispered translations into your ear. You got caught up in the story between watching the characters go through their woes and Hannibal’s gentle voice guiding you through every detail. It was easy to see what Hannibal saw at these events. They really were thrilling to watch. Still it wasn’t so much the show, but getting to know another side of the man in question.

You looked at the man beside you, a happy smile plastered on your face. “Thank you for bringing me, Hannibal.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

“Your love?” You challenged teasingly.

A couple times he had thrown around the pet name. You didn’t take it for much. He was a sweet, old fashioned man, you had decided to believe. A sweet nothing that neither of you minded. Still you couldn’t deny the slight softness you felt from the moniker.

“You’ve promised yourself as all mine before,” he reminded you, “and I take no issue in claiming what’s mine.”

“That was said when I was drunk on you.”

“Deny all you’d like, sweet girl, you’re still mine.”

Hannibal tilted your head up slightly to kiss you. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care about why the music crescendoed in that moment. Not when he was kissing you with more passion than you had ever felt. He had a way of making it feel like you were the only beings in existence. Hannibal bit at your lip, asking for more, and you gave it to him without a thought. You’d do whatever he wanted at that moment. Still you couldn’t help grabbing his wrist when his hand found it’s way up your dress. He swallowed the helpless moan that slipped past your lips greedily.

You pulled away from him, your hips grinding onto his hand on their own accord. “Hannibal, I-“

He hushed you, “You’re missing a very important part of the show.” His hand didn’t let up from its ministrations as he continued to translate for you.

You went to cover your mouth with your hand, but Hannibal stopped you short, placing it back at your side. A quick mummer of be good was all he offered, not once stopping the pace he had set. You choked back the moan when he pressed against a spot that had been long neglected since the last time you paid him a visit. The music being so loud was your only safe haven, still, you pressed yourself further into Hannibal, hoping to hide yourself further from any wandering eyes that might look away from the show. Embarrassment and lust built with every thrust of Hannibal’s fingers. The former was getting increasingly easier to ignore as Hannibal pulled you closer and closer to your end. Pressing your face against his neck, you bit at the skin there in a cheap attempt at revenge for what he was putting you through.

Hannibal’s fingers stilled. A quiet chuckle met your ear when he heard your whimper of protest, stopping your hips as you attempted to help yourself. “Such an easy thing to toy with, you're nothing more than my own personal whore.” He didn’t miss the throb around his fingers at those words. “You’d let me use you however I’d like wouldn’t you?”

You gave a lazy nod as he brought his fingers up to your mouth. Eager to please him, hoping he’d let you finish, you opened your mouth and sucked his fingers clean. Behind your back, you felt him working himself out of his pants. Taking his hand away he adjusted your dress higher before pulling you on to his lap. With his other hand the head of his cock teased your clit, you forced yourself not to complain, knowing he’d go on longer if you did. When he finally pushed into you, you couldn’t fight off the moan of contentment as he filled you completely. Turning your head, you caught him in a languid kiss, caught up in only him despite the performance going on.

“Please?”

“What do you need?”

“You.” You shifted your hips slightly, “May I please move?”

“I’m sorry, little one,” you caught the slight upward twitch of his lip when you looked at him in disbelief, “I’d rather use you at my leisure.”

You whined in frustration, leaning against him knowing he’d play a cruel game. This time he offered no translations, keeping you entirely focused on the feeling of him buried deep inside of you doing nothing to help relieve your need for him. When you did manage to distract yourself, he circled your clit and gave a few sharp thrust, just enough to bring you back where he wanted you. His hand continued, changing the rhythm every so often so you’d stay aware of your position.

“I’ll be so good,” you begged helplessly.

“And yesterday you had been so against it despite having our privacy in the library,” he reminded you, pushing in and out of you in a too slow pace, but at least he was moving, “What was it that was missing, hm? The audience that could look up and see me using what’s mine?”

You didn’t know what had changed. Not truely. Maybe it was the couple of glasses of wine you had drunk throughout the day. Perhaps it was just finally getting what you had wanted for so long. Honestly, you couldn’t find yourself to be curious enough to find out.

“I wanna cum,” you told him, swallowing the embarrassment.

“I don’t know, darling, you’ve tried to find comfort with others. I really can’t say I approve of the notion. Suppose, I could just use you for your worth and leave you dry.” He groaned into your ear as you clenched around him, he sped up his thrust, “There’s my good girl, you like the sound of that?”

“Hannibal, please,” you whimpered, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Beg for it.”

“I’ll never look for anyone else again. It was so stupid to think anyone else could make me feel as good as you.” Your breath hitched when he struck deeper, “I've been so desperate for you.”

“That’s all so very sweet, but that’s not exactly what I want to hear.”

You whined quietly as you tried to figure out the right combination of words to get you what you wanted. “I’m just yours… No one else’s… You’re the only one, I’m so sorry…”

“See? Was it so hard to apologize for your misconduct?”

You shook your head.

He pinched your thigh. “Words, darling.”

“No, daddy,” you moaned, as his hands guided your hips to move with him, “But I’ll be good for you now.”

“I still don’t think you deserve to cum, you pathetic thing.”

“You’ll let me?”

Hannibal’s hand grabbed your jaw roughly, making you look at him. “Next time I won’t be so generous. Understood?”

You swallowed down the slight twinge of fear that had worked its way into your system. “Yes, sir.”

He pushed your face away. “Work for it yourself.”

Tag list: @charc0al-grey @songofcosplay

#Hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal x reader #slasher x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #slasher imagines #smut

[edwardelricsrightarm]

"A lesson without pain is meaningless. For you cannot gain anything without sacrificing something else in return, but once you have overcome it and made it your own...you will gain an irreplaceable fullmetal heart." - Edward Elric

In honor of disability month and the FMA 20 year anniversary I wanted to address some Thoughts™️ about the series.

It's not often you see a disabled protagonist in media where their disability is integral to the story without taking up their entire character, even more so with anime. Yet, Fullmetal Alchemist has not just one disabled Protagonist, but two. The Elric Brothers are an exemplary representation of disability in media that I find myself reflecting on often as a disabled person myself. If you haven't completed the manga or Brotherhood, skip this as it will be brimming with spoilers.

(Mangahood will be my point of reference because while 03 is good on its own merits it's not as fresh within my immediate memory, and I am far less familiar with it. Keep this in mind, I've watched FMAB 10 and a half times whereas I've finished 03 only once years ago.)

The story highlights their disabilities immediately, Edward being a double amputee and Alphonse being without his ENTIRE body, only having the senses of proprioception, sight, and hearing left. Yet, despite this being key to the story and an integral part of their characterization, it is only one facet of their motivations and doesn't take center in the narrative, which is refreshing. It's not inherently negative to make a narrative centered on the characters' disabilities, but often this model of a story goes very wrong very fast and starts to feel hollow (no pun intended). FMA avoids this by making their disabilities a clear part of the plot and their motivations without allowing it to consume the entire story, so the Elric Brothers don't suffer the "my disability is all of my character" problem that many disabled characters are relegated to in a vast portion of media, all while being strong and competent.

Recap:

The brothers wished to revive their mother, but their good intentions cannot change the atrocity of their mistake, Truth makes this abundantly clear from the start. Edward loses his leg first, a punishment for "stepping" into God's shoes and transgressing the place of humans in their world. Alphonse loses his entire body, unable to feel any warmth or simple comforts like food and rest, when all he wanted was to feel the warmth and comfort of his mother's embrace again. At first, Alphonse's entire being is consumed by the gate, but Edward acts immediately, refusing to lose his little brother and refusing to allow his arrogance in this plan to cause his brother's death for only following his lead. Edward gives his right arm to have the gate give back Alphonse's soul, and stated clearly in his panic that he'd give his entire self to save Alphonse if that's what it would take, but Truth took his dominant arm only, showing something akin to mercy, although the character of Truth is capriciously strict and hard to describe as "merciful".

Through giving up his right arm, Edward regains his Right Hand Man, his little brother and best friend. His only remaining family, who he feels responsible for protecting in the absence of their parents. He felt immediately that he'd made a grave mistake, instantly full of regret as he realized the gate had taken his brother. In that moment he was willing to give anything to take it back and undo the suffering his arrogance caused his brother, yet Alphonse was still to suffer more to come. Ed tied Alphonse's disembodied soul to one of Hohenheim's collected suits of armor, managing to at least keep his brother alive in some way. One could say that Alphonse's punishment functioned as a secondary punishment for Edward, showing him how easily his hubris could have cost him what he has left in his obsession with regaining what they'd lost, their mother. A very clear symbolic reminder of the weight of his actions and how he'd misled his brother in his own naive ignorance. Even in giving another limb away to drag his brother's soul back out of the gate, he couldn't offer enough to bring him back intact. Thus is the law of equivalent exchange.

Now that we've reviewed some of that basic symbolism and the motifs the story draws upon with limbs and body parts in relation to characters, let's move on to each individual brother and break it down, shall we?

Edward Elric is a very realistic protagonist, this is one thing a majority of us familiar with this series can agree upon. He feels like a believable teen boy, with layers of complexity to his character while also showing arrogance and immaturity that is unsurprising at his age. He expresses unwillingness to kill and avoidance of unjust violence from the beginning, and has a strong moral code after the ordeal of committing the taboo.

In some characters his cocky personality would typically become grating, yet the story explains in itself why he is this way, then builds upon this to develop him into an incredibly mature character who is willing to admit when he's absolutely wrong and adapts to new information and context for the crisis unfolding around him as it comes, even if he remains crass. This arrogance is shown from the start to be a manifestation of insecurity, self loathing, and repressed guilt. Edward is a logic driven person, he has a very unique thought process, which is where my interpretation of him as autistic comes in. Edward's awkward social demeanor, somewhat abrasive and cold approach to some, and his trouble coping with nonsensical societal structures all stand out in this way. Furthermore he clearly shows hyperfixation, hyperactivity, special interest, and infodumping behaviors that are all too familiar. He's picky with food (*cough* the milk thing), has very little filter and speaks his mind bluntly even if this can warrant conflicting responses, yet at the same time struggles with vulnerable emotions, and he is frustrated when his own routine or itinerary are interrupted by forces beyond his control. All of these things Scream autism with comorbid ADHD. Many traits are shared between the brothers, and I'm quite certain they're both on the autism spectrum based on behavioral patterns. Neurodivergence aside, Edward's physical disabilities are undeniable.

Despite his bratty persona, Edward is fundamentally kind and uncharacteristically gentle and soft around the edges for a shonen protagonist in many ways. He cries openly on many occasions even if he struggles talking about his trauma and burdens in words at times, he feels pain, grief, and compassion so intensely it throws him into action on a regular basis in the narrative. In this way he's also a fantastic example of non-toxic masculinity (though in other ways he has displayed more toxic traits, he's just a kid). He acts on his heart, even if he's led by his mind and logic in most things. His humanity, value for life, and care for others will always win over his logic, and he shows a sense of personal responsibility for doing the right thing even if it harms him in the process. Ed is clearly shown having ghost pains in his lost limbs which is honestly an interesting detail to include, I don't think I've ever seen that aspect of amputation shown in media aside from FMA. It's also shown that when Ed's automail arm breaks this is a HUGE problem for him, but he's also shown to be very good at working around this in difficult circumstances. He doesn't become completely helpless, even if majorly weakened.

Alphonse is an extremely lovable and compassionate boy, brimming with altruism and care for others. Even in his noncorporeal state he pursues a better future and he's not helpless by any stretch. Edward clearly states Alphonse is the superior fighter for example, and it's not just because of his armor body being so large. He's *talented*, that's a fact. Al is every bit as clever and capable as Ed, moreso in some ways, and I love that about his character *because* he's so clearly disabled. He has no sense of pain, he is completely incapable of sleeping, he can't eat, can't relax or find comfort, he can only exist and think. This causes him to overthink in all his time alone, this is debilitating. He clearly is absolutely sick of the loneliness this causes, and he often feels helpless though he's not. He has doubts and fears that consume him in relation to his armor body, he questions his own personhood, even. Yet, Edward is stubborn and staunch in affirming that no matter what he's dealing with, he is fundamentally still a human being that is loved and irreplaceable. Alphonse is powerful and his body gives him some advantages, but it also sets him back, and the brothers know this even when others claim Alphonse's state is somehow a good thing. I have hEDS, a disability that comes with advantages as well as the major downsides, so I can understand and relate to Alphonse here. I too am told my disability is a boon because of flexibility and because I'm less likely to fracture bones, but I'm twice as likely to injure my ligaments and joints, which people ignore.

The brothers are both disabled, both flawed, both show weaknesses, but they are competent, determined, and strong in their own right. They are rounded characters that exist for more than to be pitied or condescended to by able bodied characters around them. They put their entire being in everything that they do no matter what that is, and they don't know the meaning of giving up. These traits that they're made of truly make them a shining example of disability in protagonists for others to look to for reference when writing their own disabled characters.

Even though by the end Edward has regained one limb and Al has regained his body, this also doesn't just deus ex machina reverse their disability or make it go away. It's clear that Alphonse's body is weak and has to be rehabilitated upon recovery, and Edward is still missing his leg and bears the scars and pieces of the port from his automail arm. They weren't suddenly made able bodied upon recovering these things, they reclaimed what was lost through struggle and grit, but the narrative didn't give the impression that their disability in itself was something to be fixed, which is important. They wanted to recover their bodies, but this doesn't erase the effects of their disability.

It was about Edward atoning for leading Alphonse into their mistake and saving his brother from suffering further, it was about them proving they can keep moving forward no matter what, not about getting rid of their disability in itself or putting themselves down because of the disabilities. This, to me, as a mentally and physically disabled viewer, is so important. They achieve their goal, but this doesn't in any way erase or undo the effects of their initial losses, they find ways to adapt and move on but they're still affected and still disabled. They always will be. That can be so important to see in comfort characters, and as a disabled individual who's had both brothers as comfort characters since I was a child, their impact on my own journey is surprisingly tangible for fiction.

#fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma #edward elric #alphonse elric #elric brothers #character analysis #disability month #disability positivity #disabled #fma 20th anniversary

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Hearts Painted on Skin

Written for @damianwayneweek's Day 4. I selected Soulmates for this. I've never written a soulmate AU before, so this was fun to explore. Thanks @audreycritter for the idea! She flooded me with ideas for this week and I am so thankful for them all.

Characters: Damian and Dick

Summary: Damian has a mark just under his collarbone in the shape of a feather. Mother has always told him it was a scar. He was mostly okay with that until he came to Gotham and saw more marks. Marks that could not possibly be scars. He is starting to wonder if she lied, and why.

AO3 Link

~

Damian looked in the mirror, his shirt in his hands, prepared to pull on. For what felt like the thousandth time, he paused to look at the little mark on his skin. It was a feather, unmistakably. Damian had held enough up to it for comparison, whenever he could get his hands on one.

“It is a scar.” Mother’s voice echoed in his head.

It was a statement she’d told him time and time again. Each moment he brought it up. Every moment he looked at a League member who had a darker patch on their cheek, or wrist. Whenever his eyes lingered on flowers and swirls and shapes painted on fingers, arms, feet, and one time an eyelid. She would lean down, her voice soft, promising, full of truth, hard as law, and whisper those four words. It. Is. A. Scar.

“But others have similar.” Damian had asked once.

“Of course they do, they are fighters as well.” she had told him.

Damian believed her. Why would she lie? What reason had she to speak falsely about such a thing?

And yet.

He dropped half of the shirt to run his fingers over it, it was smooth as the skin underneath. It was skin, just of a darker color. A warm chocolate to his tan. It was not raised, not pinched. Nothing about it was creased or seemed to be anything but natural. As if it had always been there.

“But I do not remember getting it.” he had said again, in response to her once.

“You received it when you were young. A baby.”

He had furrowed his brow. Who would harm a baby? Even in the League? Especially Talia’s child? She’d never told him.

Damian tugged his shirt on, covering the spot with soft cotton and a bright pattern of animal silhouettes that somehow did not look childish. He ran his hand over the fabric, again pausing by the not-scar. His eyes flit to his dresser. In the drawer rested a bottle of concealer, matched to his skin tone exactly. It was empty now, used up and he had yet to replace it.

Normally, Damian would cover his not-scar with it. Careful layers blended to hide the fact that anything blemished his skin. It was a dangerous mark. Made when he was a baby, and carrying a weight on it that Mother insisted would draw catastrophe to him if it were seen.

He had complained about the concealer once, hating the time it took to apply and how it made his skin feel itchy sometimes.

Mother had run her fingers through his hair, gentle and loving, “I know, dear, but it is not safe to bring attention to. If others learned of it--you would be in danger.” She had even gone so far as to insist Damian not tell Grandfather.

It was a dangerous secret so terrifying the leader of the League of Assassins could not know. One Damian had to protect him from. At least, that was what Damian had thought then. Now, he wondered if Mother was protecting him from Grandfather.

He tugged on his shirt, testing the collar, even stretched it hid his mark with ease. No one would see it today. Perhaps his new concealer would arrive soon. Pennyworth had approved the order, as something useful to help them hide their identities better. Bruises from patrol were hard to explain, especially when Richard was under scrutiny for caring for him.

A knock immediately preceded, “Damian? You ready?”

Damian turned and nodded at Richard, “Yes, I believe I am.”

He looked over his brother, searching his skin for anything like Damian’s own mark, but beyond real scars, Richard was unblemished.

His brother, and guardian, smiled at him, “Great, let’s go! It’s a beautiful day and I promised you some ducks.”

Damian allowed a smile, “Yes you did.”

They spent the day at one of Gotham’s parks. Richard said they were doing recon to determine if Wayne Enterprise should fund a beautification project, but Damian was well aware his brother was using this as a day of relaxation. He was taking the day off work, and Damian had been excused from classwork for the outing.

He’d intended to take the recon seriously, by marking down elements both in favor of, and against selecting this park as the location for beautification funds. And for a little while Damian had. Then he’d flipped to a blank page in his notebook and started sketching the scene ahead of them.

Beside him, Richard lounged on their picnic blanket, reading what looked to be a romance book, and picking at grapes Pennyworth had packed for them. Normally, Damian would take the opportunity to berate him for laziness, but they had faced a number of difficult patrols over the past few nights and Damian was inclined to let him have his break.

Richard consistently drilled into him the importance of caring for one’s body all the time, mentally and physically. Damian knew this day would make Batman safer in the field, and also--he was kind of enjoying the quiet time. It was new to him, learning to relax and feel safe outside of the very few places he’d had at the League, but he could see the appeal to it. It did help keep him sharp, and he was always better rested after.

So he focused on on relaxing. He sketched for a while, drawing the pond first, and the trees around it. Then flipping the page to work on his figure drawing. As he drew, Damian’s eyes caught on marks. On birthmarks, and scars, and tattoos. Most importantly, his eyes locked onto various not-scars. Which is what they had to be.

He doodled them on another sheet. Drawing each unique one. Even those that were similar in style usually had little differences. A star might have one arm longer than the other, while one was perfect.

The only time he saw two of them match perfectly were on a couple pushing a stroller. The couple had little numbers on the back of their hands, one on their left, the other on the right. Damian pressed his lips together. They could have been tattoos, many people had them, but Damian couldn’t help but wonder.

He had been wondering since he’d arrived in Gotham months ago. People here all had marks. They had marks and they showed them off. Confused, Damian had messaged his mother to ask her. She’d said they were scars, tattoos, birthmarks that were meaningless. They were the marks of a different type of people than Damian had been raised around.

Distance had a way of stripping his mother’s voice of it’s old comforting truth.

But he had been busy learning. There was so much to learn in Gotham that had nothing to do with the mark on his body. Damian had spent more time frustrated about rules, and fearing he’d be sent back to a place that felt less and less like home every day. More and more time learning to be a good Robin to his Batman, and learning to trust Richard.

The question of his mark was rarely on Damian’s mind, and mostly relegated to moments he was alone or like this.

He glanced over at Richard. The man was still immersed in his book and Damian’s question died on his lips. He flipped his book to a new page and focused back on the pond, specifically the ducks swimming around on it. He had, after all, been promised some ducks.

That night they returned to patrol. Damian almost suggested they take a break, but they’d been working a drug trafficking case over the course of the week and were close to wrapping it up. If all went well during this patrol then they could rest. Damian would insist upon it if Richard did not.

They staked out an old appliance store. Richard figured the drugs were being shipped out either in the appliances or the crates. They just needed to intercept a shipment, incapacitate the team working on it, and confirm the drugs were there. Then they could call in Gordon and be done with all this.

Batman and Robin were crouched together. Richard had declared that they should stick close tonight. Damian wondered if it was because he knew they both were still feeling a little worn down. He could read it in Richard’s body language, and he knew his mentor could read the same in his.

After around twenty or so minutes, a truck pulled up to the building and the shipping door opened to allow it to back in. They watched for a moment, confirming no other trucks were on their way, and then both pulled back from the edge of the roof they’d been peering over.

Richard pointed to a large vent they could drop in on the store from. Damian nodded, and followed his mentor. The slipped into the vents, then moved like mice over to where the shipping area was located. Damian paused behind Richard as the man peered through an exhaust vent to watch the proceedings below.

“They’ve started unloading.” he whispered, then tapped something on his cowl and was silent for another long moment, “And they’re talking about the drugs.”

“So we go?” Damian asked.

“I’d say so.” Richard said, “Stick close tonight Robin, I’ve seen a couple guns swinging around and I don’t want to explain a bullet wound to Al tonight.”

“The same goes for you.” Damian responded.

“There’s twelve by my count, two of those are still in the car. Try to get to them first. I’ll grab the guys with the guns,” Richard directed.

“Affirmative.” Damian agreed. Taking out the ones that could remove the product, and the ones that were the most dangerous first was a good idea.

With that, Richard kicked out the vent, tossed a handful of gas pellets, and they dropped into the smoke.

Damian bolted through it for the truck. He was able to easily dodge the men and women in the room, now sent into a flurry of action and confusion over the smoke. He ducked around the driver’s seat of the truck and yanked the door open.

The man inside was shocked, and Damian was able to use that element of surprise to yank the man out of the front, sending him tumbling to the ground. A few quick blows had him unconscious.

Damian straightened, and turned back towards the truck cab. His eyes went wide, seeing the passenger leaning over both seats, a gun aimed out the door at him. Damian dodged to the side as the gun went off. Pain sliced through his arm as the bullet nicked him, but at least it hadn’t hit him in anything vital.

He swore, Richard had just told him not to get shot.

He snarled at the man, immediately returning fire with a batarang. It caught fingers, and the gun went tumbling to the floor of the cab. Damian then lurched forward, and dragged the passenger out of the car. Twisting his arm as he fell to drag it up behind his back.

In another movement, Damian grabbed the man’s other hand and yanked it behind his back, securing them both with a zip tie.

“Stay.” he growled into his ear, “Or you will regret it.”

He climbed up into the cab and jammed a pole under the steering wheel, locking it in place to keep it from moving if anyone tried to drive the truck.

With that, he turned back into the fray. At this point the smoke had begun to clear. Damian could see that Batman had knocked out a few men already, they were down to 8 enemies to fight. Richard’s warning to stay close was fresh in Damian’s mind, his throbbing arm a reminder that maybe his Batman had wanted him to not quite jump ahead like he had. But then again, Damian should have been able to handle two men in a truck.

He huffed, and fell into line beside Batman.

“Robin, you get the car under control?”

“It will not be going anywhere.” Damian confirmed.

“Good.” There was something tight in Richard’s voice Damian didn’t recognize, but there wasn’t time to explore the reason for that the other men and women were on them already.

Damian had to admit, he and Richard worked well as a team. They were efficient, and quick. Richard’s insistence on having them run drills and practice together before they’d ever gone out into the field had paid off early on, and since then they’d only built on that success.

They managed to take out the rest of the criminals quickly, and they prevented any of them from escaping. After that, Richard directed Damian to zip tie the unconscious thugs while he checked out the boxes of goods.

As Damian was finishing up with the last man, Richard called out, “Found them! I’m calling it in.”

“Good, I am finished here.”

They paired back up outside the building as Batman called the car to their location. Damian had his cape tugged over his arm in an attempt to hide the bleeding, but as they waited, a breeze caught him by surprise and tugged it up, and out of the way.

“Robin!” Batman said, “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been injured?”

Damian tugged his cape back in place, scowling, “You told me not to get shot.”

Then his eyes caught on Richard’s left arm, it too was visible and bleeding. Damian pointed at him, accusing.

“You as well! How could you not tell me you’d been injured?”

Richard opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, “I-For the same reason as you. It happened right at the start.”

That must have been why Damian hadn’t heard it, they’d been shot at roughly the same time.

His brother shook his head, “Amazing, we both managed to do the one thing we didn’t want to. Alf’s going to have a field day with this one.”

When they returned to the bunker Alfred directed them both to a shared cot.

“Shirts off young masters, I’ll need to dress both of those wounds.”

Damian rolled his eyes and started tugging off his vest, then undershirt. It wasn’t until it was off that he remembered he still had not covered up his mark. Hopefully they would lump it in with the other scars across his chest.

It was not to be however. Next to him, Richard had stilled. He was staring at Damian’s chest. Damian could feel it, his eyes locked on the feather just under his collarbone.

He froze, his spine stiffening. He didn’t know what to say. His mother’s excuses felt like lies on his tongue and he knew he couldn’t give them to Richard. The man wouldn’t believe him for a moment.

Richard’s gaze was strangely soft. Not angry or upset or any of the things Damian had come to expect from what someone might do when they saw his not-scar. It made him want to squirm in his seat, but he was Damian al Ghul-Wayne. He did not squirm.

“Damian--” Richard’s voice was terribly soft, his eyes glittering, “I had no idea.”

Damian swallowed, there it was. The sadness that he had thought might come. It was dangerous. Seeing it put people in danger, and Richard had seen it, and Damian--Damian did not want him in any kind of danger.

He reached up to put his hand over the mark, and looked down, “I am sorry--I forgot. Had I remembered I hadn’t covered it I would not have--I would have dressed my arm on my own.”

“Do you not want me to see it?” Richard sounded hurt.

Damian looked back up at him, surprised. Richard sounded like he did when Damian was particularly cruel. He tried not to be that way sometimes, but--well pain or frustration drove him to saying things he regretted.

“I--Mother told me no one was allowed to.” He pressed his palm against it a little tighter.

“Why?” Now Richard sounded confused.

Damian was confused. Shouldn’t he know? The way Mother spoke of it had made Damian believe it to be something that anyone would recognize. A black mark.

“It is dangerous.” Damian said simply, “Just seeing it would put myself and others in danger.”

Richard’s brow was furrowed. Behind him, Alfred cleared his throat.

“Master Damian, might I ask, do you know of soul marks?”

“What?” Damian asked, looking up at him, “No, I have never heard of the term.”

Something twisted in his stomach. Sour and warm. He was certain now Mother had lied. He didn’t know why she had lied, but it was making him sick. The warmth was a kind of hope. An answer to the questions plaguing him since he’d arrived.

“A soul mark is a mark each of us are born with. It is to help us find the person most suited for us in the world. Some people never meet their soulmates, but find love all the same but others do and their marks always match.”

Damian remembered the couple he’d seen in the park, their matching hands.

“So then--this is one of those? Not a scar?”

He let his hand drop, fingers grazing the feather.

“I can confirm that it is indeed a soul mark.” Alfred said.

Damian frowned at him, “Have you seen its match?”

Alfred smiled at him. Richard cleared his throat and Damian returned his attention to him. Understanding now blooming, Richard had thought he’d keep something like a soul mark from him. Had believed Damian wouldn’t want him to know something so personal. He must apologize.

Before he could get the words out, Richard had tugged his own shirt off and there, under his collar bone and just above his heart was a feather. It was the feather. Damian’s feather. The one he had seen every day in the mirror. The one he’d traced a hundred times wondering about.

“Oh.” Damian said.

And then, “I don’t understand. I--we would not be romantically compatible?”

Richard snorted, “Soulmates don’t have to be romantically involved, Dames. It can be totally platonic. Often best friends will have matching marks, or a father and son. It just means--well it means we fit together in a special way. That we’ll always be precious to each other.”

Damian could have told Richard that, and it seemed his body had already done the work for him. Or fate? Damian felt he may get a headache if he tried to figure this out.

The point was, Richard was the most important person in his life. He just--he’d had no idea that it had been declared before he’d even met the man. Before he even knew that they would get to the point where they’d trust each other with their lives. It felt right. Instead of a declaration these marks were a promise.

Richard had chosen to love Damian with his whole heart before even knowing who Damian would be to him. And Damian? Well Damian had done the same.

“I hate to break up this moment, but you are both still bleeding.” Alfred said, “You may continue to talk but I really must begin caring for your wounds.”

Damian blushed, “Yes, of course.”

Instead of talking, they fell into silence, both Damian and Richard lost in their own thoughts. Soon, Alfred was finished, and had dismissed both of them.

Damian looked from Richard to the elevator that would return them to the penthouse and back, “I still have questions.” he said, not wanting to be sent to bed with his mind still racing.

“Me too.” Richard said, “How about some cocoa? We can talk upstairs.”

“That sounds nice.”

They moved up to the penthouse, and Damian sat at the bar, his hands pressed into the marble countertop of it. They’d both dressed in pajamas, but even with a shirt tugged over his soul mark --and how nice it was to have a real word for it-- he still felt exposed. Raw. Like there was something new and strange about him.

But nothing had happened with it. It was still there, still the same color and size. Still just a part of him that he’d always had.

“So.” Richard said, taking the seat next to him, and sliding a mug of steaming hot chocolate over, “You have questions?”

“As do you.” Damian said, taking the mug to hold between his palms, “Why don’t you ask yours first?”

His brother hummed, “I think yours will probably answer mine, but let’s start with something easy or maybe not easy, but, well what do you know about soulmates or marks?”

Damian nodded, “I--Mother never explained soulmates to me. I know the term only in a general sense. A phrase used not literally, but figuratively to describe two people romantically entwined. None of my teachers spoke of it, and no one at the League did either.”

He tapped his mug, “I was not blind, I saw the marks. But I believed them to be other things. Scars, birthmarks, or--well I did not have a word for what they were.” Damian could not look at Richard, it was silly. He should have asked more, pressed Mother for answers or done his own research, “It was not until I arrived in Gotham that I saw so many and began to wonder. Surely not everyone in the world could have gotten tattoos? But--not all were visible and so I did not ask.”

Richard was quiet, listening and taking in Damian’s words with rapt attention. He hadn’t even sipped his cocoa. Damian took a gulp of his, just to do something that wasn’t watching his brother.

“And yours?” Richard asked, “What did Talia tell you about it?”

“I--Mother told me mine was dangerous.” Damian pressed his fingers to his chest again, “I was not to talk about it or ask about it. It was supposed to be a scar, from an attack on me when I was a baby. But I always knew it was not. Still, she was insistent I not tell anyone or let others see. Especially Grandfather.”

Damian frowned, “I thought for a long while it was to protect him. That I was cursed.”

He looked up at Richard, into his brother’s eyes, and knew at last why Mother had been so insistent he stay silent, “But I was wrong. Mother was protecting me, and you. If Grandfather knew I had a soulmate, he would have hunted the world for them, and then used them against me.”

Damian did not think he could have stood having Richard in danger because of him. He hated the very thought that anything would happen to his brother. Especially because of him.

He sipped his drink again, “Mother used to rub her wrist. I saw a mark there once. A little bat. I never asked her about it, and she never offered to tell me--Richard? Do the marks have special meaning? Or are they obscure?”

“They do have a meaning, there’s a lot of meaning in their placement and look and well everything.”

“Teach me?”

His brother smiled, “Of course. I’d be happy to.”

They worked their way through their mugs, and second rounds while Richard spoke. He talked about how soul marks that were hidden usually meant that the relationship was more intimate, but not always. How marks mirrored each other, one on the left, one on the right so that the pair could be face to face and match, like looking in a mirror. How if one’s soulmate died the mark faded to be almost invisible or if their relationship broke and shattered how it would line with cracks.

“Just because someone has a soulmate doesn’t mean that things will work out perfectly. We are human after all.” Richard said.

Some people could be born without marks, and very rarely one would change, and shift to take on the form of another. Most often that happened if a soulmate had died, but sometimes it happened for other reasons.

“And the meaning?” Damian pressed, wanting to know, to understand why a feather? Why this mark on his skin and not something else?

His brother hummed, “There’s books and stuff out on their meanings, especially for marks of similar styles. But when it all comes down to it, the meaning really comes from the pair. Some people know instantly why a mark looks the way it does. A shared memory or love of something. Maybe it is the first line a lover traced across another’s wrist, or an idea that is important to them.”

He leaned forward, elbow on the bar’s counter, “Want to take a guess at ours?”

Damian furrowed his brow, “Robin?” he guessed, “or your previous title, Nightwing is indicative of a bird and flight?”

Richard nodded, “Those are good thoughts. I’ve always looked at it as a symbol of flying and of freedom. But feathers have other meanings too. Trust, loyalty, hope, a connection between the creature who had the feather and where it has gone now.”

“I like those.” Damian said, and then looked down at his mug, “You have given me many of those things.”

“And you’ve done the same for me.” Richard said, “We don’t need to name why it is a feather you know. We can feel the meaning here.” he pressed a palm to his heart, “and just know.”

Damian nodded, “I am glad I share it with you. And--I am glad I did not know before now.”

His brother frowned, then nodded, “I see, if you did, and we’d have seen each other’s marks, then you might have thought our relationship was because of the soul mark?”

“Is that silly?” he said, peering up.

“No. It’s a worry a lot of people have.” Richard reached out and took Damian’s free hand, “But soul marks don’t make relationships Damian. They just indicate potential, and while they are incredibly accurate in that indication, it’s up to us what we do with it.”

Damian squeezed Richard’s hand, “I see. We are--doing well?”

Richard laughed, “I’d say so. We had a rough start, but yes, Dames. I think we’re doing just fine.”

Damian smiled, “Excellent. Thank you for answering my questions.”

“Of course.” His brother stretched, “Now, it’s later than either of us should be up. We can chat more tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Damian said.

They got up, rinsed their cups and moved to the hall with the bedrooms. Damian paused, hesitating before he entered his own.

“I was planning to suggest we take the night off patrol, but our injuries have cemented that. Perhaps we can return to the park tomorrow?” he said.

Richard smiled, “Sounds like a plan.” In a motion he tugged Damian forward into a tight hug and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Love you, kiddo.”

Damian returned the hug, “You as well.”

#damianwayneweek2021 #Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #day 4 #soulmates #platonic soulmates #soul marks #fluff #canon typical violence #hurt/comfort #injury #precious posts #fanficiton

[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

The Jaskier Effect

Also on ao3

The first time that Eskel noticed things were changing, he was collecting the payment for a contract on a wraith in Velen. The alderman handed him a leather coin pouch with a wink, saying “Toss a coin to your Witcher,” and then proceeded to hum some tune as Eskel turned to leave.

Not every interaction was as odd, or as pleasant, but he did find that over the following months there was generally a slightly more tolerant attitude whenever he walked into a village or town, and less people tried to cheat him out of the coin he was owed for his work. If he hadn’t spent the better part of a century being shunned or ridiculed for being a Witcher, he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? But he still kept his guard up. Aired on the side of caution. People don’t just change, and he was suspicious about this new growing respect for his kind.

It was in a tavern in Redania where he heard the song in full for the first time. He was perched at a table in the corner, thumbing a tankard of piss-poor ale when a young female bard started up and one of the patrons requested it.

It took Eskel a good few minutes to process that the song was about Geralt.

He didn’t know what was more surprising. The fact that his brother in arms had let a bard tag along on a hunt, or that he had allowed a song to be composed about him after the fact. Then again, he knew how much the title of ‘The Butcher of Blaviken’ upset Geralt, so maybe being sung about as a hero wouldn’t be so bad after all. Eskel had certainly noticed how this one song had started to affect people’s perceptions of Witchers, however subtle.

After the performance, Eskel had approached the female bard and asked if she was the one who wrote it. Essi, he later found out to be her name, had humbly thanked him but told him that a dear friend of hers had composed it. A bard called Jaskier.

Jaskier.

Eskel was very intrigued.

That winter he waited impatiently for Geralt to join them at Kaer Morhen. He asked Lambert if he had noticed the change and, Lambert being Lambert, had jumped on the chance to use it as a new way of getting into people’s pants. Not that he needed any help with that in the first place, but this new growing respect for Witchers definitely had its advantages.

Vesemir, like Eskel, advised on the err of caution.

“It won’t last,” he had warned, “It never does.”

“All the more reason to reap the benefits now, right Eskel?” Lambert threw him a lewd wink.

Eskel had grunted but not really given Lambert an answer.

When Geralt eventually showed up, just as the first snows started to fall, Eskel quizzed him mercilessly about the bard. He wanted to know how on earth the young human had found himself in the prickly Witcher’s company.

Geralt gave a very stunted story of how he met Jaskier and the adventure that followed but Eskel knew him well enough to see that the bard and his songs had affected Geralt in more ways than one. The White Wolf held affection for Jaskier. His hard edges were slightly softer than they had been last time they met. There was a new warmth to his amber eyes. Geralt, usually so closed off to the world, had unwillingly, or unwittingly, let someone in.

Witchers don’t tend to have friends outside of their own kind, and even then, they usually stick to their own Witcher School, and even then, sometimes ‘friend’ was such a strong word, but Eskel could see that this Jaskier had the potential to help Geralt find that part of himself so many believed was stripped from him when he underwent the mutations.

Geralt of course, insisted that Jaskier was not his friend and, come spring, when Eskel asked him if he was going to travel with the bard again Geralt shrugged with a grunt.

“If our paths cross, our paths cross,” the white haired Witcher answered nonchalantly.

Eskel just rolled his eyes.

“Well thank him for me if they do,” he rumbled.

“What for?” frowned Geralt.

“For the good work he’s doing for all Witcher kind,” Eskel grinned with a wink.

Geralt scoffed, mounted his faithful mare and disappeared down the trail.

As the years passed by and more songs about the White Wolf emerged, Eskel found his job as a Witcher to be less monotonous and more interesting. People were actually willing to converse with him, even offer him better rates for contracts. One barkeep even gave him a free beer because he recognised the wolf medallion around Eskel’s neck.

“You a wolf Witcher? You know that Geralt? Drinks on the house!”

Eskel was sure he’d never get used to it.

And, as he expected, not everyone was keen on the new perspective of Witchers. Some still slandered him in the streets, threw stones, spat at him, tried to pick fights with him that he knew they’d never win. But, thanks to Jaskier and his influence, life as a Witcher had improved considerably.

When Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen each winter, he always brought more stories of his time spent travelling with the bard. Eskel could see the brightness in his eyes and the soft way he spoke about Jaskier. Geralt was warm and open and laughing and joking, and it had been a long time since Eskel had seen him like this. The affect the bard was having on him, it was nice. Good.

Lambert insisted that Geralt should invite Jaskier to Kaer Morhen the next winter. Geralt had laughed it off, saying that Jaskier would much rather spend his winters warm and cosy in Oxenfurt than freezing his balls off with the likes of them, but he could see the thought playing in Geralt’s mind and he really hoped that Geralt would introduce them to the bard next year.

Eskel didn’t have to wait that long though.

It was nearing the end of summer and Eskel was passing through Novigrad. He usually avoided the big cities, but he was running low on a very specific herb to brew his potions and he knew the herbalist off Hierarch Square was the only place for miles around where he could get it.

He had wrapped his travel cloak around himself, making sure his hood hid his face as he ventured into the city. The general attitude and acceptance towards Witchers was better than it had ever been but, in Novigrad, where the majority of the populace was still out to get anyone non-human, he couldn’t be too careful.

His transaction with the herbalist went as smoothly as he could have hoped, and he pocketed the small pouch of herbs carefully. By now though, it was starting to get late and his horse was tired from the long day of traveling so, he decided to stop off in a tavern for the night.

He left his mount in the capable hands of the stable boys and slunk into the ‘Kingfisher’ without drawing too much attention to himself.

The heat of the tavern hit him in a stifling cloud. The tang of alcohol and sweat swirled about him, and the wall of noise was a mixture of shouted conversation and singing along with whomever the entertainment was for the evening.

Eskel wove his way through the many patrons and quietly discussed a room for the night with the barkeep.

Wary of the Witcher, the squat man had warned him if there was any trouble, he’d be out quicker that you could say Gwent. Eskel accepted his terms and found a stool at the edge of the bar to inhabit as he nursed a tankard of ale.

Hood still drawn to shadow his face, he cast his keen eyes over the patrons and his attention was drawn to the musician in front of the hearth.

The bard was a few years shy of thirty. Dark brown windswept looking hair and bright blue eyes. He was stood on a stool and was stamping in time to the beat of his wild lute playing. His voice was rich and just as colourful as the teal doublet and breeches he wore, embroidered and patterned with navy blue.

There was something about him, like he was familiar somehow. Then it hit him. He knew exactly who this bard was.

“Ho Hey

But the Witcher knew

Took a Witcher’s brew

And the Witcher slew.

Ho Hey

And the village knew

That their beast was through

And tossed his way some coin and ale and stew.”

Jaskier beamed as he sang, the patrons around him joining in with this chorus, stamping and clapping in time.

Eskel couldn’t tare his eyes away. Geralt’s description of the bard had been spot on but he could never have been prepared for…well this.

The confidence, the elegance that came with his playing. The animated charm. The way he had everyone around him engaged and enjoying themselves. Eskel could understand why Geralt was drawn to him.

He was barely listening to the lyrics. Just staring at the man who had won over his brother in arms.

Jaskier sang the chorus again then finished with a flourish, grinning at the rambunctious applause.

“Thank you,” he winked at a passing barmaid who swooned, “I will be taking a short break but fear not. I will return.”

There was a mixture of cheers and protests as the young bard skipped through the crowd and leaned over the bar, very close to where Eskel was sitting.

Gods above, Eskel thought to himself, his scent!

Jaskier smelled like lavender and sandalwood, fresh parchment and woodsmoke. It was a scent that Eskel had picked up on many occasions throughout the last few winters. Lingering on Geralt’s clothing, on Roach’s saddlebags.

With a goblet of wine in hand, Jaskier thanked a woman who was excitedly complimenting his singing and when she finally melted back into the throng, he took a long drink and then rested his gaze on Eskel.

Amber eyes met blue and Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, well, well,” the bard crooned, voice thick with curiosity, “Dark and mysterious stranger who has been ogling me since he came in turns out to be a dark and mysterious Witcher.”

Eskel swallowed hard, not quite sure what to say to him. Not that it really mattered because Jaskier barely paused for breath before he continued.

“Let me see. Wolf Witcher,” Jaskier indicated the medallion just visible through the folds of grey cloak then narrowed his eyes at him, “You must be Eskel.”

Eskel absently touched the long scar tracking down the right side of his face. Of course Geralt had talked about his brothers with the bard, described them to his friend.

Jaskier’s expression softened.

“No,” he smiled kindly, “It’s the eyes, the jaw. You look a lot like Geralt. Except, you know, he has white hair and you’ve got – is it dark brown? Black? Anyway. I’m Jaskier.”

Eskel hesitated before taking the offered hand and Jaskier shook it enthusiastically.

“I imagine Geralt has mentioned me. Though not all bad, I hope. So, what brings you to Novigrad? Some monster lurking about? You doing some Witchering?”

Eskel was baffled by this young man.

Jaskier talked quickly without much pause for thought, true, but he was talking to him like…they were equals. Friends even. The bard was warm and open and ridiculously handsome, though Eskel would never tell Geralt that he thought so. There wasn’t an ounce of the usual fear he experiences when talking to people. No guarded expression. No hidden motivation. Just an imploring gaze and friendly smile.

Eskel understood completely why Geralt had given in to allowing Jaskier to travel with him. He didn’t see what everyone else saw. Didn’t see the Witcher, the monster, the savage killer. He saw Geralt. And now, he saw Eskel.

“Thank you,” Eskel heard himself say.

Confusion twitched in Jaskier’s expression and he tilted his head slightly.

“For what?” he hummed.

For what? Eskel bit his cheek. For helping to improve Geralt’s image? For being Geralt’s friend? For changing how people see Witchers? For increasing the payment prospects of contracts for Witchers across the continent? For everything?

“For your songs,” he settled on.

Jaskier flashed him a dazzling smile.

“You’re welcome,” he smirked.

Eskel realised that Jaskier had no idea how much his songs had actually affected the Witchers and their place in the continent. He had no idea that singing about Geralt was just the start of a ripple that had spread across the lands and changed people for the better. He had no idea of the legacy he was building, for himself, for his friend, and for all the working Witcher’s who used to struggle to get a decent price for even a few Drowners.

The fame of Jaskier the bard wasn’t exclusive to the high courts and bustling taverns. Jaskier had no idea how big his impact actually was.

And Eskel didn’t have the first clue on how to start telling him.

“You staying in Novigrad long?” Jaskier asked breezily, taking a sip from his goblet.

“Not if I can help it,” the Witcher shrugged.

“No jobs enticing enough to make you change your mind?”

“Unfortunately no one puts out contracts on Priests of the Eternal Fire,” Eskel grunted.

Jaskier snorted into his wine and Eskel felt his lips pull in a small smile.

“Fair enough,” Jaskier composed himself, eyes blazing with mirth, “We can’t always be so lucky.”

“What about you? How long are you here for?” being drawn into conversation with the bard was easy. It felt natural and relaxed and safe.

“Meh, who knows? Until I bore of the markets and politics and need to get back out there on the Path,” Jaskier frowned at the dregs lining the bottom of his goblet and Eskel flagged down the barkeep to order more drinks.

“Going to look for Geralt?” Eskel glanced at Jaskier over the top of his tankard.

“I might,” Jaskier shot him a playful grin, “Unless you want the company on the road for a while.”

It was Eskel’s turn to choke slightly on his drink.

“A new muse could be just what I need. How about it Eskel? Not all my songs have to be about Geralt, you know.”

Eskel caught those blue eyes and held them for a moment.

“Sure. Why not?” he rumbled.

“Excellent,” Jaskier clapped his hands together gleefully, “You and me Eskel, we’re gonna change the world.”

You already have, Eskel thought to himself, and I’m going to spend whatever time we have together making you see it. Making you understand. Showing you what you’ve done for us. For me. And for Geralt. The affect you’ve had on all Witchers and the world you have created for us. Just you wait and see.

Impalaloompa on ao3

#my writing #jaskier #eskel #geralt #geralt of rivia #joey batey #the witcher netflix #netflix the witcher #the Witcher

[narakurosaki]

Edwin prompt: ed has recurring nightmares of the stuff he's seen

im sorry this took me longer than expected! i hope you enjoy nonetheless.

summary: ed struggles with a reoccurring nightmare. thankfully, winry is there to comfort him.

rating: t

words: 2202

read on ao3!

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He feels as though he’s traversing through thick mud, hardening around his ankles. It cakes within the ankle joint of his automail leg, cementing him in place. He breaks free, using what strength he has left to continue down the road. The Rockbell home inches further and further away; he reaches out, as though he could grasp the building and hold it in place. Its just out of his reach. He screams out her name but receives no response.

Suddenly, he’s bursting through the front door, his shoulder aching from the impact. His eyes jump around his surroundings, searching for a sign of life. He calls out her name, again receiving no response.

His automail breaks down with each step, nuts, bolts, and screws falling to the ground. The plating disintegrates, the intricate work beneath exposed; the wires snap, and he crumbles before the kitchen door. Again, he calls her name, and again, he receives no response.

The kitchen door slowly creaks open. He drags himself across the floor, mumbling her name repeatedly. His fingertips dig into the splintering floorboards until bloodied. He crawls deeper inside, leaving behind a trail of blood. The kitchen is dark, a sole ray of light illuminating only a small section beside the dining table. An apple rolls into his path, followed by another, and another. One stains itself in his blood. His stomach churns.

“Winry?”

A pained moan rings in his ears.

In the light he sees Winry facedown on the floor, a basket toppled on its side beside her, apples spilling out endlessly. Her arm is stretched out, almost as though she’s reaching for him, her head angled enough for him to see her eyes peeking through her bangs. “Ed…”

The sharp edges of what’s left of his leg dig into the wood flooring, the strength of his thigh and core working together to propel him forward. His chin hits the ground beside her. “I’m here, Winry,” he palms her back, searching for any trace of injury. He comes up empty. “I’m here.”

“You didn’t keep your promise, Ed…”

“What are you—”

Beneath her, the Eye of God opens. Her lifeless body falls into the darkness; Ed is swallowed alongside her. Everything goes black; he cannot move, cannot see, cannot hear; cannot speak. He falls for what feels like an eternity until he is spit out on the empty streets of Central.

The broken down armor that was once his little brother lies unmoving. Edward crawls towards the metal scraps, halted only by the agonizing pain in his right shoulder. Blood trickles down his arm, seeing through the wounds created by the bits of his automail port left behind. “Al!” he cries out. “Alphonse!”

In his own blood, Edward draws a human transmutation circle. “Give him back!” His hands clap together. “He’s my little brother!”

…but nothing happens.

“No!” He claps again. “Come on!” And again. “Shit!” And again. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Big… brother?”

“Al!” He turns toward the voice. “Thank God you’re—”

White, lifeless eyes stare back at him. The creature’s teeth are bared, muzzle stretching in what appears to be a smile. Its brown hair flowers down its back, a contrast against its white fur.

The blood drains from Edward’s face.

“Ed… ward…” The chimera nudges him with its snout. “Wanna… play?”

Before he has time to react, his surroundings vanish into a blinding white; the armor and the chimera are gone. He vomits onto the floor as a laughter echoed around him.

“So, you couldn’t save them, after all.” Truth’s mouth spreads into a sickening grin. “Such is the life of an ordinary human.”

Edward coughs. “I did, though. I did! I beat that bearded bastard and gave you my alchemy for my brother!”

“Ah, did you?” Truth tilts its head. It taps a flesh finger against its chin. “You must have forgotten. I am what one may refer to as God; I am the world and the universe; I am all and I am one; and, most importantly—” it points its flesh finger at Edward “—I am you, and I can do as I please.”

Edward struggles to push himself up and off of the ground. He manages to place his weight in his left forearm, but when he goes to move his right, he can no longer feel the muscles and tendons move beneath his skin. His eyes widen.

His arm has been torn from his body by the Truth.

Ed collapses in a puddle of his own blood as the Truth’s laughter rings in his ears.

———

He wakes with a start, bolting upright in bed, his skin slick and clammy from a cold sweat. His heart beats wildly in his chest and he struggles to catch his breath. He reaches instinctively for his left leg; his hands grasp at cool metal. He turns his attention to his right, daring to move his arm. He feels the muscles moving beneath his skin, watches his hand and forearm come into view. He makes a fist.

He turns his attention to the woman lying on her side beside him. She looks so peaceful—she always did when she slept—but he cannot shake the image of her lifeless body on the floor. He reaches out and positions his hand beneath her nose. He sighs, content when he feels the air leaving her lungs as she breathes out. He moves a strand of hair out of her face. She begins to stir.

“Mm…” Her eyes open slowly, blue eyes peeking through long lashes. The image of her in his night terror flashes before his eyes. “What’re you doin’ up?”

Edward forces a smile. “Bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

Winry blinks, squints, and yawns before draping an arm over Edward’s waist. She pulls herself toward him and rests her head atop his chest. Her palm lies flat against his pec, fingers splaying and unintentionally brushing against his nipple. He shudders. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

He takes her in his arms, fingertips tracing invisible patterns across her bare shoulder. She pushes herself up, blue eyes boring into gold. Even in the dark, he sees a fire behind them. “It isn’t a bad thing to talk about what scares you, Ed. It’ll help you feel better.”

Would it, he wonders. He’d been haunted by nightmares since his and his little brother’s failed attempt at human transmutation. He’d never spoken of what plagued him, not even with Alphonse, though Edward always had an inkling that his armored brother knew. He’d been hopeful, assuming the terrors would vanish after restoring Al to his original body, but he had been dead wrong. He’d woke in a panic in his hospital room, mistaking the IV in his arm for the metal that kept him pinned to the rubble, vulnerable to Father’s deadly blows and tore it from his flesh. His nurse had rushed in, and though he had assured her that he was okay, the look in his eye said otherwise. She’d pushed an anti-anxiety medication into his veins after reinserting his IV, and he had fallen into a dreamless sleep.

Returning home hadn’t stopped the nightmares, either. Edward had fallen victim to a false sense of security, only to be terrorized on a rainy night, two weeks later. He’d sat in the dark, clutching his aching leg and listening to Alphonse’s soft snoring. He wouldn’t burden his little brother with his demons; and, just because he’s in Winry’s bed, he wouldn’t burden her, either.

But she’d asked him to share, and Ed could hardly believe it.

This woman, this beautiful smartass, gearheaded, crazy wonder of a woman had fallen for a broken man, and all she wanted to do was make him feel safe.

Dammit. He really was a lucky man.

He tilts his head and worries at his bottom lip. He fills his lungs, holds the breath, and exhales slowly. It’s his tell that he’ll talk, and Winry is content to lie back against him. He threads his fingers through her hair. “I couldn’t save Amestris. I couldn’t—” he sucks in a breath, his heart thumping against his ribcage. The dark of night mimics that of the Rockbell home in his dream. He bends his left leg and runs his fingertips along his metal port. “My leg broke down when I tried to get to you. I had to crawl but you—” He bites down on the tip of his tongue. The fire in Winry’s eyes has been smothered by his words. She looks at him with worry, and a familiar feeling bubbles in his gut. He’s burdening her, making her worry. Every fiber of his being screams for him to shut his mouth, to spare her the details…

…but the love in his fiancée’s eyes silences those screams. Something about the woman lying atop his chest urges him to share everything on his mind, from the most trivial thoughts to his darkest fears. He feels safe in her presence—he always has.

He takes a moment to breathe. Winry cups his cheek and he leans into her touch.

“…you told me I’d failed. I didn’t know what you meant, but we were both swallowed by the portal.” He closes his eyes, doing his best to rid his mind of the image of her lifeless body falling into the void. “Next thing I knew, I was in Central. Al’s armor wasn’t moving—I had to relive when he transmuted his soul in exchange for my arm. I tried… I tried so hard to bring him back, but my alchemy…” Another deep breath. Winry’s thumb moves soothingly back and forth against his skin. He swallows the lump in his throat. Nina comes to mind—he’d beaten Shou Tucker bloody, cursed himself for being unable to save an innocent little girl. She haunts him to this day, and Edward swears she will until his dying breath.

“I heard a voice call out for their big brother.” His voice shakes on the last two words, his hand gripping her shoulder tightly. “I thought it was Al, but when I turned to look…”

The story of a little girl turned chimera by her alchemist father wasn’t news to Winry. Edward had shared the horrifying details on a rainy night, when the pain in his leg and the thoughts brought on by the rain had been too much to bear. He’d cried that night, and, in turn, so did she. He had seen the good in alchemy, he’d explained to her, but he’d also seen the bad, and the bad outweighed the good in his eyes.

“What happened after that?”

He’s thankful for the woman he holds in his arms. She never forces him to discuss things that bring him despair. She’s quick to change the subject when it’s clear that he’s grown far too uncomfortable.

“The Truth,” he divulges quickly. While the Truth, itself, didn’t bother him, it was the ability it possessed to take. It had taken his arm and his leg; it had taken his little brother’s body; it had taken his teacher’s reproductive organs; and it had taken General Mustang’s eyesight. The Truth took what it pleased when alchemists played god. “It took you and Al from me, and it took back my arm and watched me bleed out on the floor. That’s when—”

“You woke up.”

“Yeah.”

He loosens his grip on her shoulder and steals a glance of her skin. His nails have left indentations. He looks back at the ceiling and drags his fingertips across her shoulder blade, dipping his hand into the back of her tank-top. Winry’s breathing beside his ear serves as a constant reminder than what he’d experienced was just an unfortunate trick of the mind, a side-effect of the trauma he’d experienced from a young age. He fills his lungs.

“Well,” she begins, “I’m here.”

He hugs her to his body and kisses the crown of her head. “I know.”

“And Al is here, too.”

That’s right, he was. Alphonse, his little brother, was asleep in his bed down the hall.

“You succeeded that day, Ed,” Winry pushes herself up to look him in the eye. There’s a softness in her voice. “You gave the souls of the Amestrians back, you defeated Father, and you brought Al back to us.” She cups his cheek tenderly, a soft smile on her lips. The blue of her eyes is piercing, and Edward never wants to look away. “You saved the country and fulfilled your promise. There’s nothing bad, anymore. There’s only good.”

She leans down to capture his lips in a kiss. They move in perfect synchronization, movements slow and deliberate. Winry’s tongue enters his mouth; he nibbles on her bottom lip; hands explore each other’s bodies until Winry straddles him and holds his face in her hands. He lifts her shirt over her head and loses himself completely.

She was right, the worst of his life was behind him. He’d returned his brother to his body, he’d found love with his best friend, and he’d been permitted to retire from the military to live a simpler life. There was only good ahead of him.

#edward elric #winry rockbell #edwin #edward x winry #edward/winry #fma #my fics #equivalent exchange #otp: equivalent exchange #submitted prompt

[monsterywriting]

Thenerius - pt 1

masterlist

word count: 4,555

male tiefling x female reader

AN: this is planned as a two-parter, like Adam, just super long because i want to make “shorter” (i.e. not a bunch of parts) stories so i can keep up better.

The Deep was a small inn with an attached tavern overlooking the ocean about an hour’s ride from the nearby port city of Alfore. The location was not entirely by accident, or so your boss claims, and it definitely was not a miscalculation of Alfore’s outward expansion when purchasing the land.

Nevertheless, against all odds, Mr. Thistle’s business managed to prevail despite the city’s outer limits remaining largely unchanged for the better part of a decade. His secret to paying his taxes on time was largely thanks to his clientele, taking in those not traditionally welcome within the city limits. To put it bluntly, pirates.

It was your second year working at The Deep but your entire life had been spent within it’s pine walls, your mother having worked here before you. Though you weren’t quite used to being a worker there, there was one thing of which you were certain: you have made more gold in these two years than you had with the salary of a scribe for the capital’s archives in five.

Whenever a pirate crew blew in with the with the sea breeze, the drunken tips of coin and jewelry of dubious origins were almost worth the whirlwind of destruction left in the wake of their days-long benders.

But at present, that period of prosperity was still months away and you were currently struggling to clean the tavern when all you wanted was to curl up in front of the fire on the far side of the room.

There weren’t many guests staying overnight this time of year, whatever handful of travelers entering Alfore by land were willing to stop so close to their destination, but the tavern was never truly empty.

You relaxed slightly as you approached the fireplace, taking your time dusting the mantel as the heat thawed your freezing body.

It was about two-thirds of the way into your third straight shift, the night before having started off promising. A rare merchant ship’s crew stopped by the tavern for the evening at the end of your first trip, but the tips hadn’t been impressive so you had agreed to stay and help the morning shift expecting the clean up to be worse than it actually was.

With over an hour left in your shift, everything was spotless and you had little else to do but pretend to dust as close to the fireplace as you could.

A tap on your shoulder nearly made you topple over the old trinkets on the mantel, Lenora giggling at your reaction behind you. She was a pretty young woman, clearly descending at least in part from the sea, though you never asked her any specifics.

“I hope winter ends early this year,” she sighed, setting down an armful of cleaned mugs on the bar counter, “I hardly got any tips last night, and those assholes ran me ragged filling their ales! Even the pirates would at least leave a gold coin a piece for that!”

“Tova willing,” You snort, slipping behind the bar and stowing the mugs away in their place underneath the counter, inclined to agree with Lenora before a yawn escaped you, your hand quickly covering your mouth as you were unable to contain it.

“You should go sleep in my room for a bit,” she suggested gently, wiping down the wet spots where the mugs had been with her rag, “We’re pretty much finished and you had a long night.”

“I’m fine,” you replied tersely, unwilling to admit how tempting the offer was, “my shift’s almost over.”

Before Lenora could argue with you, Thistle poked his head out of his office and called you into it.

By the time you entered the cramped room - once an extra supply closet - he was already behind his desk, writing something furiously that you couldn’t see over the towering stacks of papers surrounding him

Mr. Thistle was a halfling, the only one you’d ever seen even among all the people at the port. You didn’t know much about them, other than what you observed from your boss. Despite his youthful appearance, you knew for a fact he was much older than he appeared. And, in his case, his personality very much fit his namesake, his tongue and wit both sharper than perhaps was wise.

“What are you still doing here? Your shift ended an hour ago,” Mr. Thistle didn’t look up from his paperwork, his voice sounding almost bored, though you had known him long enough to recognize that it wasn’t a rhetorical question.

“You agreed to let me take on more shifts last month, Mr. Thistle,” you answered.

“You have been here for twenty-four straight hours,” Mr. Thistle frowned, “Rose will kill me for overworking you once she’s well enough to visit.”

You swallowed a growing lump in your throat, shaking your head emphatically, “Please, sir, at least let me finish this shift. You know I’ll work hard and I need the money…”

“Sir? When have you ever called me that?” He spat, but you knew him well enough to know he was cracking, “Fine, finish your shift. But you’re out of here by noon! And I don’t want to see you again until next weekend.”

“Thank you!” You said as you walked out the room, deciding to get one last word in over your shoulder before slamming the door shut behind you, “You’re the best god-dad, sir!”

Just as you returned to the bar with a new vigor, the bell hanging above the tavern entrance rang as it was struck by the opening door.

You and Lenora glanced at each other before turning to see who had arrived at such an odd time of day and season.

“Thenerius!” You cried out once you saw exactly who was ducking down to pass through the entryway without his horns knocking into the doorframe, exaggerated cheer masking your shock at seeing the pirate captain in the middle of winter.

He smirked as he strode up to the bar, his purple hand lifting to dig around his breast pocket for a bag of gold he dropped on the counter for you to take. You quickly hand it off to Lenora to put in the inn’s safe, ignoring her not-so-subtle wink at you and practically skip into the kitchen to help pass out the first round of ales.

You weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, all too happy to greet any customer you knew had gold and play the part of eye candy for them.

Any boredom or exhaustion you felt from your back to back shifts vanished as the solution to your stress magically appeared before you.

Thinking ahead, you save Thenerius’ table for last and no sooner do you set down the four pitchers of ales you’d been carrying is the tiefling pulling you down to sit on his lap. You quickly slide off to sit at his side, allowing him to keep an arm around you. You feel a bit self conscious, knowing you probably smell worse for wear after three straight shifts, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he downs his first mug of ale.

Glancing around, you note that the other crew members didn’t look nearly as jovial to be here in the snow as their captain did. It was definitely dangerous to be navigating the waters this far north this time of year, the winds less reliable and ice tending to form bergs out where there was no hope for rescue, not to mention that pirates tended to stick to the beaches in the south while they waited for winter to pass.

“What are you doing here so early?” You ask, unable to hide your curiosity at how two out-of-season crews managed to stop at the inn, this one more surprising than the merchants.

“The winds were favorable,” Thenerius beamed down at you, though that still didn’t answer the question of why they’d want to leave the south now of all times. Seemingly sensing your dissatisfaction with the answer, he flung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, his voice lowering to a hushed whisper that tickled the shell of your ear, “and I simply had to come see my treasure as soon as I could.”

You giggle and pretend to turn your head in a bashful display, inwardly cringing at the nickname. You’re all too happy, however, to accept Thenerius’ hand slipping into your skirts and feel gold pieces clinking together as he drops the coins into your pocket. You accept his flirting and flirt back yourself, tolerating his occasionally hand fondling as he laughed and drank all night. Well, that made it sound more lecherous than it actually was.

Thenerius was obsessed with your hands, feeling the pads of your fingers and rubbing circles on the back of them. You had asked him why when he first asked you if he could hold them, having stared at them constantly before then. He said because they were soft, and you understood. Your hands were no dainty things, the beginnings of some callouses here and there, especially where you held your pen, but they were like a newborn’s in comparison to his, roughened from working on boats his entire adult life.

He also demanded a lot of your attention, constantly keeping conversations with you going when you wished nothing more than to just sit there and fall asleep from his ministrations. Nevertheless, you’d complement Thenerius and look impressed as he recounts the harrowing adventures he’d experienced in the past year and dutifully feel his new scars on his already scar-riddled body in feigned awe.

The man had an ego the size of a small island, an easy enough thing to stroke in order to get a better haul of tips at the end of it all. Other’s also provide company as you are, you even catch Lenora’s eye with a smile as she leads a minotaur into the inn portion of the building. You resist the urge to shake your head, unable to believe she was turning in so early in the day. Mr. Thistle definitely wouldn’t approve, but you were no snitch.

Though, you never let Thenerius get that close to you, drawing the line whenever the tiefling attempted to push the envelope of acceptable public behavior, acting coy when you needed to and sometimes only narrowly managing to avoid his attacking lips by keeping his mouth busy downing more ale.

He was even more clingy than the ones who just wanted to fuck you, but dealing with Captain Thenerius of the Red Night was second nature to you now, well worth the flirting game you two have played for the past two years. Just keep him company until he was piss drunk, and then it was easy enough to extract yourself from his grasp and actually help the others run the tavern. He was by far the customer with the loosest purse strings, always throwing gold around like he were some purple holiday saint.

The constant boasting and drunken attempts at kissing were turn-offs even with his admittedly handsome features when sober. But, he was about as harmless as you were willing to think a pirate, never demanding more of you in the carnal sense, and he was constantly slipping you extra coins, so you remained pleasant.

Realistically, you knew the gold was more likely than not blood money, given his occupation. However, it made no difference to you where the money came from so long as it ended up in your pocket, and the tiefling only ever sought you out when he visited.

You coo at Thenerius’ virility as he flexed before you, your hands on his bicep and nodding along with whatever he told you, both of you ignoring how his crew was gagging and groaning at your cavity-inducing display.

You truly had one person to thank for your position as the pirate captain’s favorite in The Deep: Paloma, a former worker at the tavern herself before she fell pregnant and got married. Once she knew she would no longer be working at The Deep, she had introduced you.

Frankly, the tiefling had shown no interest in you at first, his eyes never straying from Paloma as she worked bringing out supper. It had been awkward - you had barely started working at the inn after emerging from the archives where your only contact with another soul had been through books written by long-dead authors. You had not yet perfected the art of flirting with customers, and you definitely weren’t one to fight for a man’s attention.

It was by pure luck you happened recognize the origin of one of Thenerius’ rings, and even more luck that his attention had actually been on the on the table shuffling a deck of cards when you commented on it, the ensuing conversation what finally got you on his radar.

However, even as you grew comfortable falling into the role of companion for the pirate whenever he blew into town, you were never so foolish as to fall for him or any of the other pirates from different crews that took a shining to you, as some of the other girls were prone to do.

You held no illusion that the Thenerius that would cuddle you like a child would their favorite toy after a few pitchers of ale was born out of anything more than loneliness from a pirate who was likely holding his first warm body after months at sea. And who knew whose body he held after months going back to the other side of the world.

Even if the visits were like clockwork, it was only a few weeks out of the year and their free spirits and lifestyles only spelled heartbreak for those whose lives were spent on land.

And even you could appreciate the fun of the pastime. It definitely wasn’t torture; Thenerius was on the handsomer end of the pirate spectrum, meticulously looking after his appearance and general health even on long stretches at sea. It was hard to tell how much older than you he was, his appearance both rugged from the sea and boyish from his mannerisms, and his choice in outfits were… colorful, to say the least, always wearing the most expensive fabrics he acquired during his travels - which somehow always tended to be the gaudiest.

Though you would never allow yourself to fall for him, maybe you would have at least bedded him had he not ended every night shitfaced, though that bit was partially your doing.

After an hour, and Thenerius is relying on the wall to stay upright more than himself, you try to slip out of the booth as quietly as you can. However, just as you’re about to stand, arms suddenly snake around your waist and pull you ungracefully back down. An undignified yelp escapes you, and it takes all your willpower to not let your instinct to fight against your captor win.

Once you turn, he is staring quite intensely at you, though he fortunately makes no attempt to kiss you. Involuntarily, you begin to turn red at his scrutiny, knowing pretty words won’t placate the tiefling on the rare occasions he goes completely silent like this.

“My shift is almost over,” you whisper, awkwardly pulled an arm out from Thenerius’ hold to pat his cheek gently, “I have to go.”

To your surprise, Thenerius actually lets go on the first try. However, he also rose to his feet and followed you out the tavern and to the stables. He was silent as he watched you ready your horse, so quiet you may have forgotten he was there had you not felt his stare upon your so sharply. Just as you passed him leading your horse out into the courtyard believing Thenerius to just be drunk, he calls out to you.

You stop in the courtyard, looking up at the tiefling in curiosity as his hand dove into his coat pocket to pull out a beautifully intricate golden ring with emeralds encrusted along the braided band.

Normally, your weren’t a fan of such gifts, preferring more liquid assets over something so valuable that you were expected to keep and wear in front of the giver. However, you found yourself making an exception as the ring was so breathtaking you needed to put on no act as you thanked Thenerius and took it carefully from his calloused fingers.

“I love it,” you smiled, trying the ring on each finger until it slid snugly down your right index. You presented the ring to the pirate captain, laughing as you watched his tail swishing behind him and the way his entire expression lit up seeing you wear his gift.

“Actually,” Thenerius cleared his throat, sounding almost nervous as he took your hands in his before you could climb onto your horse, and you cursed your heart for leaping into your throat as his thumb stroked lazy circles over your knuckles.

You manage not to wrench your hands out of Thenerius’ sudden grasp, watching as his thumb and forefinger slowly pull the ring off your right hand. The confusion must be apparent on your face as he chuckled and whispered reassurances as he transferred the ring to your left hand, the fourth finger before your pinky.

It took you a moment of staring to register what was happening, your body only kickstarting into action when Thenerius was in the process of kneeling before you, “I was hoping to do this tonight in front of my crew, but if you’re leaving now-”

Like an automaton finally kicking to life, you took in a gasping breath and closed your fists around the collar of Thenerius’ coat, not caring how you appeared as you pulled him back up before his knee could touch the dusty ground and there was evidence of what was about to transpire.

He fought against you at first, but when you growled out a stern “stop!” he allowed you to haul him back to his feet.

“What’s wrong?” Thenerius had the nerve to look hurt as you yanked the ring off your finger and shove it back into his hand.

“What’s wrong? You’re proposing to me, damn it!” You nearly shouted, managing to curb your temper despite doubting anyone inside would be able to hear you.

You were teetering a dangerous edge, yelling as you were at a pirate of all people, and who knows what he did to get the damned ring, but you were too caught up in your own anger to care that he could easily kill you where you stood. You were too busy feeling as though your world was crashing around you. Things were good. Why did he have to go and ruin it all by doing this? Why couldn’t he just… continue your game in perpetuity. It wasn’t the first proposal you’ve gotten at work, but it was definitely the one that hurt the most.

“I love you,” Thenerius croaked, “I thought-”

“Love? You must be out of your damned mind,” you scoff in disbelief, “You’ve only seen me three times in two years. less than four weeks total. And you’re proposing? You love anyone who bats their eyelashes at you for gold?”

“That’s not true,” Thenerius said, appearing so stricken by your episode you had to avert your eyes to the sheer pain in his own, “You didn’t do it for the gold. You care for me as deeply as I care for you.”

You turn to your saddle, pulling out a burlap sack from your bag and forcing it open. You pull out a tangle of jewelry, necklaces, earrings, even a ring or two.

“I needed the gold, that’s it.”

Thenerius stares blankly at you, and you take his distraction as an opportunity to jump on your horse and ride off.

You don’t slow until you knew The Deep was far behind you, finally allowing your mare to walk the rest of the way home once you’re confident you put enough space between you and the pirate. You didn’t relax until you saw the familiar barn roof above the treetops ahead.

“I’m home!” You called from the doorway, immediately struck by the stillness of the house as unease settled deep in the pit of your stomach.

Pushing back the unpleasant thoughts, certain it was rooted in what had transpired at work, you ventured deeper into the cottage, making your way to the bedroom.

“Mother?” Your call goes unanswered as you enter, smiling softly when you saw her still wrapped up in the bed.

The fire on the far side of the room was burning low, so you threw another log in it before going to sit on the chair at the side of the bed to remove your work clothes.

Just as you were about to crawl into bed, you notice the open book still by your mother and walked around to grab it. It was an old book you immediately recognized, the hand-drawn illustrations and worn pages all too familiar from your childhood. You carefully mark her place with the torn piece of paper she always used and set it on her bedside table.

Glancing at your mother, now closer, you couldn’t help the uneasiness that crept back to the forefront of you mind as you realized how peacefully she was sleeping.

No rattling breathing, no tossing or turning, none of what had plagued your mother’s nights since she first fell ill. A chill ran up your spine as you reached out a tentative hand to brush against her cheek, relief making your legs weak when she grunts at your disturbance and rolls over onto her back.

“What is it?” She yawned, starting to emerge from her blanket cocoon.

“Nothing, I just got back,” you whispered, smoothing back her hair from her eyes, “Have you taken your medicine today?”

She nodded, already drifting off again. You sighed, any thought of sleep gone from your mind from the scare.

You decide to spend the rest of the day outside, finishing all the chores that had piled up while you were gone. First, you had to clean your horse’s hooves, then feed the chickens and gather their eggs, milk your goats and finally take the cured meat our of your small smokehouse.

It was still strange being home, even after so much time had passed since leaving your life at the capital. You had once swore you’d never return to the tiny cottage, leaving to make your own way in this world.

But circumstance led you back home, despite making many offers to have your mother move in with you at the capital. She insisted, however, that she preferred the peace and quiet the country offered her, though you knew in truth she couldn’t leave the home your father had built, the memories and perhaps some buried hope that he may one day return for her keeping her firmly rooted.

By the time you were able to turn in for the day, you were completely drained of all energy. In truth, your exhaustion had begun to catch up to you once you went into the barn to bring your horse out, but you had persevered to finish everything that needed to be done.

Rather than immediately knock out as you wanted, you sat at the table and counted your coins from your past few shifts.

“That’s a lot more than I ever made in two days,” your mother hummed, glancing over your shoulder as she made her way from the kitchen to set two plates filled with steaming food in front of you.

“It was a busy couple days,” you smile. If she notices how strained it is, your mother makes no comment, “I’ll have enough to buy enough medicine for the next few months.”

“I hope that means you’ll finally take some time off,” she huffed, “I’m beginning to forget I don’t live alone anymore.”

“Mr. Thistle banned me from going back to The Deep until next weekend,” you chuckle, feeling a small bit of tension release from your shoulders at how your mother’s face lit up at the mention of her old friend.

“Oh, how is Aedan?” She asked excitedly. She was the only person brave enough to cll Thistle by his first name, or at least the only one he allowed to live afterwards.

“You know, we’d all feel better if you moved into the inn,” you said, not looking up as you deposited your final coin into your purse, knowing your mother’s response before she even spoke.

“For the last time, I’m not leaving my home and neither you or Aedan are going to convince me any different,” she said, her voice rising until a coughing fit overtaking her.

You grimaced as you watched her body curl in on itself, her entire frame shaking with the coughs. Still, you made no move to help, knowing she would only wave you off.

You bit back everything you wished to say, fighting the urge to shake her and tell her the man who abandoned both of you was never coming back, that it was dangerous for her to stay here by herself.

“I’m going to bed,” you say instead, taking your half-eaten plate to the sink and dropping the rest into the scrap pile for the chickens.

As you lay in bed, you turn your head to look at the book your mother had been reading. It was a collection of fairytales, the same book she used to read to you to sleep as a young child. You had loved it back then, the stories of a wily pirate crew’s adventures in far off lands.

Once you grew older and could read the dedication on the blank space of the cover page, you’d refused to listen to the stories any longer, though your mother would still stay up late to read its pages alone.

It had been a gift from your father to you as a baby, before he stopped showing back up. He couldn’t resist the call of the sea, a pirate at heart, your mother had said, but he would return to the two of you one day. You scoffed.

Reaching over, you pull the book onto your lap, flipping the cover open in the lamplight. You stared down at the elegant ink script, the looping cursive rivaling that of even the senior scribes in your prior occupation but remaining as secretive as ever.

You once wondered what your father thought as he wrote the small paragraph, if he knew he would leave your mother at the same time he professed his love and hope for you. Now, you had too many other things to worry about to remain bitter over someone who may well have long since forgotten you.

You mind wanders for a moment, a purple face with lovestruck eyes crossing your consciousness for a moment you quickly stifle, an underdeveloped question cut short before it could fully form and haunt you. You place the book back to where your mother kept it, finally able to keep your eyes closed once your head hits your pillow.

Would he leave, too? And then, nothing.

part 2

#exophilia #reader insert #tiefling boyfriend #tiefling

[rainingpouringetc]

Can you maybe write something with a Alastair and Anna friendship?

yes! i love these two and i feel like their friendship would be exquisite. hope i did it justice <3

The party seemed to be going rather well. If he was being completely honest, Alastair wasn’t entirely sure what the ball was for; he knew only that people were dancing and eating and drinking and talking, and he was on the outskirts, as had become normal for him at these events. He spotted Cordelia in James’ arms, a twirling vision in emerald green, beaming up at her fiancé. The rest of James’ friends were milling about, keeping clear of the dance floor and blatantly avoiding Alastair.

This was usually about the time when he would slink away from the prying eyes to a drawing room and pull out the book he had brought along. Who was he to mess with tradition?

The room he found himself in was decorated modestly with two armchairs, a sofa, a low table, and a single lamp. Alastair settled into the armchair closest to the lamp and opened his copy of Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley. Books such as this that focused on hypothetical science in fictional settings had never been his favorite--he found them a bit impractical and detached--but this particular narrative had always intrigued him greatly.

He had finished about a chapter and a half when he heard the door creak open behind him. “So this is where you slithered off to,” a voice drawled lazily.

Shutting his book with a soft thump, Alastair turned to find Anna Lightwood leaning against the doorframe with smoke billowing out of her mouth, no doubt from the cigar she held casually in one hand. “Obviously my hiding spot isn’t good enough if you could find me,” he said as she strode to the couch beside him and flopped down rather ungracefully.

Becoming friends with Anna Lightwood hadn’t been something Alastair had necessarily counted on, and yet here they were, avoiding the same party for the same reasons together. They’d bonded over their mutual distaste toward Charles, though obviously after quite different experiences and difficulties with him. Alastair knew Anna preferred women, as he was sure nearly everyone did at this point, but he’d also made sure to tell her of his own preference for men. It had delighted her greatly--she’d almost seemed amused--and after that they grew very close very quickly.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Anna told him, offering him the cigar. He declined with a sharp shake of his head, and she shrugged as if to say your loss. “I doubt anyone worth any trouble--that is, anyone fun--will bother seeking you out beyond the first few sitting rooms and closets around the ballroom. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Alastair rolled his eyes and opened his book again. “Which of course makes everything so much better.”

“Oh, please, Alastair, you can’t honestly believe that I’m going to let you read at a time like this!” Anna exclaimed, sitting up and reaching at at his book. He swatted her hand away and she backed up as though in surrender. “This is supposed to be a night of forgetting all our troubles. You aren’t allowed to be worried about anything.”

“Saying that doesn’t make it so,” he quipped, though he at least set his book on the table and gave Anna his attention. “What exactly did you have in mind for tonight, then?”

The grin she gave him was nothing short of wicked.

---

Anna and Alastair soon found themselves in a small garden of sorts behind the Institute, sitting on the steps and laughing hysterically at something neither of them could remember. Anna had been drinking. Alastair had not.

A sudden pensiveness seemed to overtake Anna, as she turned quickly to Alastair and took his hands in hers. “You’d tell me if things were bad, wouldn’t you?”

He arched a brow at her, slightly alarmed by her sudden change in demeanor. “How do you mean?”

“If things were bad with you. Or Cordelia. Or your parents. You’d tell me?”

It took Alastair aback. “I suppose... yes. I would.” She continued to stare at him as though waiting. It was rather irksome, Alastair thought. “What do you want me to say?” he asked hotly.

“I want you to tell me if things are bad,” Anna stated simply.

Alastair opened his mouth to tell her that everything was fine, but he paused. Was it actually? Or was he just giving them both a false hope to hide the fact that... well, that everything suddenly seemed far from it.

“What is it?” Anna prompted. “Just... one thing. Just tell me one thing that’s bothering you, right now, in this moment.”

Recovering, Alastair quipped, “Well, your hands are rather cold and are holding mine quite tightly.” Anna laughed and dropped his hands, reaching for the bottle she’d brought along only to discover Alastair had swiped it and placed it out of her reach. “I suppose if there’s one thing bothering me right now... it’s that I’ve never truly been able to enjoy parties such as this one. There’s never been anyone I wanted to dance with who was willing. And there have been far too many willing dance partners who I couldn’t have cared less for.”

A slow smile crept across Anna’s face, and Alastair knew instantly that he’d made a grave mistake in admitting this to her. She leapt to her feet and pulled him up with her, dragging him by the sleeve into the Institute yet again. “Come on, then, Al. Let’s dance.”

“Anna, no--”

“Yes, Alastair.”

“You’re drunk and--”

“No one cares,” she declared, marching the both of them through the doors of the ballroom. “Besides, you’re sober. I’m sure my drunk dancing plus your sober dancing will put us on a level playing field.”

Alastair’s head whipped around to her. She knew he wasn’t one to turn down such a challenge. “So that’s how it is?”

There was a playful gleam in Anna’s eye. “That’s how it is.”

The song changed to an upbeat tune that had nearly every young person pouring onto the dance floor, pulling their friends and partners with them. Anna led Alastair to the floor and placed one of her hands dutifully on his shoulder. He gave a longsuffering sigh and assumed his position, one hand on her waist, the other clutching her free hand. They spun around and around, chatting amiably as they circled the floor. Alastair was fairly certain he saw Matthew Fairchild staring dumbfoundedly at them from the side of the room. He was also sure that they spun past Cordelia and James once or twice, and that while James looked about as confused as his parabatai, Cordelia looked thrilled and even winked at him. 

The pair danced through several songs together before Anna announced that her feet felt as though they were about to fall off and pulled Alastair out to the garden once again.

As they sat there on the steps, staring up at the stars together, Alastair realized he’d never properly expressed his gratitude toward Anna for... anything, really. He glanced over at her. “Thank you.”

It seemed to startle her out of a reverie. “For what?” she asked, looking genuinely confused.

Alastair smiled and shrugged. “Everything.”

Anna smiled crookedly at him and raised her empty wine glass in a salute. “Cheers to that.”

i really hope you liked it! sorry it took me so long to get to, i wanted to make sure i took the time to get it right <3

#tlh #the last hours #tlh fanfic #alastair carstairs #anna lightwood #chain of gold #chain of iron #artie tries to write

[dholwrites]

Work Out the Knots

Notes: Commission piece for @fuu9266. This has the ending to Shadowbringers! Relationship: Thancred Waters x WoL OC [Fuujin Lorelei] Rating: E Summary: After the battle against Hades, Fuujin and the Scions return back to the Crystarium where a party is being thrown to celebrate the return of the night. Thancred slips into her room for a massage and more.

✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐

Thancred takes a long sip of the cold water in his cup as he eyes the other party-goers. A round of cheers erupt from nearby patrons, clinking their mugs before emptying them all in one go. Whoops quickly follow as they watch a dwarf drink another blond-haired hume under the table. It’s the first celebration to mark the beginning of a new era, and the leader of the Crystarium is quick to suggest a party to welcome the night and the heroes’ safe return. Drinks and food are served around the clock as everyone takes advantage of the Exarch’s generosity to eat and drink as if they’ve been given a new life.

As much as he wishes to join them, Urianger’s constant presence has become more than a thorn in his side. The elezen had threatened to share every detail of his past endeavors if he so much as eyed a goblet of ale for a moment too long. How Urianger managed to get his hands on certain details will have to remain a mystery; one he doesn’t want to unravel, at least not tonight. Especially when he is keen on making sure that Fuujin and Ryne don't hear any of his past escapades. While Fuujin knows of some of the things he’s done in the past, now that he’s in a committed relationship with her, he wants to avoid the topic as much as possible.

The hyur searches the area for his favorite miqo’te, only to realize that he can’t even catch a strand of her black hair. He lets out a small huff when he can't spot her at all and settles deeper into his seat. Both Urianger and Y’shtola are quick to pick up his change of demeanor. Any of the Scions could tell how smitten he is with his mood bouncing up and down depending on how long their Warrior has been away. Thancred would become snappy and anxious when Fuujin doesn’t check in right away.

“She is taking the younglings back into their room, Thancred.” ‘Master Matoya’ peeks at him over the brim of her teacup. There is an amused twinkle in her eyes before she glances in the direction of the city’s personal suites. It isn’t hard for him to figure out what she is implying.

He could feel his face grow warmer and warmer as Y’shtola snickered under her breath at his suffering. Deciding he’s too tired to deal with any more teasing, he downs the rest of his cup and turns to leave before the other two could utter a word. “I’ll see myself off.”

Urianger only lets out a sigh as he watches their friend march towards the suits before turning to Y’shtola. “Privy, thus thou provth he?’”

She only flashes him a mischievous look before pouring herself another cup. “It’s no longer our problem.”

-

Instead of making his way to his own room, his feet brought him to her front door. Thancred raised his hand to knock, hesitating just a moment when he could hear some shuffling inside. He barely managed to get three knocks in before the door swung open to reveal Fuujin, still dressed in her Thavarnian outfit with the bells, gold chains, and arm wrappings removed. It’s an outfit that reminds him of the performers that he’d seen in Limsa.

“Finally had enough for today?” She teased with a smile before stepping aside for him to enter, the miqo’te returning to put away her gear for the day.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

Thancred lets out an annoyed huff as he nudged the door shut behind him, his eyes never once leaving her form. He’s seen her well over a dozen times in her white dress, not to mention without it, but the effect it has is still prominent. He wishes to reach out, to trace his hand across her back and along her waist, to feel her warmth under his palm; to feel her tan skin pressed against his, her black hair between his fingers, and see her sky-blue eyes grow hazy with pleasure. His own eyes could never stray far from her before they’re naturally pulled back to her form, like a moth drawn to a flame. She entranced him.

He starts to toss off his own gear, setting his cherished gunblade on the table and shrugging off his long coat to hang off the back of a chair. A groan slips out as the heaviness slips off his shoulders. He rolls them in an attempt to relieve himself of some of the pain, not to mention her burning gaze boring into his back.

“Liking what you see, Fuu?” He flexes his arms for good measure despite his muscles protesting, yet the laugh and smile he spots from the corner of his eye is more than enough to make up for it.

“You seem a little tense.” Her fingers press against his shoulders, feeling the knots that have formed there.

“My back is killing me, but nothing a hot shower and a good night’s rest can’t solve.” He spins on his heel and takes her hand, planting a kiss on the back of it. His mischievous grin is met with her own shy smile.

Fuujin taps his chin with her free hand, her head tilting over towards the bed. “Strip and lay down.”

“My dear, Fuujin, I thought you’d never ask.” He received a light slap on his side for his comment. Still, he easily tugs his shirt over his head, giving her a clear view of the muscle he’s built since taking up the gunblade. Thancred falls on his stomach and onto the bed without another word. Fuujin forces herself to look away from his figure to pull out a vial of massage oil, its lavender scent starting to fill the air as she pours the contents onto her hands, spreading the coat around to fully warm it up. She turns back towards him, taking a moment to pause at the sight before her.

The gentle light of the moon shone over every dip and curve of his muscle, highlighting the worn battle scars that he has accumulated over the years as a gunbreaker. His arms are tucked underneath the pillow holding up his chin as Fuujin slowly crawls on top of him, gently balancing herself on his lower back.

Everything slowly melts away as she slathers the excess lotion on him. Her thumbs dig into the tense muscle between his shoulder blades before she flattens her hands and begins rubbing the bones of Thancred’s spine. Underneath her, his hand claws into the bed sheets.

“Twelve, that feels good .” She could feel the deep groan under her palm as she continued to work on his back. Thancred’s shoulders rise and fall with each heavy breath, steady moans slipping out in between. The soothing smell of lavender does little to cool the warmth pooling at the pit of her stomach, like dipping heated metal into water .

Her blue eyes linger at the skin covered by the ends of his hair, and she couldn’t resist her temptation any longer. Leaning forward, with hands pressed firmly against his sides, she placed a hot kiss against the back of his neck. Her ears pick up on the hum of appreciation reverberating in the air, and it sends a shiver down her spine.

Does he know what he’s doing to her?

The air in the room grows warmer with every press of her thumb. Fuujin could not help but lean forward to press her lips against his shoulder blades. She briefly felt him stiffen up before all his tension melted away like ice on a summer’s day. Not hearing any protest, she kisses him again. Over and over, the miqo’te showers him with soft, light kisses as her hands work down into his lower back.

The moan that he let out when she touched a weak spot went straight through her, her own smallclothes growing wet with excitement. She stops just short of the waist of his shorts, instead gripping his sides and kissing up his neck and cheek until she reaches his lips. Her fingers slip past the band and draw circles on his skin as he pushes himself onto his elbows to return the kiss in full force. His tongue dipped between the seam of her lips, touching her own and stealing her breath in a single motion. He took her hand, not caring about the oil that sticks to her skin, his digits gliding across her palm and coating his own with the floral scent.

Thancred nudged her up to her knees before rolling over and laying his back flat against the bed. His tent brushes against her underwear, dragging tentatively across her smalls and sends shivers from her spine to her tail. With his oil slicked finger, he pulls aside her panties and lightly strokes her folds; the sensation making her entire body shudder.

The oil mixes with her juices as the hyur toys with her clit, his index finger purposely tracing around it and ghosting over the nerves with practiced ease that leaves her tingling and wanting. Thancred stares at her face as he continues to tease, taking in the sight of her red cheeks, her gasps, and her fluttering ears. It’s adorable how her body twitches at each motion. He wants to pull her down for a kiss but decides to refrain. It's been a while since he got to see the pleasure written across her face.

He traced painstakingly lower, circling around her entrance one final time before dipping his fingers inside. Thancred’s other hand trailed down to run along the planes of her back before rubbing the fur at the base of her tail. He watched as Fuujin’s face twisted and her mouth fell open to let out a short moan. He has every intention of getting her to sing longer and pull himself up; his lips pressing against her neck as he fondles her tail. His other hand traveled along her side and cupped her breast. A sudden gasp escapes the miqo’te as he rubs her nipple, and her nails dig into his skin.

“T-Thancred,” Fuujin mutters breathlessly.

The hyur could feel his cock twitch at the sound of his name on her lips, and his smallclothes were quickly becoming far, far too tight. He has barely been touched and already she is getting his blood pumping. She is too sultry for her own good.

He pulls away from her neck, their gazes locking with each other as she reopens her sky colored eyes. Fuujin wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself against him and leaving no room to breathe without feeling the other. Their lips crash together in a kiss even hotter than before, with her wasting little time to brush her tongue between his lips and into his mouth. Thancred wraps both of his arms around her waist to stabilize her, and she took the chance to grind her hips against his hardening cock.

“Fuu,” Thancred says between a series of tiny kisses, “I’ll buy you a new pair later.”

A sharp tear echoes through the room as Thancred ripped through the band of her smallclothes like it’s nothing more than paper. The remains are tossed off to the side with little care by the time she realizes what is happening. She knows she should be angry at him for pulling something like that, but it only turned her on even more knowing that he’s as desperate as she is to fuck.

Fuujin glares and smacks his arm. Her cheeks had felt warm already, but now they burn from embarrassment. He added to her shame by chuckling as he tugs down his shorts and pulls his aching member free, his hand spreading the mix of her juices and oil onto his length as he strokes himself from base to tip.

“Don’t pretend as if you didn’t enjoy that,” he teases her while dragging the head against her lower lips. She could feel him perfectly position it at her entrance, her body already quivering with anticipation.

Deciding that he’s taking too long, she pushes to make the first move. Fuujin slowly lowers herself onto his cock, digging her nails into his shoulder to prevent him from moving; the hitch in his breath setting off a small rush of excitement. Ilm by thick ilm, she feels herself stretch to take him in one go. No matter how many times they’ve fucked, she could never get over how full he made her. Thancred’s hand settles on her waist, stroking her smooth skin to soothe her.

Fuuhjin took a moment to calm her nerves, then slowly rolled her hips against his. She drank up every drop of pleasure like water, using it as fuel to push her body to keep going. Her fingers moved from his shoulder to his chest, feeling every flex of his muscles as he restrained himself and the pounding of his heartbeat. Thancred, in turn, didn’t leave any patch of skin uncarressed; holding onto her hips, stroking her thigh, or squeezing her breast. His hands never leaving her as she rode him towards sweet release.

“Keep going, Fuu, you look amazing from down here.” She could feel the rumbling of his voice under her palms. One of his own reached up to play with her chest while the other one urged her to pick up the pace. Impatient, he grabs a hold of her hip and thrusts upward as she comes down, pulling out as she rises up only to bury himself to the hilt again.

Thancred pulls her down and plants a kiss at the top of her head as his pace picks up. Fuujin wraps her arms around his neck to brace herself, with one hand digging into his luscious white locks. Her ears and tail flicker and wiggle in the air at the onslaught of pleasure, her long silky strands tickling his neck and skin like feathers. She tips back her head and chants his name to the ceiling, her legs trembling, fingers knotting into his hair. Thancred wraps his arms around her waist to prevent her from moving far.

He moans into her sensitive ears, sending signals through her entire body, making her feel like a time bomb. Any moment she would come undone, her tail curling and uncurling in the air behind her.

“T-twelves,” Fuujin muttered, her entire body shivering at his groans, “why are you doing that in my ear?”

“Because,” Thancred whispered into her ear in a deep husky tone, “I want you to hear what you do to me.”

Her breath hitched, eyes widened, and ears stood at attention at his words. It gave him easier access to continue his onslaught, his lip lightly gazing at the length of her ear as he lets out a powerful moan. Her own body betrays her as the vibration sends another rush of pleasure that has her curling her toes.

“Now, no more talking,” Thancred growls into her ear, a sharp roll of his hips knocking the breath out of her. “The only thing I want to hear from you is my name .”

With that command, he gripped her hips and pulled out until it was only the tip inside. His head brushes against a bundle of nerves that sends waves of pleasure through her entire body, Fuujin’s back arching and she nearly chokes on her own breath. Her vision goes hazy with desire but she attempts to look at his face. With a swift thrust, he hits the spot again and his own veins fill with liquid fire as he watches the dancer’s body squirm to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Than- Than -” she barely gets her words out before another thrust throws off her train of thought. Every blissful moan encouraged his craving to see her come undone on his cock.

“Sing a little louder, my dear Fuu.” Thancred licks his lips, his eyes dark with lust as the command slips out as easily as he breathes. He removes his hand from her waist to pinch her clit, her back arching further as he stroked the bundle of nerves with practiced ease. He knows her body almost as well as she does; what motions make her gasp, what angle would bring her mind to a halt, and how to make her body tense under his manipulation. All she needs is him - his scent and warmth and the release .

Pleasure ripples through him as he feels her body tighten around him, and he lets out a low moan as he realizes that he is near his breaking point. He tugs her back down towards him, her face pressed into the crook of his neck as he buries his own in her hair. Her body trembles as the vibration of his low, silvery voice fills her ears and sets off every single sensitive nerve she has.

With a final thrust, Thancred fully buried himself inside her, his cock throbbed as he came inside her tight heat. The warmth sent a shiver up her spine. Her chest presses against the hyur as she cums as well; crying out a slurred version of his name.

A quiet moment passes as the two catch their breath and come down from their high. Thancred recovers first and moves to get them settled into the bed, slowly pulling out and laying her down beside him and wrapping a protective arm around her waist. The scent of sex and lavender have taken over the room; anyone would immediately know what they had been up to, but who would attempt to disrupt the hero from her rest after all that she had done?

The muffled cheering and fireworks sound in the distance outside the window. Wordlessly, their eyes grew heavy with sleep. Thancred buries his head in the space on her shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent before planting a kiss on her skin. Her tail unconsciously curling around his waist did not go unnoticed by him.

“Sleep well, my dear. You deserve it. ”

#thancred waters #lemon #lemon me this #commission #writing commission #ffxiv

[justcourttee]

And They Were Roommates-Pt 8

Marinette didn’t know what to think. The Damian she met two weeks ago had disappeared, and in his place was the charming man she had grown to love over the past three years. It made her doubt everything she thought she knew about their relationship.

The first night had been hard. She woke several times in tears to the point that her pillowcase was soaked through. She could hear his level breathing from outside her door, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face him.

The second night was worse. Night terrors began to set in and she found herself reaching out for company, even if it was his. She met him on the couch and curled into his side like she did a hundred times before with Chloe and Adrien. He seemed to understand as he didn’t push her to talk, only let her use him for comfort.

By the third night, she was able to have a conversation with him, longer than the awkward five minutes they had managed the other day. He finally opened up about his family, even telling her his real last name, Wayne.

“Why go by Al Ghul then?”

“Most people here Wayne and think money and favors, it’s unpleasant and draining. If I want a fresh start, I use my mother’s name, but it eventually falls through and I have to move all over again.”

“But why run from your family so often? I’d do anything to see mine one more time.”

Her eyes teared up, but she shook her head quickly, trying to stop before they really started. Damian studied her for a moment before offering her a small smile.

“They’ve always been very overwhelming. I went from high expectations with my mother to even higher expectations from my father. He wanted me to unlearn everything she had taught me and became angry and disappointed when I didn’t head in his every direction.”

He paused, noticing the tears still lingering on her eyelashes. Gently, he reached forward, brushing them away.

“Mother was to obey or be killed, which sounds terrible, but someone I liked better in a sense. At least I knew that any disappointment would be dealt with directly, nothing less. Father was angry, taking his anger out indirectly through comments and tough training, but the disappointment was worse. He’d compare me to his other kids, all adopted nonetheless, but it didn’t matter. He held them with high respect and praised them often.”

“That-” Marinette paused, unsure if she wanted to continue, but his smile was inviting her to speak her mind. “That sounds awful. Expectations are supposed to be set by yourself, not your parents. They’re just supposed to be there for support and the occasional guidance.”

“Is that how your parents were?”

Marinette bit her lip, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

“I’m sorry Angel, I wasn’t sure if you were ready to talk yet. I won’t bring it up again until you say you’re ready.”

“No,”she shook her head, much to his surprise. “I need this.”

Taking a deep breath, Marinette dove in, taking several small pauses to wipe away her tears.

“My parents were so supportive of everything I ever did. I tried sports when I was younger and while I wasn’t bad, it wasn’t my passion. My mother bought me an art set when I turned nine and it was like magic. All of a sudden, the world was whatever I wanted it to be. When I turned eleven, I discovered designing. I mentioned it once to them and when I came home from school, there was a dressing mannequin and a sewing machine sitting in my room.”

Her eyes glazed over as she stared at her hands in her lap. It seemed like such a distant memory at this point. His hand reached into her sight, moving toward her’s.

“May I?”

She nodded as she watched him intertwine their fingers. He waited patiently for her to continue, rubbing small circles into the back of her hand using his thumb.

“I was so happy with them. When I first was given the scholarship offer for Metropolis University, I didn’t know what to think. Chloe’s mother offered me a mentee spot if I traveled overseas, seeing as the flight to New York was only an hour from here. My parents knew what it meant for my possible future in the fashion industry, and to them, it was a no brainer. It was hard seeing them only for the breaks and then even harder when Professor Brookes offered me a spot in her workfield.”

“Your parents sound amazing. The way I grew up was- unconventional to say the least. I can’t even imagine where I would be today if I had that kind of support.”

A small smile stretched across Marinette’s face as her eyes rose to meet his.

“You sound like Chloe and Adrien.”

“They were close to your parents as well?”

“Adrien grew up in a very unconventional lifestyle as well. His mother disappeared when he was 12, leaving his father a broken man. He distanced himself from Adrien, only communicating with him when business was involved. Adrien tried to come out to him when we turned 16, but he scorned him, telling him he was confused and that he either dropped the subject or Gabriel would deal with it himself.”

Damian frowned, his eyebrow furrowing at her words.

“That’s ridiculous, his father could be runner up to my mother for worst parent of the year.”

“Yeah, Gabriel sucks. He still does. My parents allowed him to crash at my house that night, and every night after that they insisted he came over for dinner. They talked him through his teenage years, offering him advice and unconditional love. It was exactly what he needed to go public about his sexuality, my parents on either side of him at the press conference, offering support where they could. There was nothing his father could do at the point; if he spoke out, he would be seen as homophobic. Adrien held my parents on such a high pedestal after that.”

“And what about Chloe?”

Marinette shook her head, a small laugh escaping, shocking the two of them.

“Chloe used to be a terror when we were younger, but to be fair, she was being enabled at every turn. Her mother was a workaholic, never around and her father was a corrupt politician. She bullied me alot.”

Damina raised his eyebrow, but Marinette simply waved him off.

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s what everyone said when I offered to be her roommate in college. ‘How can I be her friend after that?’ It’s simple. When we were 14, she really fell off the deep end. She helped Gabriel do some very terrible things out of her feelings of anger and loneliness. Everyone resented her for it, and even her own parents turned their backs on her. Instead of offering her help, they left her even lonelier than before.”

Marinette leaned forward, picking up a picture frame from the table. Leaning over, she allowed Damian to take a closer look. The picture depicted a happy family. Marinette’s parents in the back with Marinette and the two blondes in front of them. The moment frozen as everyone was caught mid laugh at some unseen humor.

“Chloe fell into a depressive state and one night, my mother found her on our doorstep, tears pouring down her eyes. My parents brought her inside, wrapped her in a large blanket and offered her a mug of hot cocoa. They knew who she was, they knew what she had done, but they could never leave her outside, they could never leave a child alone. She apologized for everything, telling me how her therapy helped her realize how terrible she was when we were younger. She was genuine.”

“How could you tell?”

Marinette pulled the picture close to her chest, a tear slipping from her eye.

“Chloe was a lot of things, but she never lied to me. She always believed in what she was saying, no matter how crazy it was. That night was a new beginning. It was rocky at first, but between myself and Adrien, we helped her back onto her feet. Pretty soon, she joined family dinners too. We did it every night for two years and I can’t tell you how much joy it brought to everyone, especially my parents. The one thing they loved more than each other, was loving others.”

A few more tears slipped out before she could stop them. It felt like she ripped off a bandaid she forgot was there. She knew her friends needed to know, Damian’s grim stare confirmed he was thinking the same thing. But it was too much. It was still too raw and the emotions swimming in her head from their deaths and from Damian’s confession. She couldn’t help them through their grief. Not yet.

“Marinette, I could tell them if you would like.”

She shook her head as she closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing again.

“It’s something I should do. I just need one more night.”

He nodded in understanding, not pushing the matter anymore, something she was grateful for. Marinette sat down the picture and picked up the pen beside it. She handed it to Damian before settling back into the couch.

“Could you draw me something?”

“What would you like me to draw?”

Marinette shook her head, leaning in his direction.

“Anything.”

And so he began, sketching on his wrist, his eyes occasionally glancing over at hers as she watched her own wrist intently. He watched her eyes start to flutter shut only to fly open as she fought the exhaustion. But it was a losing battle as she finally fell into his side, soft breaths escaping her parted lips. He placed the finishing touches before capping the pen, tossing it gently to the coffee table.

“Goodnight Angel.”

He reached over to the lamp, pulling the string hard, plunging them into darkness. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   Marinette sat up abruptly to the sound of the banging on her door. Her first instinct was to reach into the drawer under the coffee table, pulling out a small pink container. She stood to move closer as a second round of banging commenced. Her eyes darted back to the couch where Damian had sat last night.  

It was empty, a small piece of paper on the coffee table promised her that he would return soon. Creeping towards the peephole, Marinette took a cautious look, only to find it covered by whoever was outside. With a deep breath, Marinette flung open the door, raising the pink container to her defense.

Her would be assailant fell to the ground, grabbing his eyes as he let out a string of curses that would’ve expelled him from any school he could’ve ever attended. She looked up to find two more startled figures, both had their hands held in a surrender position. Marinette lowered her defense, her eyes narrowing at the two men.

“Who are you?”

“She really pepper sprayed me! You guys promised it would just aggravate Demon Spawn, you didn’t tell me I would be assaulted!”

The man on the ground sat up, still rubbing his bloodshot eyes, tears pouring down his face.

“I’ll ask you one more time, and just to be clear, you give me anything other than an answer to my question and I don’t need the pepper spray to kick your sorry asses. Who. Are. You?”

Two of them shared a panicked look, neither daring to move to help the third man up.

“Well you see sunshine, you are not who we were expecting either, in fact-”

The man with the bloodshot eyes rose only to be slammed into the wall by the girl. Marinette gripped his arm tightly behind his back, pushing his front side further into the concrete wall. Leaning all of her weight into him, she ignored his cries to ‘tap out’, her glare demanding a better answer from the remaining two.

The smaller one nudged the taller guy forward, neither looking eager to talk.

“Well you see, it’s a funny story really-”

“I’m losing my patience.” Marinette pulled her hostage’s arm further back, causing another string of curses.

“It’s just that-”

“They’re my idiot brothers.”

Marinette turned her head to see Damian standing behind them, an amused expression evident on his face. He was holding a tray with two coffees in them, a bag from Marinette’s favorite bakery in his other hand.

Horrified, Marinette let go of the man, allowing him to drop to the ground, rubbing his shoulder as he scooted away from her.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. It’s just between the banging on the door and then covering the peephole, I just assumed the worst. Please, come in, I’m so sorry.”

Marinette repeatedly apologized as she moved to help her poor victim up off the ground. 

“Don’t offer him help habibti, you’re too generous. Leave him on the ground.”

She shook her head, gently gripping the man’s good arm as she helped him to his feet. He moved quickly out of her grasp, his expression a mixture between weary and respect.

Damian stepped in front of her, his glare causing each man to fold in on themselves, none expect the man from the ground even dared to meet his eyes.

“Besides, you were asking the wrong question. It doesn’t matter who they are, it only matters what they’re doing here and how soon can they leave?”

Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ladybug-182 @fusser90 @thestressmademedoit @dast218 @thezestywalru @jardimazul @olynix @dorkus-minimus @xahriia @kris-pines04 @urbanpineapplefarmer @moonlightstar64 @itsmeevie01 @little-lady-bird @alexandriamw @lozzybowe @emmdaenovice @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @jessigurl-design @aegyobutpsycho2 @stark-morgoona @tis-i-beanbandit @rebecarojas07 @abrx2002 @ash-amg @loveswifi @heaven428 @dreamykitty25 @marinettepotterandplagg @smolplantmum @clumsy-owl-4178 @books-and-left-behind-journals @joejoejodee @iloontjeboontje @maybemanymuffins @zalladane @mysupporthyperfixations 

#daminette #maribat #roommates

[commanderrivercc-3628]

Rose Petal: Chapter 1

Next

pairing: Wolffe x fem!Reader

warnings: cursing, horrible views towards clone(I’m sorry)

word count: 1,951

Fluff/Angst

notes: I would like to give a special thanks to my best friend (@jelisnail) for coming up with the baby’s name. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to post this. I hope you like it.

Tags: @jelisnail​, @catsnkooks​, @queenchaos-5​

Wolffe sat in the back of the cab, holding a small bundle of blankets close to his chest. Tears that had once poured down his face had long since dried, leaving stained streaks on his cheeks. Wolffe’s eyes were still puffy and the tip of his nose was pink. Wolffe was in a daze, lost in his own thoughts as he stared out the window next to him, hardly able to focus on the speeders rushing past him. The lights of the other speeders blurred at the speed.

 ‘Why couldn't you have stayed?’ Wolffe thought. ‘How can you expect me to do this? I don’t know what I’m doing.’

Wolffe wanted to cry again, but he had no tears left. He was at a complete and utter loss. He hadn’t felt this broken since the Separatists killed the majority of his original battalion. His vod. Leaving only himself, Boost, and Sinker. 

He was pulled away from his thoughts by soft cooing coming from the bundle in his arms. Wolffe looked down at the bundle, seeing the face of the small baby it held. He smiled softly at the baby, who was looking up at him with big golden-brown eyes. His baby. His daughter. Wolffe slowly lifts his hand and lightly boops her nose, drawing out a little giggle from the baby. Wolffe leans down and presses a small kiss to her forehead. As he pulled back, Wolffe saw a big smile on his daughter’s face. 

“Alright, buddy, we’re here.” the driver said, as the cab slowed to a stop.

Wolffe passed him credits and carefully exited the cab. He watched as it sped away. He sighed and started walking back towards the barracks, trying to figure out what to do with his daughter. He wasn’t just going to abandon her.

‘This wasn’t part of the plan. Sera wasn’t supposed to-’ Wolffe thought.

He sighed again. He needed a new plan. Who could he go to for help? Wolffe’s eyes widened in realization. 

“(Y/N),” Wolffe said out loud, looking at his baby, who only blink at him in response. “She’ll help us, ad’ika. I know she will.”

You were Wolffe’s best friend, but it wasn’t always that way. You two met when you arrived to the 104th as a civilian medic. You two instantly disagreed on everything. Wolffe refused to believe you actually cared for the clones. That is until he got hurt. Ventress attacked him with her lightsabers, resulting in Wolffe losing his right eye. You were the one who treated him, took care of him. After that, Wolffe saw you differently. He actually talked to you. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. And one thing led to another. 

You were the only one who knew about the baby. Though you both suspected Plo Koon knew and he just didn’t mention it. Though neither of you knew for sure. That’s why Wolffe instantly thought of you. Not that he didn’t trust his vod. It’s the fact that they wouldn’t know what to do any more than he did. Since you were a civvie doctor, however, he figured you were his best bet. 

He quickly made his way to your barracks. He’d apologize later for how late it was. He checked the chrono on the wall: 0300 hours. He sighed and pounded on your door. He heard grumbling on the other side. The door opened and revealed an extremely grumpy you. 

“Do you have any idea what time it-,” You paused, realizing who was at your door. “Wolffe. What’s wro-.”

You stopped when you saw the bundle of blankets in his arms. Your eyes doubled in size. You instantly looked up at Wolffe’s face, seeing nothing but anxiety, fear, and sadness.

“Come in.” You said, moving out of the doorway for Wolffe to make his way into the room.

You closed the door behind him. As you turn back around, you see Wolffe standing awkwardly in the middle of your barracks. You could tell he was trying to think of what to say. You’d never seen Wolffe at such an utter loss for words. It hurt you to see him this way.

“Wolffe?” you asked, drawing his attention. “What happened?”

He sighed, still clutching the baby.

“She left. Sera left. She kriffing ran away!” He yelled. 

The baby began wailing. Wolffe winced and tried rocking her, but she wouldn’t stop crying. You stepped forward and looked at Wolffe. Wolffe nodded and reluctantly handed you the baby he hadn’t let go of since he left the hospital. As soon as the girl was in your arms, she instantly calmed down with the help of your gentle rocking and soothing shushes. Wolffe let out a sigh of relief. 

“I’m not even gonna ask how you did that.”

“What do you mean she ran away, Wolffe?”

“I just… I just went to go get caf.”

“She’s beautiful, Sera,” Wolffe said in awe as he stared at his sleeping daughter.

“Yeah.”

“Have you thought of a name yet?” Wolffe asked. 

“No.”

“Um, al-alright. Hey, I’m-I’m gonna go get some caf real quick. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Sera didn’t respond and Wolffe decided just to take it as a yes. As he made his way to the mess, all he could think about was the precious baby girl in her mother’s arms. From the moment he saw that little girl, he knew he’d protect her with his life. He’d do anything for her. She was his world. And if doing anything for her meant he’d have to live the rest of his short life with Sera, then he would. He’d do it in a heartbeat. As much as he’d hate to do so. 

Wolffe got his caf and made his way back to the hospital room. Once he got there his brows furrowed in confusion. The baby was there, but Sera wasn’t. In her place on the bed was a note.

‘Wolffe,

I’m not going to do this, and trust me I’m not sorry about it. I can’t raise a baby with something like you. A clone, not even a real person. Just an object owned by the Republic. Something for me to use for my own pleasure. Something to die alone and forgotten on some battlefield. And then I got pregnant with your spawn. A punishment I didn’t deserve. I’m not going to sit around and raise your baby, if you can even call that thing a baby at all, while you go running around the galaxy, leaving me to do everything. But I’m not going to do that. We both know we don’t love each other, and I certainly don’t love that thing you put inside me. And I know you were going to leave me. That is until you found out I was pregnant with your whatever it is. Don’t even bother trying to find me. I’ll be long gone, starting a life with a person, a human, a real man. Not some freak laboratory experiment like you. Oh, and name the little monster whatever you want, I don’t care.

Sera’

Wolffe crumpled the note in pure anger. But then tears started to fall, but not for Sera. She was right he didn’t love her, and he was going to leave her until he found out she was pregnant. No. He cried because of his daughter and how Sera called her a ‘thing’. And be really couldn’t care less about what Sera thought of him, because he already knew it was true. He was just a clone. Expendable. Property of the Republic. A weapon, created to destroy and die. But that beautiful baby girl was NOT a thing. NOT a monster. She was a person. One who deserved the world. 

‘It’s my fault,’ Wolffe thought. ‘If she hadn’t been my baby, she would still have a mother. She could have the life she deserved. Maybe I should give her her best shot and give her to a couple who can take care of her and give her a normal life.’

He dropped the note, letting it fall to the ground, and made his way other to the small bassinet that held his world. His heart. Tears still pour down his cheeks. He looked at the small girl. He gently picked her up, and gently held her in his arms, making sure to support her head just like the nurse had instructed him to do. His heart melted as she slowly opened her eyes to look up at him. They were golden-brown, the same as his. He knew then and there, that he’d never give up his daughter. He would fight until his last breath to keep her. 

“Wolffe, I am so sorry.” You paused looking down at the now sleeping baby. “I can’t believe Sera said all those horrible things about you and the baby.”

“Yeah, Sera shouldn’t have kriffing said banthashit about my daughter.”

“She shouldn’t have said that banthashit about you either, Wolffe.”

“It’s the truth, (Y/N).”

“Gods, Wolffe, no it’s not. You’re a man, not an object. You’re a person. You’re not something she can use. You’re a human being with feelings and emotions. I wished you’d understand that.”

Wolffe didn’t meet your gaze as you both stayed quiet for a few moments. Wolffe broke the silence first. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, (Y/N). I want to keep her. I have to keep her, but I don’t know how I’m going to do it.”

You hummed at that. Thinking of how you could help Wolffe. You rolled your eyes.

‘Damn Republic and your stupid prejudice and you unfair rules towards the clones.’ You thought. 

If clones were allowed to have children this would be a lot easier to deal with. Wolffe could get decommissioned if this got out. You knew his vod would protect both Wolffe and their new niece. And General Plo certainly wouldn’t let anything happen to them either.

“I’ll help you, Wolffe.”

He smiled at me. 

“I figured you would, but I just don’t know how to do this. How do I even be a father? How am I gonna watch my daughter while I’m planetside, trying to keep myself, the General, and my vod alive?”

You think for a moment, then smile. You still hold the baby in your arms.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you other than you’ll figure out how to be a father. That’s what everyone has to do. As far as watching the baby… I can watch her.”

Wolffe’s brows shoot up and his jaw drops. 

“No, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, I offered and I’d be glad to do it. Look, I’m not a field medic, meaning I’m almost never planetside. Meaning your daughter will be safe with me away from all the shooting and explosions.”

Wolffe sighed, seeing no other option that didn’t involve giving up his daughter. He nodded reluctantly in agreement. 

“What do we do now?” Wolffe asked. 

“Well, for right now, you need to sleep.”

Wolffe went to protest. 

“No, Wolffe I’m guessing you haven’t slept in hours because of the baby being born. I’ll stay up and watch her. We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow. I already have some ideas I need to think more about.”

Wolffe nodded and you gestured to your cot. Wolffe plopped down on it and closed his eyes. 

“Wolffe?” 

He hummed in response. 

“What’s her name?”

Wolffe opened his eyes and looked at the bundle in your arms. He thought for a second before smiling at the baby. 

“Rose.” He whispered so softly you almost couldn’t hear him. “My little rose petal.”

#commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #wolffe x you #commander wolffe x you #wolffe #commander wolffe #rose petal fic #the clone wars fic #the clone wars #(Y/N)

[whereflowersbloom]

Rebirth part II

She looked celestial, the words were stuck in his throat. Her dark curls cascading down her back, hyacinth eyes huge and luminous, resembling the Carina nebula, forming a hundred millions stars, stars he’s never seen before. She was the heart of a star. Her lavender satin nightgown embraces every curve of her hourglass body, clinging in all the right places and flowing out in others.

She told him about her origins. The daughter of Trigon the terrible. A half-demon and human hybrid. She could reduce him to ashes, he never met such a powerful woman. But she looked like heaven tonight. Every single day. He commanded his mind to repel those unusual thoughts, but his traitorous heart skipped a beat. In the quietude of the night it whispers her name with passion.

Her thoughts seem to be far away, standing in for r of the large French-style window, enjoying the view of the city lights in Gotham, focused on another person entirely. Him. Damian Wayne. It’s both absurd and exasperating loathing another version of yourself so much. He wonders if he would have killed him, if he were still alive and given the opportunity. She wouldn’t never forgive him, there’s no doubt in his bones. A new familiar emotion surged through Damian then. Hate, mixed with a bittersweet ache deep in his chest. Jealousy. Not a pleasant feeling, nor a common one for him. It wasn’t one e until he was involuntarily brought to this earth. What does he have to be jealous of, his counterpart is dead? Raven could be his and nobody could stop him. But it stung, a poison spreading in his bloodstream that Wayne was first to occupy a place in her heart. The first to kiss her and claim her as his. Both body and heart. He pondered Jason’s suggestion, he wasn’t his brother as he had told him with wary eyes, but he believed in second chances after Bruce welcomed him back in his home. He would never replace Damian Wayne but he could be part of their dysfunctional but interesting family. He concluded he needed more time to make a final decision. He cursed out loud without realizing and it drew her attention to him.

There it was his inherent weakness. She made him weak in the worst way possible, because she’s constantly in his head and his heart and there’s nothing he can do to get her out. Those soft eyes hiding her deep heartache, looking at him as if he was her only hope. Destiny is indeed cruel toying with his feelings on purpose, testing his limits, making him feel a whole spectrum of new and unpleasant emotions. Moments like these he wished he’d never met her. That wicked witch hadn’t cursed him, sending him to this world. But then he wouldn’t have met her and she would be alone dealing with the pain of her loss.

She has bewitched him but she isn’t his. Not yet.

“You look radiant tonight.” He sighed huskily, positioning himself beside her. He had no idea where that compliment was coming from. It plainly escaped his lips. It was true though.

Her pupils dilated in surprise at his unexpected compliment. She muttered quietly. “Thank you.” She was so beautiful if only he could…his hand instinctively stretched to touch her cheek but he withdrew his hand, denying himself the satisfaction of holding her.

“Goodnight.” He was hesitant for a heartbeat but then leaned down and kissed her forehead gently, immediately pulled away and looked into her beautiful, vivid violet eyes. He lowered his gaze, reproaching himself for lusting over this forbidden fruit. He needed to get away from her and head back to his room, the guest’s room when he is stopped by a firm tug at his sleeve.

“Wait. Stay with me tonight.” Raven bit her lip a little too hard, not enough to draw blood, she was anxious but truth is she wanted to kiss him and taste his lips, like ripe raspberries on her tongue. She wants to uncover the secrets, layers of this vicious man. She wanted to explore the real Damian Al Ghul, free and vulnerable, no shields or walls between them.

He was quiet a long moment, she held her breath tensely, maybe what she was asking for was too much. But she could sense it his fervent desire dispersing in the air. He was holding back for some unknown reason. He turned to face again finally, his forest eyes staring back at hers, getting lost in each other. Then he moved too fast for her to register the action.

The alabaster wallpaper made the walls pale in the darkness of the night, but his eyes adjusted to it and he took her in his arms, lifting her effortlessly, quietly carrying her to the king-sized bed. When her back made contact with the black and gold damask bedding, she felt suddenly exposed, the intensity of his gaze was overwhelming. It was happening. Damian positioned above her body, careful not to crush her with his weight. All air left her lungs.

“Did you know that you make the blood in my veins boils to the long I can barely touch my own skin?” His voice is husky and agitated, dark with want, it made her belly clench in response. He swallowed hard, building his the courage to bare himself before her. Who was he fooling? He was in love with her, there’s no turning back, he didn’t have any interests in going back to that desolate bottomless pit in earth-22. He cursed in his mother tongue. He could stay here and build a new life with Raven. Only one breath away from the source of thus insatiable hunger.

She blinked astonished at his frank confession, before she can speak he eagerly claimed her lips. He moved his voracious mouth against hers, let his skilled tongue press on the seam of her lips. She gasped at the hot, wet intrusion, but she found persuade is it, his tongue sliding against hers in an erotic promise that made her forget everything. The kiss grew more passionate as she tilted her head, giving him more access to her mouth to deepen it, explore every corner.

His ardent kiss had made her dizzy, her body swollen with feverish desire. He drew a ragged breath as she looked up into his face, lit with brisk hot fire. He ran his thumbs over her cheekbones, jawline, fragile clavicle, as if to prove to himself that she was real. This moment was real and it wouldn’t shatter entirely in his hands.

Lowering his face closer to her long neck, to where he could feel the pulsing of her rapid heartbeat. He found satisfaction it was his fever on her. He moved along the length of her neck until he reached the shell of her small ear, where he whispered low and urgent. “Raven” he stopped for a minute to reconsider their actions. What if she is thinking of him or regrets this in the morning?

“I’m not having second thoughts.” And as if she read his mind she spoke resolutely, her voice barely a whisper, his indecision fading-away with her words. Gooseflesh is erupting on her skin and the fine hairs on the back of his neck and arms all stand at the certainty in her voice. It’s him. So tonight, he will be leaving any doubts and the madness behind, he will allow himself to let go, if only for once. Who cared if he was beyond fucked. He loved this woman and tonight she would be his completely.

She must hold gravity in her dazzling smile, cradled away in bliss, her eyes remind him of starlight dust. She must have some ambrosial aphrodisiac within her tempting lips, for he has become hopelessly addicted to them. She smelled of lavender and rain, jasmines blooming in springtime. He was certain he would always remember this night, would become a haunting memory, as she had carved herself into his corrupted heart. So when this memory knocks, his thoughts then will flood with her. At this very instant all his past seemed so distant, as if it had been simply a blur, when all he ever knew was to kill, train and take down missions, acquire more land and treasures. But this woman. Raven. She changed everything. They were made of the same stars, bones and dust, and at first, he hated her for it. But as time passed being with her was as natural and instinctive as breathing, the kind that filled his lungs and chest that made bearing the weight of the world that much more tolerable. He didn’t know what was love before he came to this world.

She raised her hands to his cheeks, cupping his face, as his hands automatically traveled down her waist, long fingers brushing lightly over the thin fabric covering her abdomen, as if it was acting on instinct, and second nature. He wanted her out of it, explore the possibilities exposed skin offered, the intimate slow dance of lips and flesh. She gave him a small smile, and closed her starlight eyes, pulling his head down to lean their foreheads together. Damian trailed kisses down her sensitive neck, drawing a soft moan from her, as he whispered seductive and passionate words in his native tongue, only lovers know. “Oh water my soul with those liquid fire kisses that I need so much”. In quiet agreement, she reached for the hem of his shirt, Damian promptly took it off, revealing sun-kissed skin and developed muscle, and so the dance begins.

The broad expanse of his muscled chest was bare and there for her to admire. Damian Al Ghul was at the height of his prime. Damian. There so much she wanted to say to him but it’s all too new and jumbled for Raven to express properly so it remains unspoken.

His touch leaving trails of fire burning into her skin. She felt him smirk against her pearly skin before he nipped at her pulse, cradling her head as she arches up and into the sensation, his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close as he dragged his mouth to her clavicle and sucked a mark there. She didn’t care that he wanted to mark her as his. He smoothed his palm up her sides, outlining the swell of her breast and looking up at her through his long dark eyelashes. Soon her nightgown is in the way. It peels off of her like a second skin that he tossed away without any hesitation before touching the figure it was hiding. Her nipples had tightened to rock hard peaks and the curls of anticipation twisted into a coil of tension. The urge to squeeze her thighs together to try and relieve some pressure sent a wave of delight through her. Her hand fists in his ebony hair as he slowly flicked his tongue against her pink nipple and she gasped aloud, naked and wanting.

He touched her like she’s fragile, exploring the feeling of her smooth skin and lightly kissing her sensitive nipples. Fighting to just keep breathing, oh Azar, she wanted him more than anything. Paying equal attention to both breast, a sharp tightness takes shape in Raven’s gut, making her clutch on to him desperately. He wanted him closer, closer if that was possible.

Her hands are greedy against the planes of his back, her nails dug into his shoulder blades when he nipped at her clavicle again, soothing it with his tongue after, running his hands up and down her sides. She could feel the length of him pressed against her through his pants.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Damian breathed out before kissing her once again with ardor. It terrified him a little to realize just how content he would be to stay in this bed forever and map every inch of her skin with his hands and his lips. Brand her. Now he knew the image of her laying naked in this bed, goosebumps where his fingers trailed and her eyes half lidded with desire as he let his mouth follow would be burned into his memory. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself. He made his way down her body, wandering patiently, eyes scanning the pronounced curves, looking for a constellation of freckles or moles, peppering soft kissed here and there, weak moans escaping her mouth. He paused when his strong hands made contact with her hips. Rapidly, getting rid of the last piece of clothing, underwear. she could not help a shiver of sensual sensation.

Raven parted her legs for him as she reclined on her elbows. Damian grabbed her knees and pushed them further apart, then bit the inside of them as he delighted thinking about the thing he would do to her. Her toes curled as he inched closer. He ran his tongue and teeth along the inside of her leg, kissing and nipping at thin skin even as he kept his eyes on her. A wicked promise danced in those green eyes.

Damian’s cheek pressed against her center as he sucked on the inside of her thigh. Raven arched her back and whimpered in anticipation. She needed him. Now. The desire was a consuming fire in her veins, screaming at him to join and bury himself deep inside her.

Damian turned his head, nipped gently at the folds of her sex, then pulled back. He moved easily to her other thigh, then began to slowly kiss his way out to her knee. Raven moaned desperately for him to devour her, and he immediately edged his shoulder under the other leg so that he could reach around and rest a hand on her flat stomach, pinning her hips firmly in place. That’s how he wanted her.

At her knee he reversed his path, once more sliding closer and closer to his lover’s center. It was almost impossible for him to resist simply latching his mouth around her sex. Something primal in him hungered for her taste without sense or reason. He came closer and closer. Did he plan to make her beg?

Damian finally reached his destination, and began to circle her clit with teasing strokes even as he pressed a warm finger against he entrance. Teasing her until it slides inside her, after minutes he worked a second finger in and finally squeezed her clit and increased the pressure. She tugged firmly at hair, pushing him closer to source of unscratchable itch. He sucked and flicked at her clit, fingers curled inside of her. Then he abruptly stopped. She cried out and tried to roll her well-formed hips against him, but he held her firm. Damian Al Ghul was hard already, his senses overwhelmed in the most amazing way with the way she tasted, the way she smelled, the way she moaned his name out again and again as her breath hitched.

“Do you know what I want to do to you right now?” His voice was hoarse. He pulled his fingers out until just the tips were inside her. “I want to have you under me and slam my cock into you as hard as I can.” He was going to drown her in this intense and insatiable want for him. “I want to feel how deep I fit.” He continued with husky voice.

“Take me.” It was all he managed to say, barely a whisper. He nodded with this characteristic wicked and playful smirk of his. Her lungs out of air, sinking in this sea of wild and sensual euphoria, profoundly overwhelming her senses. Damian, there was nothing else beyond Damian.

Damian slid his fingers out of her and studied her juices on his hand. “I have wondered how you would taste for a while.” He slid those long fingers, slowly, into his mouth and licked them clean, savoring the taste of his lover. She tasted like plums. Raven bit hard her lips at the sight.

Damian kissed her hard once more, bruising her pink lips now swollen, before he stood and let her yank at his black pants, pulling them down. He kicked off his shoes and threw the pants aside. He didn’t care where they landed. He wanted her badly. Damian focused on memorizing every aspect of her, the way she moaned as he sucked on her clavicle, her breast swaying as she moved, her delicious taste, how she whimpered when he teased her, and the expression on her face when he made her climax. He’d memorize every little detail of this night. Mine he growled.

He positioned his aroused and large manhood at her entrance, wet and hot, ready for him. He filled her wholly and completely, immediately she gasped at the awaited fullness, her body took him in a single hard push. Raven knew she was tiny next to Damian, most people were, but it was entirely different with him on top of her. She didn’t want to think shirt her Damian, no. All she could see was Damian Al Ghul, all she could feel was him, and she knew she’d feel it for days after. There was nothing but smooth skin, muscle, and that goddamn defined jawline that would be the death of her. She hooked her legs around him and let out a moan as he hit her just right, he moved instinctively, angle shifting enough that he struck that spot that sent sparks across her vision with every thrust. She tried to match his rhythm to chase her orgasm. She squeezed her walls around him with a confident grin and he very nearly erupted.

He pushed into her fast and hard, demanding more, and gave up trying to suck her breast as he gave her the very passion and force they both desired. She was panting and light beads of sweat were dripping down her forehead and chest. He held her hips tightly as he pushed into her, a little faster than before. A large hand played with her bundle of nerves, stroking his name across it, it’s something he has been wanting to try. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the thick air around them, interspersed with Raven’s gasping cries and Damian’s husky, primal groans. Both echoed across the master bedroom. Her nails dug deeper into his back, probably leaving some marks. She didn’t think Damian would mind.

She reached a hand up to lace her fingers through his and she could feel herself start to unravel. “Damian.” She half whispered, half moaned and bit down on her lower lip for a second. She was so close. The feeling as her inner muscles clenched around his cock in orgasm tipped Damian over in tandem. Her muscles tensed at the ecstasy. Raven had a sense of that epicenter she and Damian had flirted with for so long. She could feel the heart of it waiting for her and Damian to climax together. She examined minutely his dazed expression, there’s nothing like the sun kisses sunset gave his skin. All hers. They lost track of time, immersed in their lovemaking.

Raven screamed lustily as her body filled with a blinding, aching fire where they joined. An impossibly strong wave of pleasure swept over both as Raven release hit. The orgasm burst over her as she gasped his name. She fisted the blankets on the bed as she rode the brutal wave. Clamped down around his cock as he came and filled her with his seed. Damian was fairly certain the world could end around them and he wouldn’t even notice right then. It was just them in the universe, her perfect skin against his, the way it felt to find release inside her, her slender fingers threaded through his, her breath ragged and hot against his neck, the knowledge that he was the one who satisfied her need. He could not find it in him to move, sliding off of her. He wanted to hold her for a few more minutes. He can’t help but feel as if the moment would shatter if he stopped touching her, somehow everything would dissolve before him, and he would wake to the sight of an empty bed and rumpled sheets. He wanted to spend his nights with her. His Raven. She was his not Wayne’s. The ghost of her touch still lingered on his skin, the sound of his name on her lips still lingered in his devious mind, more than all that though the way she made him feel like he wasn’t so goddamn alone washed over him and he wanted more. Always. This cozy and peaceful domesticity…

“This moment.” Damian whispered heavily as he pressed his forehead against hers. “Will be the moment I remember. For always.” Yes, Damian Al Ghul admitted doubtless, he was irrevocably and hopelessly doomed.

He looked at her for a long moment, she held his thoughtful gaze at his unexpected words, she found herself speechless. Before she thinks of speaking, he leaned in to kiss her gently. It was tender, kind, like charm that touched the unknown places in her soul, and there’s a new ache in her heart. It’s as If he tried to tell her something wordlessly, like a promise made brightly that would be one faithfully kept, a love silently awakened. He hooked an arm around her waist protectively, nestling her against his chest, as if he was guarding her, telling her he belonged to him. Chest raising unsteadily as his breath recovered from the strenuous activity, preparing for the next round…later. His eyes closed briefly, getting lost in the wondrous the bliss of this moment, sighing softly. For now he only dreamed of holding her endlessly.

Happy belated birthday @xaphrin 🙈🙈🙈💜💜❤️❤️❤️🎉🎉🎁🎈

I’m sorry I’m late but I wanted to finish it. I hope you like it.

#happy birthday #damirae #demon birds #damian al ghul #damian wayne #raven roth #teen titans #batman universe #bruce wayne #jason todd #dc fandom #batfamily #fluff and smut #batsiblings #dick grayson #robrae

[angst-fairygodmother]

Hi. I was wondering if you could maybe do a Diego Hargreeves/Reader one using BH from the 100 Ways to Say I Love You or Kiss #V. I mean if you're not too busy. Sorry, I know you probably have better requests but there's not a lot of Diego ones that are sweet and I feel like you're really good at sweet.

A/N: Alright, you asked for cute, so I tried to keep cute, as fluffy and fun as I could while also applying generous steam. Also, look Letters! Hope you enjoy Word Count: 1769 Rating: M - sexual situations 

“Please just come unlock the door for me, I know you have a master key and can,” you begged Al, struggling to balance the boxes and bags in your grasp.

“No. I’m not Hargreeves’ minder and it’s not my job to let his girlfriend in just because she doesn’t rate a key,” the old man snapped.

“I mean, in my defense, you told Diego he wasn’t allowed to make a copy of the key and give it to me.”

“I don’t know you, so I don’t want you having a key to anywhere in my gym! It’s a boiler room not an apartment. Nice, pretty thing like you shouldn’t be bothering with him while he lives there anyway.”

You managed a shrug around your packages. “If you won’t let me in, can I decorate out here?”

“No!”

You rolled your eyes before fixing the gym owner with your best puppy-dog pout. “If you didn’t at least sort of like Diego, you would have kicked him out ages ago. So I know you’ll understand when I say that I really, really want to do something nice for him this year.”

“I’m not helping you with this nonsense.”

As he turned to walk away, you blurted out in desperation, “I’ll give you twenty bucks.”

That seemed to catch his attention and he turned back to you. “Why didn’t you start there, girl?”

~

Several hours later, you stepped back to admire your handiwork. It wasn’t perfect, the banner over the sink hung just slightly askew for example, but you had to give it to yourself, you had done a pretty good job.

With a slight smirk, you placed the two paper conical hats on the little folding table, the finishing touch, and sat on the bed to wait for your boyfriend to return home.

You were just about dozing off when you heard the doorknob rattle and braced yourself. You were fairly certain that he wouldn’t enter expecting danger, but with his penchant for throwing knives, you could never be too careful.

“Hi hon,” you said, once you were sure you weren’t about to be skewered.

“Y/N,” he started before smirking, “hey.”

“How was your day?” you tried to be as nonchalant as possible, even though if you were standing you would be bouncing on the balls of your feet in excited anticipation.

“You know, same old same old,” he shrugged as he started removing the leather harness he always wore out.

You moved to his side, kissing him on the cheek, your hands deftly replacing his own to undo the buckles on the straps.

“Really?” you asked. “There was nothing special about today?”

His eyes flickered to yours as he caught your tone. You watched the quick flash of panic as he considered that he might have forgotten something important, like an anniversary, before he registered that you were still smiling adoringly at him. Only then, did he actually look around the room, searching for some clue for what was going on. His mouth fell open in shock and he stared, dumbfounded.

“What’s…all this?” he asked after a moment, stunned expression still in place as he gestured to the signs you had carefully taped to the walls.

“Well, if you looked a calendar, you’d know today is October 1st…”

“Uh-huh…” he nodded, eyes now falling on the table and the party hats sitting there.

“Which means today is…?”

“Y/N, what are you getting at?” he asked, facing you with a completely puzzled expression.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s your birthday, Diego. So I wanted to do something for you. I know it’s not much, but Al vetoed throwing you a party in the main room. Said something about it being a serious business, not a Chuck E. Cheese.”

“Y/N. This is your idea of ‘not much?’ There are balloons…” his voice was incredulous and for a moment you worried that he was annoyed.

“I…it’s just…I know your father was never big on parties…or fun…or joy…when you were growing up, so I wanted to do something nice for you. I thought, for once, you should have a proper birthday.”

You could see him melt at your words, offering you a soft smile. “It’s perfect, Baby. I…can’t believe you went through all this effort just for me.”

“Of course I did, I love you Diego.”

He grinned even wider at that, pulling you in for a kiss which warmed you to the core and made you very tempted to suggest skipping the dinner and cake that you had worked so hard to procure. After you reluctantly separated, you guided him over to the table and set a plate of take-out lasagna in front of him as if it was a five-star dinner at the most exclusive club in the world. The two of you ate in companionable quiet, one hand laced together over the tabletop the entire time. Even if you were in a dingy boiler-room, everything about the moment was perfect.

“There is one more thing…” you smirked as you set about cleaning up from both dinner and the chocolate cake that had followed. “Your birthday present.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Y/N. Not after all this.”

“Well I did anyway. But you’ll have to unwrap it.”

You returned his puzzled look with a temptingly raised eyebrow. His eyes trailed down over you slowly before flicking back to the look on your face.

“I think that can be arranged,” he said, stepping closer and placing his hands on your shoulders.

“I thought as much,” you replied. You itched to start planting kisses over every inch of him, but you wanted to let him have total control, do whatever he wanted tonight, so you stood as still as you could.

Slowly his hands trailed down your arms, ghosting over your flesh before he twined his fingers with yours.

“I might be the luckiest man in the world.”

He pulled you in close by your joined hands causing you to almost stumble into him as he kissed you, but quickly, you took control, impatient with his gentle touches. Tugging teasingly on his lower lip, you coaxed his mouth to part for you and allow you to explore every inch of his mouth, as if you didn’t know everything about him. Fingers still interlocked, you began luring him toward the small bed in the corner, step by faltering step.

You hadn’t gotten far when he pulled you up short with a growl, releasing your hands in order to tangle one of his in your hair, tugging lightly and drawing out a moan. With the other, he began to caress your side, running his fingers up and down, sliding increasingly lower past your hip until he reached the hemline of your dress. Bunching the fabric in his fingers, he gathered it and slowly pulled it off of you, hot skin brushing against yours as he exposed you and the royal blue lace lingerie you had bought specifically for the occasion. He pulled back to get a better look at you and groaned, the sound sending a thrill up your spine and drawing out even more of your desire.

“Do you have any idea the things I want to do to you, Y/N?” he asked, trailing kisses along your collarbone and down the slope of your breast.

He began moving again, backing you toward the bed as he continued to tease, using the hand still tangled in your tresses to angle your head and expose even more skin to him. You moved as he directed, a marionette for him, stumbling and shuffling in a passion-drunk haze.

“I have a few guesses,” you said breathlessly, one of your hands carding through his short, spiked hair and the other clinging desperately to his shoulder.

Truth be told, you weren’t sure what all he’d want to do with or to you, but you trusted him and surrendered to him completely, especially tonight. Anything he wanted, if it was within your power, would be his as far as you were concerned.

Your knees hit the edge of the bedframe and the pair of you fell back. You sighed in relief at not having to try to support yourself on jelly-like legs as he hovered over you.

“God, baby, you look so good like that,” he groaned.

Suddenly, there was a rapid knocking on his door.

“Diego,” the voice on the other side, one you recognized as his brother Klaus, whined through the thick panel. “It’s urgent.”

He sighed. “We could just ignore him. He’ll go away.”

“Or you can just acknowledge and get rid of him. I think knowing he’s hovering outside the door might…kill the mood a bit?”

Before he could respond, the man in question burst through the door in a fabulous flail of limbs and fur trim, landing face first.

“Oh! The door was unlocked!” he cried as he climbed gracelessly to his feet.

His eyes fell on you and Diego, lingering for longer than made either of you comfortable on your half-clothed form below his brother.

“You should hang up a sock or something at least,” Klaus teased.

Diego grunted in frustration, shaking his head and rolling his body to block Klaus’s view of you. “What do you want?”

“Well it’s our collective birthday. And during my third…fifth?...drink I found myself thinking, do I really want to spend today alone? No. I want to celebrate with someone important to me. And who could be more important to share today with than my beloved brother?”

Diego rolled his eyes as Klaus continued to ramble, either too high to realize just how much he was interrupting, or just not caring. The curly-haired man flopped sideways into the threadbare chair in one corner.

“So anyway, happy birthday, bro,” he drawled, kicking his legs about until he positioned himself in a way that he thought was comfortable, sprawled out and clearly determined to stay.

You sighed and reached down to the floor, digging out your dress from where it had somehow ended up, under the bed. Tugging it over your shoulders, you asked, a little sharply, “Do you want some cake, Klaus?”

He grinned and clapped his hands, “Oh I would love some. That is so sweet of you, Y/N.”

“No, babe, don’t. If you feed him he’s never going to leave,” Diego complained.

“I’m not going to be rude. It is his birthday too after all.”

You leaned in to whisper into Diego’s ear, nipping teasingly on the lobe as you did, “besides, it’s not like your present is going anywhere. It’s yours, any time any place.”

#Diego Hargreeves x Reader #Diego Hargreeves #reader insert #The Umbrella Academy. #TUA #Klaus is a loveable pain in the ass #is this too generic? survey says results inconclusive #requested

[goodwriterwithbadhabits]

Behind the Mask

Hi. This is, a lot. Like five pages of work. I’ve spent days working on it and I’ve rewritten it twice, so I hope this is as good as I think it is. I’ve left the ending open because I’m thinking of writing a part two, let me know what you think. 

Master List

~~

“What on this blue earth do you mean you need another suit, Hyunwoo? The party is tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, Lin, I know its last minute.” The large muscular man bows deeply, and you can just feel in his words that he’s truly sorry. 

“I was supposed to be out of the country, my plans only just got cancelled.” The other man apologizes, also bowing. Your boss glares at them, her steely gaze made worse by the black mask covering her face. 

“I can make it.” The moment the words leave your mouth you regret them. All three of them turn their gazes on you, and for a few moments you want to sink in on yourself. 

“I don’t want to impose on you.” You can’t speak for a few seconds, too busy being absolutely stuck on the man in front of you. He’s tall and so muscular he could probably kill you with a hug. “Y/n,” Lin begins, “You really think you could create an entire suit in a day?” You square your shoulders, this was the moment you had been waiting for, a chance to show your skills. 

“I designed all the other suits, every other costume you had me work on is done. I already had a mock up of his suit finished when he cancelled originally. If I can use fabric from the workshop, and if I work all night, I can get it done.” The group exchanges glances, and you can see just from their eyes that Lin and Hyunwoo have very little faith. 

“I think you can do it.” The other man vouches, eyes twinkling and making your heart skip more than a few beats. “I have faith in you, and I’ll help as much as I can.” You choke on your own words for a second but finally manage to nod. 

“Thanks.” 

“Alright, Y/n, if you think you can do it, go ahead.” Lin nods, “Hoseok is going to be your assistant.” 

“Great.” You breathe, unsure if you’re going to be able to function properly with him around. “Follow me.” You lead him back to the workshop, which is just a huge warehouse connected to the back of the tailors shop filled with fabrics, lace and all the bits and baubles needed to make whatever clothing customers wanted. 

“Woah.” His small gasp has you smiling behind your own mask as you head over to your workstation. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty impressive, but we’re asked to clothe most artists these days. Dragon Tailors is the official tailor for JYP, Big Hit and P Nation, but we get clients from all over.” You explain, dropping your sketchbook on the table and motioning for him to take a seat. “Alright so this is what I designed a few months ago.” 

The suit was, arguably, simple. It was just a black lace vest, and a deep red jacket with matching pants. The jacket had the wings of Eros embroidered on the back in gold, and doves on the lapel, while the pants had rose vines going up the legs. It was simple but elegant and sexy, and a good representation of Eros in your opinion. The other boys in his (former) group were also going as varying gods. While the other boys were going as much more major gods, Hoseok had chosen Eros, maybe to only lowkey match the other boys. 

“Wow, that’s a lot. Are you going to be able to make it in time?” You shrug, your shoulder brushing against his. 

“I have the rose patches for the pants, and I have a dove program on my embroidery machine for the lapels, I can hand stitch the wings, if I get the rest of it done quickly.” You explain, glancing at your watch. “I’ve got roughly 40 hours, luckily you guys came in early.” 

“Is there anything I can help with?” You finally look over at him. He’s handsome, even while wearing his mask, with strong brows and deep brown eyes. For a few seconds you’re stuck, drowning in his eyes, until you finally manage to pull yourself out. 

“You need a mask and some shoes. The mask should be red and gold, and the shoes should be black, and Oxfords.” 

“You guys don’t make shoes?” He wonders and you shake your head, walking over to the rack of half finished designs you were working on. 

“We design them, but typically the people we work with either have a pair already, or we order them, usually from a brand the star is partnered with.” You grab the mock up you had already built. “Before you leave to get those, try this on for me. I need to know it fits.” You toss the material at him, pointing to the changing room behind him. 

Of course it fits, but you still make a point of reminding him not to work out between now and the party, or he might burst out of the jacket, which you would pay to see. Before he leaves to get his missing pieces you give him your number, telling him to text you pictures before he buys anything. And with that, you’re alone in the workshop. 

“So, he’s kinda cute.” Lin greets, sliding your sketchbook towards her while you’re focused on the bolts of red cloth on the wall. 

“He’s an idol, you told me they’re off limits.” You retort, “Satin or silk?” 

“Silk, with satin for the liner.” You nod, grabbing the cloth you want. “And they aren’t off limits, at least, he isn’t. Are you making him body chains?”

“If I have time,” You drop the cloth on the table, grabbing your patterns. “I mean, he’s hot, no cap, but there’s no way he’d go for me. He probably has girls throwing themselves at him all the time, I’m not about to do that.” Lin nods understandingly, walking over to the lace collection and picking one. 

“What about this for the vest?” You glance over at her, nodding approvingly at the selection. “He’s a broad boy, are you sure this is going to look good on him?”

“He could make a garbage back look good, Lin. Hey don’t you have a Hyunwoo up front?”

“He’s getting the two of us lunch, as payment for stressing me out.” 

“Sounds like a date to me.” You tease, earning a chuckle from her. 

“Maybe it is.” She pats your back as she walks by, “Good luck, I believe in you.” 

“That makes one of us.” 

~~

You weren’t sure how much time was passing, there were no windows in the workshop, so you just kept going. The pants were finished, you had decided to forgo the vines, and just add roses in a few different colors. The vest was done too, the lace Lin had chosen was made of small birds and flowers, like it had been made for this project. Hoseok had texted you not even an hour after he had left, showing off the mask and shoes he had gotten, which looked really good. 

All that you needed to do was stitch these wings, attach the liner to the torso of the jacket, and put it all together. Oh and make the body chains and the choker. It was going to be a long night, the wings were going to take hours to finish, and the chains probably an hour, but Hoseok would have to be here for that, so it could wait until after the jacket was finished. Then you just had to steam everything and make sure he picked it up on time. 

Good thing sleep is an illusion. 

“Hey google.” You don’t look away from your work as your phone pauses your music to listen to you. “Place an order at Dalcomm Coffee.” You adjust the glasses on your nose, lining the sketch paper up with the jacket. “One large white mocha, no whip with an extra shot of espresso.” 

“Confirm order, one large white mocha. Subtract whip. Add espresso.” The device asks. 

“Confirm.” 

“Order total is-”

“Confirm.” 

“Order placed. Estimated time of arrival: 7:16 pm, Korean Standard Time.” 

“Thanks google, play my work playlist.” 

“You thank your google?” Hoseok’s voice has you glancing up, finding him standing in the doorway with two bags in his hands. Somehow, he looked even better than earlier, now in a muscle shirt and basketball shorts. His face was still hidden behind the mask, like yours, but you could tell he was smiling from the crinkle in his eyes. 

“Yes I do, you don’t?” He shakes his head, laughing softly. 

“Can’t say I do. Maybe I should. May I come in?”

“Yeah sure. The pants and vest are done, if you’d like to try them on.” He shakes his head, perching on the stool next to you with his bags at his feet. 

“I’ll wait until the jacket is done.” He decides. “How are you doing?”

“Working. The lapels are on the machine, so I just need to finish the wings and I’ll be almost done.” You explain, pointing to the machine on the other end of the table. 

“Have you eaten today?” His question shocks you enough to make you look up from your work. Had you eaten today? 

“Uh, no.” You focus back on the chalk in your hands as you tediously redraw the wings onto the fabric. “But I am getting another cup of coffee.” 

“How many cups have you had?” You chuckle, knowing your smile is hidden. 

“Many.” 

“Well, goodthing I brought you dinner.” 

“I’ll eat when I’m done.” 

“How about when you’re done drawing that?” 

“I’ve really got to get this done.” You insist, waving at the jacket. 

“You really need to eat, you still have plenty of time to finish this.” His voice is soft but insistent. “If you don’t eat you’ll get sick.” You huff, tapping the chalk on the table. 

“Alright fine,” You relent, “But let me finish drawing this first.” 

“I can deal with that.” He begins unloading the food, setting it on a nearby table, seeing as your workstation was covered in fabric. 

“You know you didn’t have to buy me dinner.” You comment, eyes still glued to your work. 

“I wanted to.” The way he says is so matter-of-factly has your heart beating a little faster. 

“A man after my own heart.” You joke, glancing over at him. You can tell he’s smiling behind his mask, even though he isn’t looking at you. 

“Maybe.” He mumbles, and you’re pretty sure you weren’t supposed to hear that. “This is beautiful.” He breathes, fingers trailing over the roses on his pants. “You’re very talented.” 

“Thank you. If I’m being honest, this is my first chance to make a full outfit of my own.” You confess. 

“Really? I would have assumed you’ve been doing this for years.” 

“I generally just design, and then Lin and the others actually make them. I usually just get to make accessories and take measurements.” You shrug, re-aligning the original sketch over the fabric. “This is my chance to prove myself.”

“Well, you’ve proven yourself to me.” 

~~

Time moves both too slowly, and too quickly for you. Wonho leaves later in the night, several hours after you’ve finished dinner, telling you to get some sleep and not worry about the jacket. You lie, of course, telling him you will when the lapels are finished, but even when they are, you only move them to the side to continue working on the embroidery. Your hands hurt, your back hurts, your eyes hurt, but as the hours pass, the golden shimmer of the thread expands, unfurling into stellar wings befitting any god. You’re halfway through the second wing when a coffee is set down in front of you. 

“Hoseok, I told you to go to bed.” You respond instantly. 

“He probably is asleep, its only 5.” Lin’s voice is tinged with laughter. You finally look away from the needle, finding your boss standing next to you, and a few of the other designers setting up their workstations. 

“Am?” She nods at your question. “Good, if I started at 8,” You pause doing mental math, “I should have the wings finished by 8, the choker should only take about 30 minutes, I might have this ready for steaming by 9-9:30.” You inform her, focusing your face back on the project at hand. 

“Y/n, did you work all night?” Max, another designer asks. 

“Yeah, I’ve still got a bit to finish, but it will be ready for tonight.” 

“Wait, this is for tonight?” Sungwoo gasps, examining the vest and pants hanging on your rack. 

“Yeah.” You answer curtly, trying to just get back to work. 

“Why are you just working on it now? You should have had it finished yesterday at the latest, we need your help with-”

“Kami, you should be praising Y/n.” Lin interrupts. “While you all got the day off, Y/n was given this task yesterday, and she’ll have it done today. How many of you can say you’ve made a suit in under 40 hours.” Your face is warm as the room goes silent. “That’s what I thought.” Lin scoffs, “As for the rest of you. Kami, you’ve been contracted by Jung Seojoon for an upcoming award show, he’d like to meet at his house at 7. Sungwoo, I believe you have a dress for Perry’s upcoming tour that needs finishing. Max, Harden and Dojoon, you’re on call for repairs and styling for tonight, Rain already called this morning about a broken cufflink, Harden if you could.”

“Yes ma`am.” 

“Good, and leave Y/n alone until the suit is done. Understood?” The room was filled with confirmation and Lin patted your shoulder. “I’ll be in my workroom.” 

~~

You were right, the embroidery was finished by 8, but the entire suit wasn’t ready until almost 11, thanks to the choker taking forever. Sitting on your stool, you gazed at your masterpiece, marveling at how well it turned out, and praying it fit properly. 

“Looks good. Hoseok will be here for pick up at 5, why don’t you head home for a bit, get some sleep.” Lin greets, coming up behind you. 

“I should stay and help with-”

“No. You’re going to go home, until 4, at least. If you wake up before he’s supposed to come pick it up, you can come back and help. Otherwise, we’ll call you if we need you.” She orders instead. “Do not argue with me.” 

“Yes ma’am.” You finally relent. 

The exhaustion hit the moment you walked in your front door, and you ended up passed out on the couch instead of your bed. When you finally woke up, it was thanks to the incessant ringing of your phone on the table next to you, and the sudden lack of being able to breathe thanks to your cat deciding to pass out on your chest. 

“Hello?” You mumble into the device, absently petting the naked kitty. 

“Y/n, it’s Lin. Get up and shower, I’ll be at your house in thirty minutes.” Her words have you sitting up slightly, confused, and knocking the cat off. 

“Sorry, Berus. And what do you mean you’ll be here in 30 minutes?”

“I’m playing fairy godmother tonight. Go shower, now.” Her voice is stern, and something tells you not to question it. 

“Um, alright.” 

The doorbell rings just as you exit the bathroom, still toweling your hair dry. Lin is standing outside with Max and Sungwoo, with a dress bag slung over her shoulder. 

“Uh, hi.” You manage to mutter as they push past you into your apartment. 

“Oh good, your hair isn’t dry, that’ll make styling it easier.” Sungwoo remarks, “Max and I will set up in the kitchen, the lighting’s probably better.” 

“I’ll put this in the bedroom. He’ll be here at 9:45, so that gives us only about two hours for hair and make up, think you can do it?” Lin asks, hanging the dress bag on the curtain rod over the couch, giving you and Berus the chance to ogle what's inside. 

The suit is while, with pale pink and gold flowers adorning most of it. The buttons are ivory with golden trim, and a mask, the same white and gold, with the same almost pink flowers, hangs from the hanger. 

“What is going on? Why are you here and why do you have a suit? And who is going to be here at 9:45?” Sungwoo and Max turn to Lin. 

“You didn’t tell her?” Lin smirks at Max’s question. 

“I told her some. Like I said, I’m playing Fairy Godmother.” She turns to you as she speaks, excitement glittering in her eyes. “You are going to the ball, Cinderella.” You wanted to respond with something intelligent, but all that came out was a very undignified, 

“Huh?”

“Come on, Psyche,” Max laughs, guiding you towards the kitchen, “Your Eros awaits.”

#wonho imagines #wonho imagine #monsta x wonho #mx wonho #wonho #monsta x imagine #Monsta X #weenee #monbebe #wonbebe

[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

The Jaskier Effect

Impalaloompa on ao3

The first time that Eskel noticed things were changing, he was collecting the payment for a contract on a wraith in Velen. The alderman handed him a leather coin pouch with a wink, saying “Toss a coin to your Witcher,” and then proceeded to hum some tune as Eskel turned to leave.  

Not every interaction was as odd, or as pleasant, but he did find that over the following months there was generally a slightly more tolerant attitude whenever he walked into a village or town, and less people tried to cheat him out of the coin he was owed for his work. If he hadn’t spent the better part of a century being shunned or ridiculed for being a Witcher, he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? But he still kept his guard up. Aired on the side of caution. People don’t just change, and he was suspicious about this new growing respect for his kind.

It was in a tavern in Redania where he heard the song in full for the first time. He was perched at a table in the corner, thumbing a tankard of piss-poor ale when a young female bard started up and one of the patrons requested it.

It took Eskel a good few minutes to process that the song was about Geralt.

He didn’t know what was more surprising. The fact that his brother in arms had let a bard tag along on a hunt, or that he had allowed a song to be composed about him after the fact. Then again, he knew how much the title of ‘The Butcher of Blaviken’ upset Geralt, so maybe being sung about as a hero wouldn’t be so bad after all. Eskel had certainly noticed how this one song had started to affect people’s perceptions of Witchers, however subtle.

After the performance, Eskel had approached the female bard and asked if she was the one who wrote it. Essi, he later found out to be her name, had humbly thanked him but told him that a dear friend of hers had composed it. A bard called Jaskier.

Jaskier.

Eskel was very intrigued.

That winter he waited impatiently for Geralt to join them at Kaer Morhen. He asked Lambert if he had noticed the change and, Lambert being Lambert, had jumped on the chance to use it as a new way of getting into people’s pants. Not that he needed any help with that in the first place, but this new growing respect for Witchers definitely had its advantages.

Vesemir, like Eskel, advised on the err of caution.

“It won’t last,” he had warned, “It never does.”

“All the more reason to reap the benefits now, right Eskel?” Lambert threw him a lewd wink.

Eskel had grunted but not really given Lambert an answer.

When Geralt eventually showed up, just as the first snows started to fall, Eskel quizzed him mercilessly about the bard. He wanted to know how on earth the young human had found himself in the prickly Witcher’s company.

Geralt gave a very stunted story of how he met Jaskier and the adventure that followed but Eskel knew him well enough to see that the bard and his songs had affected Geralt in more ways than one. The White Wolf held affection for Jaskier. His hard edges were slightly softer than they had been last time they met. There was a new warmth to his amber eyes. Geralt, usually so closed off to the world, had unwillingly, or unwittingly, let someone in.

Witchers don’t tend to have friends outside of their own kind, and even then, they usually stick to their own Witcher School, and even then, sometimes ‘friend’ was such a strong word, but Eskel could see that this Jaskier had the potential to help Geralt find that part of himself so many believed was stripped from him when he underwent the mutations.

Geralt of course, insisted that Jaskier was not his friend and, come spring, when Eskel asked him if he was going to travel with the bard again Geralt shrugged with a grunt.

“If our paths cross, our paths cross,” the white haired Witcher answered nonchalantly.

Eskel just rolled his eyes.

“Well thank him for me if they do,” he rumbled.

“What for?” frowned Geralt.

“For the good work he’s doing for all Witcher kind,” Eskel grinned with a wink.

Geralt scoffed, mounted his faithful mare and disappeared down the trail.  

As the years passed by and more songs about the White Wolf emerged, Eskel found his job as a Witcher to be less monotonous and more interesting. People were actually willing to converse with him, even offer him better rates for contracts. One barkeep even gave him a free beer because he recognised the wolf medallion around Eskel’s neck.

“You a wolf Witcher? You know that Geralt? Drinks on the house!”

Eskel was sure he’d never get used to it.

And, as he expected, not everyone was keen on the new perspective of Witchers. Some still slandered him in the streets, threw stones, spat at him, tried to pick fights with him that he knew they’d never win. But, thanks to Jaskier and his influence, life as a Witcher had improved considerably.

When Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen each winter, he always brought more stories of his time spent travelling with the bard. Eskel could see the brightness in his eyes and the soft way he spoke about Jaskier. Geralt was warm and open and laughing and joking, and it had been a long time since Eskel had seen him like this. The affect the bard was having on him, it was nice. Good.

Lambert insisted that Geralt should invite Jaskier to Kaer Morhen the next winter. Geralt had laughed it off, saying that Jaskier would much rather spend his winters warm and cosy in Oxenfurt than freezing his balls off with the likes of them, but he could see the thought playing in Geralt’s mind and he really hoped that Geralt would introduce them to the bard next year.

Eskel didn’t have to wait that long though.

It was nearing the end of summer and Eskel was passing through Novigrad. He usually avoided the big cities, but he was running low on a very specific herb to brew his potions and he knew the herbalist off Hierarch Square was the only place for miles around where he could get it.

He had wrapped his travel cloak around himself, making sure his hood hid his face as he ventured into the city. The general attitude and acceptance towards Witchers was better than it had ever been but, in Novigrad, where the majority of the populace was still out to get anyone non-human, he couldn’t be too careful.

His transaction with the herbalist went as smoothly as he could have hoped, and he pocketed the small pouch of herbs carefully. By now though, it was starting to get late and his horse was tired from the long day of traveling so, he decided to stop off in a tavern for the night.

He left his mount in the capable hands of the stable boys and slunk into the ‘Kingfisher’ without drawing too much attention to himself.

The heat of the tavern hit him in a stifling cloud. The tang of alcohol and sweat swirled about him, and the wall of noise was a mixture of shouted conversation and singing along with whomever the entertainment was for the evening.

Eskel wove his way through the many patrons and quietly discussed a room for the night with the barkeep.

Wary of the Witcher, the squat man had warned him if there was any trouble, he’d be out quicker that you could say Gwent. Eskel accepted his terms and found a stool at the edge of the bar to inhabit as he nursed a tankard of ale.

Hood still drawn to shadow his face, he cast his keen eyes over the patrons and his attention was drawn to the musician in front of the hearth.

The bard was a few years shy of thirty. Dark brown windswept looking hair and bright blue eyes. He was stood on a stool and was stamping in time to the beat of his wild lute playing. His voice was rich and just as colourful as the teal doublet and breeches he wore, embroidered and patterned with navy blue.  

There was something about him, like he was familiar somehow. Then it hit him. He knew exactly who this bard was.

“Ho Hey

But the Witcher knew

Took a Witcher’s brew

And the Witcher slew.

Ho Hey

And the village knew

That their beast was through

And tossed his way some coin and ale and stew.”

Jaskier beamed as he sang, the patrons around him joining in with this chorus, stamping and clapping in time.

Eskel couldn’t tare his eyes away. Geralt’s description of the bard had been spot on but he could never have been prepared for…well this.

The confidence, the elegance that came with his playing. The animated charm. The way he had everyone around him engaged and enjoying themselves. Eskel could understand why Geralt was drawn to him.

He was barely listening to the lyrics. Just staring at the man who had won over his brother in arms.

Jaskier sang the chorus again then finished with a flourish, grinning at the rambunctious applause.

“Thank you,” he winked at a passing barmaid who swooned, “I will be taking a short break but fear not. I will return.”

There was a mixture of cheers and protests as the young bard skipped through the crowd and leaned over the bar, very close to where Eskel was sitting.

Gods above, Eskel thought to himself, his scent!

Jaskier smelled like lavender and sandalwood, fresh parchment and woodsmoke. It was a scent that Eskel had picked up on many occasions throughout the last few winters. Lingering on Geralt’s clothing, on Roach’s saddlebags.

With a goblet of wine in hand, Jaskier thanked a woman who was excitedly complimenting his singing and when she finally melted back into the throng, he took a long drink and then rested his gaze on Eskel.

Amber eyes met blue and Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, well, well,” the bard crooned, voice thick with curiosity, “Dark and mysterious stranger who has been ogling me since he came in turns out to be a dark and mysterious Witcher.”

Eskel swallowed hard, not quite sure what to say to him. Not that it really mattered because Jaskier barely paused for breath before he continued.

“Let me see. Wolf Witcher,” Jaskier indicated the medallion just visible through the folds of grey cloak then narrowed his eyes at him, “You must be Eskel.”

Eskel absently touched the long scar tracking down the right side of his face. Of course Geralt had talked about his brothers with the bard, described them to his friend.

Jaskier’s expression softened.

“No,” he smiled kindly, “It’s the eyes, the jaw. You look a lot like Geralt. Except, you know, he has white hair and you’ve got – is it dark brown? Black? Anyway. I’m Jaskier.”

Eskel hesitated before taking the offered hand and Jaskier shook it enthusiastically.

“I imagine Geralt has mentioned me. Though not all bad, I hope. So, what brings you to Novigrad? Some monster lurking about? You doing some Witchering?”

Eskel was baffled by this young man.

Jaskier talked quickly without much pause for thought, true, but he was talking to him like…they were equals. Friends even. The bard was warm and open and ridiculously handsome, though Eskel would never tell Geralt that he thought so. There wasn’t an ounce of the usual fear he experiences when talking to people. No guarded expression. No hidden motivation. Just an imploring gaze and friendly smile.

Eskel understood completely why Geralt had given in to allowing Jaskier to travel with him. He didn’t see what everyone else saw. Didn’t see the Witcher, the monster, the savage killer. He saw Geralt. And now, he saw Eskel.

“Thank you,” Eskel heard himself say.

Confusion twitched in Jaskier’s expression and he tilted his head slightly.

“For what?” he hummed.

For what? Eskel bit his cheek. For helping to improve Geralt’s image? For being Geralt’s friend? For changing how people see Witchers? For increasing the payment prospects of contracts for Witchers across the continent? For everything?

“For your songs,” he settled on.

Jaskier flashed him a dazzling smile.

“You’re welcome,” he smirked.

Eskel realised that Jaskier had no idea how much his songs had actually affected the Witchers and their place in the continent. He had no idea that singing about Geralt was just the start of a ripple that had spread across the lands and changed people for the better. He had no idea of the legacy he was building, for himself, for his friend, and for all the working Witcher’s who used to struggle to get a decent price for even a few Drowners.

The fame of Jaskier the bard wasn’t exclusive to the high courts and bustling taverns. Jaskier had no idea how big his impact actually was.

And Eskel didn’t have the first clue on how to start telling him.

“You staying in Novigrad long?” Jaskier asked breezily, taking a sip from his goblet.

“Not if I can help it,” the Witcher shrugged.

“No jobs enticing enough to make you change your mind?”

“Unfortunately no one puts out contracts on Priests of the Eternal Fire,” Eskel grunted.

Jaskier snorted into his wine and Eskel felt his lips pull in a small smile.

“Fair enough,” Jaskier composed himself, eyes blazing with mirth, “We can’t always be so lucky.”

“What about you? How long are you here for?” being drawn into conversation with the bard was easy. It felt natural and relaxed and safe.

“Meh, who knows? Until I bore of the markets and politics and need to get back out there on the Path,” Jaskier frowned at the dregs lining the bottom of his goblet and Eskel flagged down the barkeep to order more drinks.

“Going to look for Geralt?” Eskel glanced at Jaskier over the top of his tankard.

“I might,” Jaskier shot him a playful grin, “Unless you want the company on the road for a while.”

It was Eskel’s turn to choke slightly on his drink.

“A new muse could be just what I need. How about it Eskel? Not all my songs have to be about Geralt, you know.”

Eskel caught those blue eyes and held them for a moment.

“Sure. Why not?” he rumbled.

“Excellent,” Jaskier clapped his hands together gleefully, “You and me Eskel, we’re gonna change the world.”

You already have, Eskel thought to himself, and I’m going to spend whatever time we have together making you see it. Making you understand. Showing you what you’ve done for us. For me. And for Geralt. The affect you’ve had on all Witchers and the world you have created for us. Just you wait and see.

#the witcher #my writing #jaskier #eskel #geralt #lambert #vesemir #netflix the witcher #witcher fanfiction

[the-kaedageist]

“I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” [what else could this be but widomauk?] xoxo

God, what a beast you spawned with this prompt. I haven’t even written Widomauk before!

Widomauk, #31: “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” (1,928 words because WHAT)

The tavern was in a secluded part of Rosohna two blocks away from the Xhorhaus, sheltered in between a blacksmith’s shop and a large building that looked like it fulfilled some sort of need for municipal bureaucracy. Mollymauk located it at the end of his first two weeks of returning to the loving arms of the Nein, noting its presence on some sort of errand he was running with Beau, and within three days he found himself sitting at the counter, halfway to the bottom of a bottle of wine and trying not to think about red hair and blue eyes.

The first thing Molly had noticed was that Caleb was different. The whole group was, of course; they fit together like a puzzle, the sharp edges sanded down. The Nein felt like a family, and Molly wasn’t sure that there was still a place for him among their ranks, not anymore. Caleb’s changes weren’t even the most profound – that award obviously went to Veth, with her mischievous halfling smile and her avoidance of alcohol – but it was the change that went straight to Molly’s gut. Caleb smiled more. He was clean and had grown his hair long. He was as handsome as Molly had suspected, so long ago. However, past Caleb had been too much of a mess to be worth pining after.

This time, Molly was drinking his weight in wine, glancing around the bar looking for someone to take him home and distract him.

It wasn’t just Caleb, of course. It was resurrection – the last thing he’d wanted – and the avalanche of memories that had returned with the reawakening of his body. It was being whisked halfway across the continent by Caleb’s magic to a city shrouded in darkness, the Nein’s new home, brought to a house filled with memories of him and a hot tub named with his initials.

It was realizing the person they remembered wasn’t quite the person he was, and worrying what they would do about that once they figured it out.

Thankfully, before Mollymauk could get too maudlin, a handsome drow entered the tavern. He was a tall man with the muscles of a soldier, distracting Molly away from his existential angst with a coy look. He took his wine and his low spirits and joined the man at his table, and banished all thought of existential despair – and attractive redheads – from his mind for the rest of the evening.

A week later, he was back. He didn’t drink as much, that time – Jester had teased him a bit about having to cure his hangover, and Molly didn’t want to risk the group thinking he hadn’t grown along with them. Another drow caught his eye this time, with an androgynous haircut and elegantly bejeweled ears, and Molly distracted himself quite heartily with them, not stumbling back home to the Xhorhaus until the early hours of the morning.

Caleb was waiting up, sitting out in the front of the house, his profile lit gently by the string of lights from Caduceus’s tree.

“Beau was worried,” Caleb said, his face unreadable.

“I’m fine.” Molly brushed past him and into the house, which was quiet and dark. Soft footfalls signaled that Caleb was following, and a moment later, three globes of light swirled in the air around him, lighting the downstairs interior.

“You keep leaving,” Caleb said stubbornly. “You didn’t even tell us where you were going.”

“I can take care of myself,” Molly told him, not appreciating the reminder that the rest of the team was now double his strength. He quickly climbed the stairs to the “guest room” which had become his own before Caleb could continue his scolding and was unconscious only a few seconds before his head hit the pillow.

The third time, he didn’t have the opportunity to pick up anyone.

“So this is where you go,” said a familiar accented voice as Molly glanced forlornly into his stein of ale. A moment later, Caleb seated himself heavily beside him, his hair gleaming almost too-bright in the candlelight. Molly looked away, catching the eye of the bugbear who was bartending. The bugbear, who had heard a bit too much about Caleb to make Molly completely comfortable, raised his eyebrows and brought Caleb some of the same ale without being asked.

“This is where I go,” Molly said awkwardly as Caleb took a sip of ale.

They drank comfortably in silence for a few moments, giving Molly time to study Caleb out of the corner of his eye. Caleb was comfortable, now, clever and confident and far more alive. He still wore trauma like a second skin, but it was also clear that being with the Nein had started him along the path of slowly healing. Molly wanted to watch him constantly, cataloguing all the ways he was different – and he wished he’d been present to watch the transformation in real time. Instead, he was still the same shitty charlatan, low-level and up to his ears in lies and bullshit memories.

It wasn’t until he’d finished his first ale and started on a second that Caleb turned to speak. “What is wrong, Mollymauk?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t send Caduceus out to fetch me,” Molly said, staring into his stein. “Isn’t that his role in the group? He sorts the rest of you out?”

“We are all capable of sorting the others out,” Caleb said, a hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. “We just, most of the time, choose not to.”

Molly didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d died and been replaced by a competent cleric who was clutch in battle. He drained his ale to the bottom of his stein and held it up. The bugbear bartender, by now a dear friend, gladly filled it back up and took the proffered coin.

“Are you going to tell me?” Caleb asked. The strangeness of it – Caleb trying to help, Caleb here next to him, dressed in Xhorhasian fine clothing with his hair drawn back into a soft ponytail, Caleb’s body thrumming with power even beneath the surface – struck Molly all at once, and he took in a deep breath for courage.

It would be so easy, to turn around and look Caleb deep in the eyes and be honest. To tell him he was feeling out of place, broken into tiny pieces, empty once more. To flat-out admit that he didn’t know if he was really the person the Nein had remembered for all this time.

Instead, he chose the easy way out, because it was what Mollymauk Tealeaf did. Oh, he put on a good show, putting on a saucy pout and trying to slur his words more than necessary, but he still made a choice not to confront the real elephant in the room.

Instead, he steeled himself and said, “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

He watched the gears turn behind Caleb’s gaze. This was it. Caleb would give him a look of disgust or sadness and leave him to his own pity party. Caleb, whose boundaries were practically an armored bastion, would never let this sort of comment pass.

Caleb was staring at him, mouth agape. He shook himself slightly. “You’ve been…kissing strangers, pretending that they’re me?”

It wasn’t a lie, but the dumbfoundedness seemed a bit over the top. Caleb was stupidly hot. Was it that hard to believe? “It’s been difficult. You don’t really look like a drow.”

Caleb wheezed a bit beside him, and it took Molly a minute to realize he was laughing.

He didn’t even think he’d seen Caleb laugh, before.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb said, waving a hand in his direction. “I’m not laughing at you. I just…yes, I can imagine I do not look like a drow.” He met Molly’s gaze with some intensity, surprising him. “I’m also sorry you have felt the need to…play make-believe.”

Something bitter twisted inside Molly, his expression growing sour. “You don’t have to patronize me,” he muttered, dragging his gaze away. He took one last gulp from his ale and set it down. “I’m sorry you drew the short straw and came to fetch me. I’ll let you finish your drink in peace.” He started towards the door, fully intending to stumble out into the night and go find another tavern to drink in. Maybe he’d go dancing.

A hand caught his around the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to find Caleb watching him. “I did not draw the short straw,” Caleb said, his voice quiet but intense. “You mean a lot to all of us, Mollymauk. I have been worried about you. I have been through much, but I have never been dead and brought back to a world changed.”

Molly didn’t meet his eyes. “It sucks,” he said.

“I dreamed of you,” Caleb said conversationally. “For months, afterwards. You haunted all of us, but me, especially.” He gently tugged Molly back in to sit on the barstool on his other side, facing him. “I never—I was not in a place, where I could have—but I think I knew.” Despite the incoherence of his words, there was a confidence in his shoulders as he leaned over and pressed his hand to Mollymauk’s heart. It was beating so intensely that Molly was sure that Caleb could feel it through all the layers of clothing. “There was a connection, between us.”

“There was,” Molly said faintly. Gods, how the tables had turned.

Caleb gave him a wry smile. “I spent months thinking how to give back the gift you gave me,” he said. “Now, we have gifted it back ten times over. We have all grown and changed, surpassed the people we were originally and become something more. And you are one of us, as you always have been. You will have your chance to grow into us too.”

Caleb grasped Molly’s face between his own and Molly’s mouth went dry. For a moment, he thought Caleb was going to kiss him, and those blue eyes did stray momentarily to Molly’s mouth as though he was thinking about it. Instead, Caleb leaned over and pressed his lips to the center of Molly’s forehead, a parody of a moment long ago, in a mineshaft in the Marrow Valley with flames all around them.

“You’re one of us,” Caleb said, “And I don’t know the person you’ll become, but I am interested to find out.”

Molly felt his eyes fill with tears, unbidden and unwanted. He quickly blinked them away.

Caleb released his face, leaning back on his stool and studying him. “If you are still looking for people to kiss,” he continued slowly, as though he couldn’t quite believe the words were leaving his mouth, “I do not think you will need to pretend, any longer.”

Mollymauk stared at him, barely able to hear the sounds of the other patrons of the tavern over the hammering of his heartbeat.

He swallowed hard. “Well then, Mr. Caleb,” he said, the old playful nickname tasting almost foreign on his tongue. He leaned forward on the barstool, knocking their knees together and slowly leaning his forehead against Caleb’s to give him time to move away if he chose. Caleb watched him with wide eyes, but didn’t flinch. Instead, he glanced back down at Molly’s mouth, licking his lips.

“Yes, Mr. Mollymauk?” he asked, a bit of a waver in his voice.

“You talk too much,” Mollymauk said right before he kissed him firmly.

Give me a dialogue prompt!

#widomauk #cr fanfic #critical role fanfic #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #my fics #writing #memes #asks #ariadne-mouse